#snippets of a story I'm writing

[exia1-blog]

Anaris: God of Trickery

In ages past, Anaris of the Forgotten Ones was known as the God of Trickery. Fen’Harel, beloved of the spirits, was the God of Magic. The two rarely spoke, for Anaris always sought to use the spirits to his own ends, and Fen’Harel valued them in their own right. But one day, Anaris approached Fen’Harel with humility in his hands, if not in his heart; for Fen’Harel had managed a feat none of the other gods had yet claimed: he had shifted his physical form.

The tales varied across the telling but all agreed that Fen’Harel had learned to shift into a wolf. The size and shape of it changed: some claimed it was huge, with six snarling red eyes, coat black as pitch. Others claimed it smaller, fluffy white with ice blue eyes, hart-sized and suitable to ride, should one dare. And still more said it was just a normal wolf, mottled brown indistinguishable from the pack. But all agreed that it was Fen’Harel who took the form, who had somehow learned to keep his mind while altering his body. Anaris craved the knowledge - what mischief he could get up to if he had this power! And so he approached Fen’Harel, envy in his heart.

“Tell me, Great One, of how you came into this wondrous magic,” Anaris pleaded, knowing Fen’Harel loved to teach.

“It is of the fade,” Fen’Harel returned, never suspecting. “You must use its malleable nature to shape your own, then you may be whatever you wish.”

Anaris snapped and snarled, for he had not the connection to the fade that Fen’Harel had, and could not shape it as a Dreamer. “You tell me lies, lead me astray!” Anaris accused, searching for some other path to his desire.

“I tell you the truth,” Fen’Harel objected. “It is how it is managed. But, I will help you find another way, if you wish to join me on four paws.”

Anaris took advantage of the Wolf and his generous nature. He learned from the Wolf how to study the creatures of the world, to learn their bones and sinew. To think and dream and imagine themselves as that creature, until walking upright was strange and having limbs was foreign. The two worked together for a time, the Wolf lending all his efforts in devising a way for Anaris to join him. Until the day Anaris succeeded and shifted - not into the wolf as Fen’Harel had supposed. But as a serpent; sly in the grass, with venom and cunning.

When Fen’Harel discovered what he had done, he stumbled away from Anaris in shock and dismay. And that was when Anaris struck. Mouth open, fangs deep, he bit the Wolf and sunk his poison into his veins. So doing, Anaris slithered away, sure that the Dread Wolf would die and the secret of shape-shifting would be his alone.

But Fen’Harel was Beloved of the Spirits, and they came to him as he lay dying. They drew the poison from his veins, poured strength into his soul. And so the Dread Wolf survived his first betrayal.

~A tale told by Solas the Wanderer, to the dalish clan of Alamen, upon his return to them.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (Prologue)

Master-Post // Chapter one

Oh yeah, we're doing prequels now baby... just a little extra chapter for IF fans, I am working on the redraft atm and I hope you accept this as an apology for the absurdly long wait... but it shows the new route that IF is taking, with more plot and character development... whaaattt crazyyy

Also sorry for all the spam, I need another place to ramble for all my thoughts instead of here... if only twitter still existed, sigh...

*~*~*~*~*

Atlas ducked as another ball of flame was hurled at his head. He could feel the heat of the fire as it roared over his head and past his wall of refuge.

“Come out, come out little hero. I promise I won’t burn you alive, maybe scorch you a bit. Scars build character, Atlas, or are you too young to know that yet?”

Atlas huffed, his ears straining to hear when the stream of fire lessened over the villain’s stupid monologue. Too young to know about scars? What a dick. Atlas waited for the stream to burn out, listening as the roar from the fire-villain Arson lessened. The heat rippling in the air diminished as Atlas waited, before the absence altogether.

And then.

There.

Atlas vaulted the wall, clicking his fingers and relishing the familiar sound of cobalt electricity crackling around his hand, spreading up his arms to his shoulders. He sent one quick bolt of lightning towards Arson as he landed on his feet and kept running. The second one he aimed at Arson’s head.

His aim was perfect; Atlas didn’t have to check to make sure. He watched as the electricity touched the villain’s face and simmered away. Atlas’s eyes widened as the villain laughed, his mouth lighting up like a jack-o-lanterns on Halloween. “Uh-oh Atlas... My turn.”

Atlas was too slow. He was too slow in moving to get out of the way and he saw the flames coming and he was too slow. He was going to burn. He may even die. No.

The wind was knocked out of him as he felt someone barrel into him just before the flames hit him and drag him behind the safety of an alley.

Archangel panted slightly, a smile on his face. “You were too slow.”

“My electricity doesn’t work with him,” Atlas replied mutinously, glaring at his hands, his traitorous fingers curled into fists. He was too slow. “I didn’t – I froze…”

“I saw.”

“Where’s Tempest when you need her?” Atlas asked, wishing the water hero was here to douse out the fire villain. He could hear the sirens in the distance, no doubt the fire trucks and police finally on their way here.

“Are all the civilians cleared?” Archangel asked. Atlas nodded.

“Yeah, I got ‘em out before he started burning down the entire block.”

Archangel nodded, pressing his back flush against the brick wall. He tucked his giant, white-speckled wings in tight so they wouldn’t be exposed to Arson’s attacks. “Good. Then we can wait him out.”

Atlas’s eyes widened, head snapping to his boss. “Wait him out? He’s going to destroy every building if we wait!”

Archangel threw his hands up. “What do you want me to do? Hmm? Your electricity doesn’t work, and I can’t get to him without at least a distraction or back-up.” Archangel muttered, his wings flaring in irritation. “We want to keep casualties to a minimum. It’s not always about catching the bad guy.”

“Stop speaking to me like I’m your sidekick,” Kit hissed. “I know it’s about saving people, but the emergency responders are coming now. We have to stop Arson or at least incapacitate him before they come.”

Archangel stared at Kit for a long time, and for a moment his gaze softened behind his mask. “God, I’ll never escape Noble with you around,” he grumbled fondly. Kit smirked at the number one hero.

“Not a chance,” he replied. Atlas scanned the alley they were in. It wasn’t closed off at the end, the grey concrete floors and walls led to a corner at the back into another alley. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You slip behind the building and fly up and tell me when you’re on the roof. Then I’ll step out and distract him and you can attack from above.”

Archangel nodded. “You’re right. Nobody ever looks up.”

Atlas pressed himself into the wall as Archangel passed him, wings tucked in as he disappeared around the corner.

“Have I frightened you, little hero?” Arson yelled. “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of prodigy?! Noble’s apprentice, right?”

Kit’s blood ran cold at the mention of his Mentor. He remained silent as he waited for Archangel’s confirmation he was in position. The hero had wings, what was taking him so bloody long?

“You are, aren’t you?” Arson cooed, a smile in his words. God, Kit wanted to punch him in his mouth until he choked on blood, until he couldn’t speak anymore. “The original hero and see how far he’s fallen. Hmm? Tell me, what does he spend his days doing now? Wiping drool from his chi–”

Kit burst from behind the wall, moving with the improved currents in the night air, and before Arson could get a stream of fire off at him, Atlas’s fist already connected with the villain’s jaw, and they went down.

“Atlas! Shit,” Archangel muttered through his earpiece, but Kit didn’t care. He couldn’t use his lightning alone to hurt the Villain, so instead he charged his muscles with it, using it to make his punches harder, to enhance the impact, the pain.

Arson’s head whipped to the side and straightened, and Kit punched him again and again and again, until Arson couldn’t move his head back; until blood splattered across Kit’s skin that was visible through his fingerless gloves, pinpricking the flesh with vermillion speckles. A flurry of wings and wind, but Kit didn’t get off Arson. Not when he knew he was down. Not when he knew he wouldn’t harm anyone tonight again, at the very least. Not until he felt hands on him, fingers digging in.

“Atlas. Atlas. Atlas!” Archangel yelled, grabbing Kit by the arms and dragging him up.

“Wipe the drool off your own chin now, motherfucker,” Kit growled as Archangel pulled him away from the fire villain. Archangel spread his wings wide, shielding the villain from Kit’s wrathful gaze, forcing the young hero to look at him.

“What the hell was that, Atlas?”

Kit pulled free of Archangel’s hold, just in time as a bullet whizzed right where Kit was standing not two seconds ago. Once again, the breath was stolen from his lungs as Archangel grabbed him and shot backwards, away from the unseen shooter. No doubt Arson’s accomplice. Shit… can this night get any worse?

When they were successfully shielded from the shooter, a few bullets going wide, their radios cackled to life, scratching and cracking and behind it a voice. “—the old…” Both Atlas and Archangel leaned into the walkie talkie, ears straining to make out the choppy voice. “by the ferris…”

More interference cut the rest of the sentence off, but Kit and Archangel’s eyes met over the receiver. That was Tempest. Kit flinched as a bullet almost grazed his ear as it shot by and made a circular shaped dent in the concrete.

“Another Attack—”

Kit stood up. Archangel stared at him. “I’ll go.”

“No—”

“I’m useless here anyway,” Kit protested. “Tempest needs me. If I can help her, at least I’ll feel like I’m not completely useless.”

Archangel’s eyes softened. “How many lives did you save today? Hmm? Do you think saving people is useless?”

Kit waved Archangel away. “You know what I mean. I’m restless anyways, helping Tempest will help me calm down at least. Update us when this is clear.”

Kit met the fire trucks and ambulances as he rounded the corner, heading south towards the old pier. Tempest said it was next to the old Ferris wheel, and luckily there were only two Ferris wheels in the city, the old one by the pier which had been closed for years now, and the new one they moved up town, closer to the wealthier district. The pier became the shipping docks and people got tired of seeing crates being hauled in when they were trying to have a romantic date.

The old fairground was only a few streets from where Kit and Archangel were fighting, and with Kit’s abilities, and the amount of static charge in the night air he was able to propel himself faster than an athletic civilian. Though nowhere near as fast as Blitz whose power was super speed, or Crowe who could travel through any shadow, but still. Kit enjoyed the wind on his face, the power in his veins almost singing as he turned down a street and saw the Ferris wheel on the old fairground come into view.

His radio crackled to life again. It was Tempest her voice quieter now.

“Atlas… no, all heroes, stay away,” she whispered, the signal better the closer Kit got to her location. “Stay away from the old pier. I think…” Tempest cut herself off with a gasp, static crackling as Atlas pumped his legs faster. He never heard Tempest so scared in his life. “I think this villain is Omen.”

And it was as if all the wind had been stolen from him, ripped away in an instant. His power stuttered in his limbs, and he almost tripped over himself with how quickly his electricity cut out of his limbs like an old engine sputtering and spitting to a stop. The rails outside the fairground ticket booth acted as the final breaks as Kit ran into them, his heart thundering in his ears, the waves echoing back his terrified heartbeat to him.

Omen. Omen… Omen was a ghost story, he wasn’t… he wasn’t an active Villain anymore. The only time he… God, Kit wanted to be sick. The only attack Omen was known for was his fight with Noble. Noble’s final fight that ensured he never worked again. That he didn’t even get to remember his own name sometimes, that he would be left, stuck, in a prison of his own mind.

“Atlas…” Kit’s earpiece cackled to life, the sound of bullets and wind in the background as Archangel spoke to him. “Don’t go there. Wait for back up. Do not face Omen, do you understand me?”

Kit’s eyes narrowed into a glare as he surveyed the wooden boardwalk. “Atlas! God damn it, for once just listen to me. I am your superior. Noble wouldn’t want you to–”

“Noble doesn’t want anything anymore,” Kit replied, voice cold. “Omen saw to that.”

“Atlas!" He heard Archangel curse over the receiver. "Damn it, Kit! Don–”

Kit unhooked the wire from his earpiece and turned off his walkie talkie. This wasn’t about helping Tempest, or Archangel, or his helpless restlessness anymore. No, this was personal. Kit jumped the railing onto the boardwalk, before he could talk himself out of it. His body screamed at him to wait, to fall back, but he couldn’t. He refused.

For Omen to appear one night, as if out of the woodwork itself… that wasn’t a coincidence, and it wasn’t a coincidence that Kit happened to be on patrol so close to him either. Despite his fear threatening to choke him, and his limbs feeling a little lighter from exerting his power, Kit continued down onto the boardwalk, scanning the kiosks and listening for sounds of a fight between Omen and Tempest over the waves lapping against the rocks below.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

[Sorry if you got tagged, I went through every part to make sure the tag-list was up to date, so if you want to be removed please lmk!!! Okay thank youuuuu]

Tag-list [lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts

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[delicateartisantrash]

Excerpt: Soundwave's Puppy Eyes

I can't stop laughing at this scene in a fanfic I'm writing, every time I come across it doing re-reads and editing passes.

Just. I lost it when I first saw that scene of Soundwave flashing 'Prime a smiley face emoji.

Imagine trying to convince the big bad Decepticon you're gonna do a thing regardless of his logic on the matter

and then he nails you with just literal #SadFace

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Summer's Stag, Swift, Stern, Soft- Part 1!

Frost crept up on the threshold of Yize's camp like Death on his horse. She fended it off with a fire, wide-brimmed hat covering her face, warming her hands as she slept on her travel pack.

Somewhere in the distance, a beast howled. Larn-wolf, perhaps. Or maybe a shiikae. She ignored it as well as she could, wrapping her scarf around her ears and closing her eyes.

Cunzhuan, the nearest town, was a half day ride, and Yize had about a day's worth of supplies left. Everything would be fine, if only she had a horse to ride. Unfortunately for her, her beloved Masi was dead, victim to a holebug that clamped its iron jaws on his ankle. So she had best hope her stomach and foraging skills could handle the miserable walk there. 

The beast howled again. Definitely a larn-wolf. The sound had that twang to it, a signal to other larns to not steal its prey. She pitied the poor fool who had gotten in its sights. 

But not enough to save them. No, Yize knew how futile it was to rescue someone out here in the bitter moors. Better to pray for a swift death than a miraculous saving. 

She had done it before. It was so easy. Just roll over, ignore the screams, and sleep well, thankful that that poor soul had been the meal and not you. She repeated it to herself insistently. She had better things to do than save an idiot who went out into the moors at night.

Unfortunately for her, she had not been born without a heart. Hers was quite loud. Before she could think better of it, Yize was on her feet, hat on her head, sword half unsheathed. She was running towards the howling even as she told herself to go to sleep. 

The larn-wolf was young, a solo male out looking for dinner, out to prove his worth to his pack and obtain a mate. Its quills were still soft, teeth closer to steel than the adamantium that they were fabled to be, eyes glowing softer than the fireflies.

It never stood a chance. 

Yize's sword cleaved through its head before it noticed her. Her feet had been swift and steady, body twisting with the motion of her blade. The decapitated larn-wolf head tumbled down the hill, stopping only at the feet of its would-be victim.

Almost instantly, Yize regretted her actions. She had abandoned her pack— a coyote would surely be gnawing on her jerky by now — and went off to rescue some random soul, like a self-righteous fool. 

Still, there was nothing she could do to change it now. She wiped her sword on the edge of her shirt and strutted down to meet her damsel in distress.

Said damsel was, in fact, a man. He had an effeminate face and a sleek figure, sure, but a man nonetheless. He turned as she approached, smiling widely. 

“Well, if it isn't my saviour,” the man said. His eyes glinted violet in the moonlight, dark hair slick like the stars trapped in oil. Magic hung about his too-clean clothes, a scent of jasmine and incense. “Nice hat.”

Yize stood at an arm's length. “You're a witch,” she stated. “I just saved a witch.”

“What, me?” He pressed a hand to his chest, affronted. “I take umbrage with that statement! I'm no more a witch than you are, cursed one.”

Yize all but flinched at his words. Her hands found her sword again, and the witch backpedaled. 

“Now, now, let's not be hasty,” he said. “I'm not judging you for having a curse, so I do hope you don't judge me for dabbling with Words. You did save my life, after all, and I would hate for all your hard work to go to waste.” He slicked his hair back nervously. “Why not work together instead? A friend gained is a struggle halved, after all.”

“I have never heard that statement in my life,” Yize told him flatly. “And I work alone. Begone, witch.”

She made to leave, and the witch followed her. “Come on, now,” he wheedled, “At least exchange names with me, and share a campfire. I could give you a charm to ward off danger, if you gave me some time. It simply wounds me to walk off without repaying the blood-debt.”

That word— debt —made Yize stop in her tracks. “Nobody owes me a debt,” she said firmly. “You most certainly do not.”

“Uhhh, I say otherwise,” the witch replied, flitting around her. His long coat fluttered in the wind. “And what do you know about blood-debts to reject them so, mortal woman? Such things are the prerogative of witches and other creatures of the night.”

Yize sighed. “So you admit you are a witch, at least. Twice I say begone, son of the night. When that reaches thrice, I shall draw my sword upon you. A cursed one such as I does not fear what you might do in retaliation.”

“Brave woman. Foolish woman.” He gave her a wan smile. “My name is Deng, before you chase me off. Remember it well, and call for me thrice whence you need it.”

“I shall not, Deng. Now—” And the witch was gone, before she even finished her sentence. “Ugh, whatever.”

Yize stomped back to her campfire. It was still lit, thank the gods, and her bag untouched. In a huff, she laid back down on it, looking up at the stars.

Trillions of them, there were, right beside Anshile's twin moons. They twinkled in the sky, constellations she remembered by heart, disrupted only by…

“Lanterns,” Yize said with a soft smile. So it was that time of the year. Wanderer that she was, she had not realised Summer’s leap across the sky was at its apex. 

Twenty of them, she counted. Twenty paper lanterns, drifting across the sky like jellyfish, trails of wishes brushing against the top of the trees. A single nightingale sang its song somewhere in the distance, and Yize slept, safe in the great wilderness.

Then dawn came.

They say Dawn rides a great Hawk, just like Dusk with his Falcon, and Noon with the Eagle. Yize found herself awoken by a gunshot, and a bird falling from thin air. It landed on her stomach, which hurt like a bitch. 

She shot up, looking for the perpetrator of this foul crime. It was none other than sharp-eyed, gun-toting youth, with a triumphant grin.

“Hail,” Yize said to her, holding the dead creature with one unamused hand, and resting the other on her hip.

“Hail indeed,” she replied, laughing. “A hail of birds! Did you see that? My gun took it straight out of the sky! And it's still whole! That pheasant could feed a family. Mother will be most pleased indeed.” 

Yize signed. “Your mother will not be pleased, least of all because isn't a pheasant. Look at the crest on it.”

The girl peered closely at the bird. “It's golden?” she offered. “I don't see what difference that makes.”

“You shot a mimic, kid. Its crest is graying at the roots. This thing's inedible,” Yize said tiredly. “Some witch made this and released it for fun.” She paused. “I can think of who did it.”

“Oh?” Almost instantly, the girl perked back up. “You know witches? Can you introduce me to them?”

For one moment, Yize wanted to take a good swing at the idiot child. “No, I will not. Witches are nothing but trouble, and you should not associate yourself with them.”

The girl pouted. “But why-y? I wanna meet witches! I wanna learn magic! Imagine what I could do with that power,” she exclaimed.

“Imagine what you would have to do to get that power. Imagine what it would do to you.” She placed one hand on the little huntress' back. “Come on now, let us go home.”

The girl pouted. “Who are you to tell me what to do? I have seen the rise and fall of sixteen cycles, lain upon the altar of Guanyin and brought about the death of many a foul beast! There is no need for some… vagrant to mother me like a moorhen!”

Yize pressed her lips together. “Alright, brave and mighty warrior. Where do you make your home? I would gladly hunt some edible foul beasts for your family.”

Chastened, the girl nodded. “I will lead you there. Mother and Father do not mind taking in strays once in a while.”

So they went, the would-be warrior and the would-rather-not, to the place that had once been a home.

It was a smoking crater, reeking of magic deep and dark. The surrounding vegetation, shrubs and trees and rows of once-perfect crops, was wilted, life drained out from it in a perfect circle the size of a summons grid.

It reeked. Of blood and screams. Of sulfur and fire. Of scents only dead men knew. Yize tasted the bitterness of the air, and recognised it at once for what it was: the birthplace of something evil.

She shoved the child behind her. “Cock your gun and be wary,” she warned.

“Wary of what?” Stripped of her arrogance, the girl clung to Yize's coat. 

“Whatever drained the life from this place and made a body for itself,” Yize said. “This work of magic was fresh; two days at most. When did you last venture from your home?”

“I- Last week? I think? I went on the summer solstice pilgrimage to the temple in Laoshan, and then stayed at my cousin Qianlai's house for a night in Cunzhuan on my way back,” she said. “Do you think the one who made that mimic did this too?”

It was an almost laughable thought. “No,” Yize said firmly. “A Summoner of such power would not be fooling about with pheasant-mimics. They would be far too great for that.” 

“Oh.” The girl did not know what to think of that. She did not want to think at all, to be honest.

“My parents… they have to be at Cunzhuan. Right?” The girl looked up at Yize, close enough that the tassels of her hat brushed against her forehead. “Right?”

Yize was not a soft woman. The wilderness swallowed soft women. The curse would have devoured a soft woman. So she gave the kid a hard smile. “I doubt it. Let's get going.”

And then she was off, striding back down the road towards civilisation, leaving a little hunter-girl trotting to keep up with a sinking feeling in her chest.

[temerity14]

blacked out today and woke up with 5,400 more words in my writing document

How???? There's something wrong with me I swear

I guess that time travel au might be coming out a bit earlier than anticipated

[invalidstories]

Enemies at the Café

Warnings: suicide mentions, dark themes

The moon hung low in the night sky casting a soft glow casting over the rooftop where Hero and Villain always found themselves locked in conflict. Each breath they took was visible in the cold foggy night.

Villain's eyes gleamed with malice as they observed Hero's approach, every step deliberate, every movement calculated. They had spent their whole night planning and preparing to show of their newest device to Hero.

But as Hero drew nearer, Villain couldn't help but notice the weariness etched into their features, their shoulders slumped with the burden of their endless battles, and the dark circles under their eyes from sleepless nights.

"You're late," Villain taunted, their voice dripping with contempt as they walked towards their nemesis.

Hero rolled their eyes, a wry smile playing at their lips. "Oh, please," they retorted. "Like I have anything better to do than deal with you."

Villain bristled, their grip tightening on their weapon. But before they could act, Hero held up a hand, resigned.

"Save it," Hero sighed. "I'm done playing this game. Just shoot me and get it over with."

Caught off guard by Hero's surrender, Villain hesitated, their weapon hovering in midair as they stared at their enemy in disbelief. Never had they imagined Hero would surrender so easily.

"There's no fun in fighting a hero who doesn't want to fight," Villain replied softly, their voice gentle as they lowered their weapon and took a step forward. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

Hero said nothing as they allowed Villain to hold their hand and lead them away, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night.

As they disappeared into the darkness, Villain couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over them. At that moment, they realized that victory meant nothing without a worthy adversary to challenge them.

As they reached the end of the street, the Villain hesitated, turning to face Hero.

"Hey," they said softly, "I know this might seem like an odd question, but... do you want to grab a coffee with me?"

Hero blinked in surprise, the weariness momentarily forgotten as they met Villain's gaze. And for the first time in a long while, a small smile tugged at the corners of their lips.

"Yeah," Hero replied, "Sure."

Entering the cozy coffee shop, the atmosphere shifted from the chill of the night to the warm embrace of coffee and soft murmurs. Hero couldn't help but chuckle at one of Villain's jokes, the tension of their earlier encounter slowly easing.

Sitting across from each other, Villain couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Hero's demeanor. The weariness that had weighed them down moments before had been replaced by a spark of life in their eyes.

"You seem a bit better," Villain remarked, a teasing grin playing on their lips as they took a sip of their coffee.

Hero chuckled, a faint blush dusting their cheeks. "Yeah, well, you're surprisingly good company," they admitted, their voice soft.

"Told you," Villain smirked taking another sip of their drink.

But as the laughter faded, Villain's expression softened as concern crept into their features. "Hey, Hero," they began, their voice serious. "I know we've had our differences, but... I think you could benefit from some help."

Hero's smile faltered, their gaze dropping to the table as they considered Villain's words. It wasn't often that they heard genuine concern from their nemesis.

"I'll think about it," Hero replied, their voice soft but resolute. "Thanks though, Villain. For everything."

Villain grinned, reaching across the table to give Hero's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Anytime, Hero," they said, "Just don't forget to bring your sense of humor next time."

The hero couldn't help but smile at the playful jab, the weight of their troubles momentarily lifted by the simple act of having an unlikely but nice companion. As they walked home, Hero felt a glimmer of hope that maybe they didn't have to face their struggles alone anymore.

"In the end, we're all just humans, trying to find our way in this chaotic world."

Masterlist

[idksmtms]

I got a little too fancy with the Cregan fic and it is now at 18.9k...

Anyway, here's another snippet while I try to shut myself up and consider splitting it into 2 parts :)

[1singulargrape]

yuuji cannot use a chair to save his life

Sukuna was sitting on the floor, his upper arms resting on the couch behind him. His head was tilted to the side as it rested on his fist, and he lazily looked at the screen in front of him.

Yuuji was playing a video game, a "shooter game" with many colors and sounds that looked more like the mess the brat watched on his phone rather than anything coherent. Trying to follow along made Sukuna's head spin but there were a few things that were easy to catch on.

Yuuji's character exploded into a colored puddle, and without missing a beat Sukuna laughed at him. "You suck at this," he added.

Yuuji turned to glare at him, straining his neck while doing so, "I haven't played in months and the other team has a sniper, so if I don't try to move up we're never getting back mid."

He turned back at the sound of his character respawning, "And my team only has short to mid-range weapons so we're at a disadvantage here."

Sukuna couldn't be bothered to understand what any of that meant. "I'm only hearing excuses. If you were actually good at this game of yours you wouldn't need teammates to win."

"It's a multiplier game, having teammates is the whole POINT!" He screamed the last word as he narrowly evaded an attack that would have surely got him killed again, exploding his opponent in the process. His momentary glee was quickly crushed as his character also exploded for seemingly no reason.

Sukuna didn't try to hide his chuckles while the young man anxiously looked at the map while respawning. The match ended before he could get onto the field again.

Despite the general chaos of the game Sukuna only needed one look to know the results. He smiled with all his teeth, poking at Yuuji's temple with his free hand, "Maybe you should give up for now. What is it? The fifth loss in a row?"

"Oh, shut up," he fell back, landing on Sukuna's chest, "I just need to shake the rust off," he closed his eyes for a moment, knowing how to queue for another match without looking.

Sukuna huffed fondly, "You've been saying that for the past 30 minutes, brat."

Yuuji didn't add anything, only pouting a little. He made his character jump up and down with the hand he still had on the controller. Sukuna tightened the arms he had warped around Yuuji's waist, filling the gap until the younger man sat back up for the next match.

.

.

Yuuji was on his phone, checking over his social medias, laughing at memes and catching up with the tea of strangers online while sending out anything interesting to his friends

What had started out as him sitting beside Sukuna was now him halfway over the other man's laps, his upper back and neck held on a massive arm and hand.

Sukuna was reading old history books, saying he wanted to "catch up" to what happened while he was sealed. One time he mentioned to Yuuji how lacking historical records felt compared to the reality of life during his time, but that didn't stop him from reading them; in fact having a basis to compare how things were when he was still alive compared to what was recorded granted him a far better understanding of other recordings, according to him.

Yuuji didn't really get why he'd spend so much time reading from the source when there were so many videos online detailing their country's history. He had provided Sukuna with a phone for that reason but he only used it for 2 weeks before permanently retiring it to a drawer saying that "it was no wonder the brat was so stupid with the amount of trash accessible through that thing”.

Not what Yuuji had expected when Sukuna had spent those 2 weeks with an average of 12 hours of daily screentime, but hey.

While he was scrolling, Yuuji came across something that made him grin. "Hey, old man!"

Sukuna turned one eye to look at him which was enough acknowledgement for Yuuji, "Look at this," he turned his phone to him.

A picture of an adult tiger lying on its side with a cub pawing at its face was shoved into Sukuna's vision. "It's us."

Yuuji was grinning from ear to ear, giggling to himself. He took back his phone after receiving a hum of acknowledgement and they both resumed their respective activity.

Once Yuuji was fully focused on his screen again, Sukuna allowed himself to smile.

.

.

"Are you done showing off?" Yuuji asked annoyed. As his answer, Sukuna pushed back, going from doing push-ups on one hand to one finger and it only pissed off Yuuji even more.

Originally Yuuji was simply working out a little and was joined by Sukuna who not only matched Yuuji's moves but also made a point of one-upping him at every turn.

Yuuji watched from the side as Sukuna finished his set of 1 finger push-ups, wholly unimpressed as he was pretty sure he could do the same.

He simply knew that Sukuna would one-up him again somehow and he didn't want his light work-out session to turn into their usual competitions.

"Is that all you got brat?" Sukuna was smiling with all his teeth, still holding a perfect plank position, "Was such a simple move enough to scar you into surrendering?"

Well, Yuuji couldn't let that slide. "I just think that this was way too easy for you."

Yuuji walked closer and got on Sukuna's back, sitting in the middle of it. He knew that a man who could carry entire buildings wouldn't be bothered by his weight, but he was still annoyed by the fact that the other did not budge. Not even breaking a sweat.

"Is that it?" Sukuna changed the arm holding him and started another set. "This is still a lightwork brat. Unless you also want me to sit on your back as well to see if you can match the strength of a single one of my arms?"

"I can carry you pretty easily you know that?" Yuuji added with a frown.

"I'd love to see this," he added mockingly which only made Yuuji angrier.

The older man finished his set. A bit passed and he eventually laid down on floor, Yuuji still on his back.

"Hey what are you doing now?"

"Given how comfortable you seem up there I have decided to claim victory this time and let you enjoy yourself. How benevolent of me, I know."

Determined not to leave this as a loss, Yuuji got up and immediately deadlifted Sukuna off the ground.

.

.

Most beds weren't comfortable to Sukuna, made in sizes too small for his bulk and extra limbs, yet sometimes he'd ditch the massive one in his room to sleep in Yuuji's.

And what could Yuuji do if he was tired as well? With Sukuna lying on his back, arms splayed open and legs dangling off the edge, there wasn't that much place left for him to sleep on.

Yuuji crawled up the bed and laid directly on Sukuna's chest, hair tickling the bigger man's chin. He wrapped his arms around the other's neck while 2 hands placed themselves on the small of his back. 'For stability' they both thought.

Like this they both drifted to sleep, hearts close to one another and beating in sync to a slow and steady rhythm.

.

.

.

.

On some day they'll go picnicking together, as if they weren't spending enough time with one another.

They ate, they talked, then they both fell silent, a comfortable sensation covering them both as they simply enjoyed each other's presence as well as the nature around them.

Sukuna's head was laid on Yuuji's laps. Gentle fingers ran through his hair and massaged his scalp; the sun kept them warm and a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around them.

Yuuji had already zoned out, moving his hands automatically in a way that felt right to him, whereas Sukuna had started to drift off to sleep.

Small moments of peace they wish could last forever

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

For a Yuu OC

Walker arrives at the school the usual way. They don’t really feel different and take the lack of appetite and sleep down to the major life changes happening. New dorm, a monster to take care of, whole new world full of magic they can’t use, it’s a lot. The take what they can get and keep their head down as much as Grim allows.

Until they face the Overblotted Miner.

Desperate, they smash the jar, cut their hands on the glass, ink on their hands, and they see it. The Miner’s falling one by one due to overmining, the unstable gems causing tempers to rise, until Dopey buries the last of his brothers and succumbs to their own overuse of magic. Walker wakes up crying, a lifetime of knowledge of gems and minerals and jewels settling into their hands and a wish to go home.

Walker goes to the library in-between classes to try and understand more of overblots and what happened with them in particular, but there is nothing. The only recorded documentation of overblots leads to the infected person’s death or complete loss of magic.

Is it because they are magicless that they were able too? That the knowledge or magic, whatever it was, overflows since it has nowhere to go?

It happens again with Riddle.

Except Riddle is alive, and breathing, and still in there. Unlike Dopey, he hasn’t given up, he hasn’t sunk to deep into the dark there. Walker bears witness, pulls the both of them out, and passes out. Crowley drops them at their dorm to rest, not staying to see their eyes moving and hands twitching as they live a lifetime in a few hours. The Queen settles on her throne, whispering to them bout order, madness, invention and nonsense and Daring.

Their fingertips are dipped black, vines crawling up the knuckles, a lace motif incomplete on their wrist. They steal a pair of Deuce’s leather gloves and the lie passes too easily on their tongue that he must have lost them.

They continue on, though they notice that sleep never comes as easily, nor do they seem to need as much to be just as productive. A magic thing? It doesn’t seem to happen to anyone else, but they are different. So different. It's been pointed out so many times. They are already tired of hearing it.

The sabotage of other students isn’t totally surprising, considering it’s a school full of students who glorify villains, but they can’t help the smug feeling when he sets up a damn stampede. Called it!

Leona’s overblot is worse, seeing Ruggle panting for air before they can finally pull him out of Leona’s clawed hands. It must be the sand or the heat causing mirages though. Sometimes it’s Ruggie, and other times the face shifts and changes into something close but not quite. They drag the jar of ink down with them, and bear witness once again.

Jack is the one to carry them to Ramshackle this time, ears flat at the state of the place before leaving, making plans to grab some Savannaclaw students and make some repairs as payment for getting Leona out. He doesn’t see the twitching eyes and hands, the feet that move, the groans of pain.

Walker wakes up with dried sweat sticking to their skin, back aching. they choke, and stares down at the teeth that fall from their mouth.

There is ink on their thighs, African like maybe? It’s not anything they recognizes. At least it’s easier to hide.

The savanna claw students actually pull through though, making basic repairs and spare fabric to reupholster the chairs and couches, in exchange for not speaking anything of Leona’s blot to the outside world. Walker hadn’t intended to, but they will not turn down a gift when needed.

With the bathroom finally in working order, they get to see the damage. The lace motif has formed into full gloves that pull up to their forearms though the pattern has shifted. Roses curl quietly, a spade, diamond, clover and heart hidden in the foliage, a smile hidden on the cure of their wrist bone. Their thighs remained unchanged, though they know the images have moved. The ink moves on their body.

But worse than any of that, is their back. Their shoulder blades frame an oval outline, two jabbed pieces like glass coming together. What is this? Where did it come from? Should they tell-

No. No, what would Crowley even do? He’s encouraged them to take care of everything else themselves, including their dorm. They can figure this out too.

(They should have said something)

Ace and Deuce exchange a glance when they catch Walker covering their laughs or smiles with their gloved hands. Was it always a habit they had that they just missed? Did they always wear gloves? When did they start wearing jewelry with rough cut gems and stones? Deuce only shrugs, taking it as something he simply missed. He isn’t used to actually caring about his ‘friends’, so this is all new to him. But he does trust that Walker is honest. When they say they are fine, he believes them. Ace doesn’t, but if they aren’t in any pain and won’t tell him the truth, it’ll happen eventually.

Something burns in Walker’s throat when they find out about Grim’s deception. Seriously, bartering with his magic? Foolish boy, unknowing of the gift he has. He wastes his potential.

It takes work, the familiar burn of Leona’s magic taste strange in such a humid place, and then there is ink everywhere. Azul’s overblot is tragic in a way that the others didn’t. Perhaps Walker simply relates too much, feeling displaced and judged for something they couldn’t control. They don’t feel surprised when they fall in, firmly pulling Azul from his misery. Jade looks curiously down when your body goes completely limp. There is no twitching of the eyes or hands, you are as limp as a fresh corpse in his hands. Floyd takes one last curious look at you before they collect what is left of their things in Ramshackle, something familiar in your presence. Something old.

You wake up feeling older than salt, older than water, hands clutching at friends you don’t have, at your stomach and ribs. Ink pours down your cheeks.

Write. A voice whispers. There is a journal on the desk, a leather-bound prize you had picked up at your weekly check to the lost and found for clothes and other things that might be useful. You and I both know they only have half the story, a Twisted version. You remember it don’t you dear? Write. Complete our stories.

Grim finds you hours later up in the night, an oil lamp long burned out, but the scratching of your pen is unyielding. He asks if it is normal for humans from your world to have glowing eyes. You lie again and tell him yes.

Ace and Deuce try and bring up your behavior with the others, but this is all they have ever known you as. Quiet, watching, observing, modest. You seem sensitive to sunlight, but Jade conveniently leaves behind a pair of sunglasses that are simply unsuitable to the business now. Otherwise, what is there to say? Ace and Deuce hover but otherwise you seem ok? What else can they do?

Sometimes Grim finds you at night, simply staring into space, writing things down without even looking down at the pages, there are books and books filled at the dorm now with your writing. He has trouble getting you to respond when you are like this, sometimes you sound different or say something weird, but you always come back. He wonders if your going through another growth spurt or something from your world, the dark marks on your stomach curve up into your ribs now.

Jamil looks at you and sees danger, but he needs you in order to make this plan work. But there is something wrong with you. Even with Kalim, bright and distracting as he is, he can feel your eyes. You ask odd things. You called Kalim a Sultan and laughed it off as an accident but it came it so sincerely, so genuinely.

You watch Jamil overblot with open arms, guiding him through with ease. Once is an accident. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. Four though? Four is planned. Is it Crowley? Fate? You?

Kalim carries you to Ramshackle on the very carpet you stole, your body near lifeless. He hesitates to leave, but Grim convinces him that you are always like this after. He’ll even tell Walker to send a text when they wake up.

It takes an entire night, far longer than usual, but they do wake up. Half of their back is filled with jagged pieces, and their shoulders and arms burn with new black markings similar to Kalim’s Henna. Walker traces the patterns and thinks they pair well with the roses. The Rose disagrees. The Lion simply laughs at her displeasure. The Witch delights in your beauty, the feral and elegant. The Djinn is new and says nothing yet, but he has always chosen his words more carefully.

And so it continues with each overblot. Deeper down Walker goes, the more marks, the more layers. Their feet and ankles decorated with German patterns, the shackles of Grecian around their calves and shins wrapped like leather sandals, a forest of thorns and beasts burned into their chest, a dragon wrapped around their heart. With each one, the whispers get louder, the books get longer, the unused magic, curling into their muscle and sinew and veins, gets stronger.

The jagged pieces are whole. The mirror is complete but shattered. As far as Walker knows, it always will be.

Until it isn’t.

Grim snaps, because of course he does. How could he not? Walker saves them, as they have all the others. They pass out as you have all the others. Around you, the entire school is battered and tired, finally taking the Chimera down, wanting nothing more than to drag you both to Ramshackle for some much-needed sleep.

The mirrors start to hum. The windows black out and reflect only darkness and hands reaching.

The jagged pieces on your back snap into place, whole and complete.

You are pulled into the air by black strings, ink pouring out of your eyes, dropping into puddles on the floor. The ink shakes, ripples, forms, bubbling and rising.

The dorm leaders can only stare in horror as their faces rise from the blot.

No, not themselves. Their puppeteers.

You have saved them so many times. They can do this. Surely, they can still save you.

But what are they saving you from?

[jamiethebeeart]

The Fate of the Dead

(Go to the end for prompt source and ao3 link) Chapter 1:

Sam was able to see the future. 

“A gift” her grandfather whispered on his deathbed.

“A curse,” her mother sneered. 

“Hope,” her grandmother said. 

“Witch” her playmates said. 

One move to a rinky dink town later and even though her parents didn’t say anything, Sam understood – keep quiet, say nothing, and everything would be fine.

-

While the first few years of Sam’s life were a whirlwind of activities, fancy parties, and frilly, fashionable dresses, the next few years were quiet.  Living in a small town where no one knew who the Mansons were, was an adjustment.  Sam, even at her young age, could pick up on the quiet resentment from her parents.  The sidelong looks at the TV over news of celebrity parties, the glance over at Sam when reading the Socialites section of the newspaper, and the way that they frowned when Sam started talking about her visions.  By the time Sam entered 1st grade, she stopped mentioning them to anyone, family or otherwise.  Why would her parents care about the sight of blood on the playground, or the car crash on the interstate?  They couldn’t stop it, and Sam couldn’t either – not without knowing information like “where” or “why” or the most important of all – “when”. 

-

Walking into the 2nd grade hallway, she found her teacher waving students in that they recognized from open night into the classroom.  As Sam approached, the teacher brightened, “Hello Samantha!  Walk right in, there’s a seating chart at the front of the classroom.  Please find your seat and sit down.  Class will start soon.”  Nodding, Sam walked into the classroom and saw a large easel with sticky notes plastered to it.  Each one was arranged into groups like the desks behind her.  She located her seat, turned around, and almost ran into a boy with black hair.

“DANNY!”  A woman slid to a halt, bumping the classroom teacher a little as she caught herself on the door post.  A backpack held up in one hand and breathing hard, like she’d ran to the school.  After a moment, she looked up, “Danny, you forgot your backpack.”

The black haired boy turned around, “Oh!  Thanks Mommy!” he grinned as he ran back to her. 

Sam stopped, shocked – not because of the almost run in, but because that boy looked like a younger version of the one she saw in one of her oldest visions.  The only recurring one she’d ever had.  As the boy shooed his mother off and turned around to head back to the easel, Sam woodenly headed to her seat, refusing to look up from the floor.  Swinging the straps of her bag over the back of her seat, she smoothed her skirt, and sat down.  She blinked a few times, fighting back tears.  Not all of Sam’s visions were unpleasant, but the ones that were, tended to be rather extreme – this particular one included.  She had almost convinced herself it was a recurring nightmare rather than a true vision, but there was no way she could have imagined those screams.  She breathed in and out to calm herself like her mother showed her, fists clenched under her desk, hidden, like her father.  As the thunk of a backpack landed on the desk next to her, she shook her head a little and looked up.  “I’m Sam,” she introduced herself to the boy next to her.  A hand stuck out in his direction.

“Tucker,” the boy grinned, as he shook her hand.

By the end of recess later that day, Danny was sporting a bloody nose, Tucker was on the ground, and Sam stood in front of them, glaring at the blonde kid who started it all.

“Step aside, if you know what’s good for you!” the kid said, trying to stand up tall, chest puffed out.

“You can’t hit a girl!” Danny yelled around the hand clutching his nose.

“Yeah!  That’s, like, super mean!”  Tucker said as he started to stand.

“I might!” was the response.

Sam glared harder, “You can try.”

“Move!” Dash screamed.

“No!” Sam screamed back.

“Over here!  There’s some little kids fighting!”  An older student was yelling across the playground, motioning for a teacher’s assistant on recess duty to come over.

By the end of the day, Dash was suspended and Sam had made two lifelong friends.

-

“But Saaaaaam,” Danny whined, “why do we have to go the long way to the park?”

“Yea, Saaaam whyyy, my feet already hurt from PE today,” Tucker said, a few steps behind the other two.

“Because I said so,” Sam rolled her eyes.  “It’s nice out today - why wouldn’t we take advantage of it?”

Danny slowed down to settle beside Tucker and stage whispered, “I think this is payback for painting the inside of her locker pink.”

“No.”  Tucker solemnly said.  “She’s just trying to kill us.”

Danny nodded, “Aaah, that makes sense.  Do you think she’ll at least pay our funeral expenses?”

Tucker snorted, “She should at least pay for our coffin lining.  I’m thinking light blue.  Sam, what do you think?  Light blue?  Or should you do green for me?”

Sam rolled her eyes and turned around to walk backwards to talk to them, “I think you two are melodramatic and insufferable.”

The boys laughed at her, seeing the uptick of her mouth.  They walked a little faster.  Sam turned back around right before Tucker slung an arm around her shoulders as they fell in step with her. “So, a bottom of the line white?” Tucker asked.

Danny gasped, “And here I thought Sam wasn’t like those, quote, ‘basic bitches’.”  The boys cackled as Sam shrugged Tucker’s arm off with a huff.

“First – I called them shallow.  Second, I would at least spring for a black lining.  If I can’t convince you two to go goth in life, I’ll have to make it happen in death.”  Sam held her head up in mock snootiness before side eyeing Danny and laughing at his grimace.  They made it to the park walking past the people walking dogs and others playing with young kids to the far end.  The trees started to get dense and the park area slowly transitioned into proper woods.  They could hear birds quieting down as they pushed aside branches and went through some bushes.  A slight breeze pushed through their group as they came upon the dry creek.  Stepping on the large stones in the creek bed, they made their way across to a fallen tree on the other side.  Tucker and Danny let out twin groans of relief at being able to plop down.  Sam made a face at their antics and took the seat in between them.

“So,” Sam started.  She refused to look at either one.

The chirping of the birds started up again.  Danny shifted his foot around at the dirt under his shoe, looking up at the sky.  Tucker took off his glasses to clean them off on his shirt.  After putting them back on, Tucker raised an eyebrow, “So?”

Sam laughed sheepishly, “I forgot.”

“What?!” Danny blurted out, taking his eyes off the clouds to look at her.

“Yea! What?! You’re the one who wanted to take us out here today!” Tucker added on.

“We could be at home playing DOOMED, ignoring our homework, instead of out here, tired, overheated, and ignoring our homework,” Danny said.

“That’s it then, I guess I’ll have to take out my homework and have you help me.”  Tucker paused hopefully.  “Unless you suddenly remember?”

Sam furrowed her eyebrows, looking down, “No.  Let’s do our homework.”  She unzipped her spider backpack to pull out her binder.

Danny looked behind Sam’s back at Tucker mouthing, “Are you serious?!?”

Tucker widened his eyes, shrugging and shaking his head towards Sam, “Sorry?!?!”.

Sam sat up with her binder and pencil, cutting their silent back and forth short.  “Alright.  Is it going to be English or History?"  She looked at Tucker, down at his untouched backpack, and then back up.  “Seriously?”  A signature Sam frown was gifted upon him.  “You were the one to suggest this.  Hurry up.  As soon as I’m done, I’m leaving you two behind in the woods.”  At the thought of having to walk back by themselves, Danny and Tucker scrambled to get their backpacks open and homework out.  Sam smiled a little.  As much as she loved these moments, she was already mourning their end.

Prompt: You can see visions of the future, but you learned long ago to keep them to yourself. Now, you have to speak up or risk losing everything you love. Source: https://prowritingaid.com/fiction-writing-prompts

The Fate of the Dead - Chapter 1 - J_Bee - Danny Phantom [Archive of Our Own]

[amethystpath-writes]

To Traitors

NOT A PR0MPT

******

"The general wants to send me to your homeland."

"For war?"

Villain hummed. "We knew it was coming."

"Of course." Hero shook her head and pushed a shirt further into the bucket of water. She bent it and twisted it and shoved it again. "How did she react when you told her 'no'?"

That was the thing; Villain didn't deny the general. No one denied the general.

Hero picked up on the silence. She always did. “Where does that leave us?”

A choice.

War?

Or her?

“You know this decision is not mine.”

"Sure, it is. I always wanted to travel- try camping."

Camping. Hero knew rejecting orders would be considered traitorous. She would rather be homeless and shunned than to standby while her homeland was being attacked.

"Hero..."

"Is that something you are not willing to do?" Her movements became rushed, like she was trying to maintain a calm, but the only way to do so was to move along with the emotions. She grabbed a shirt, dunked it, rung it, tossed it. Grab, dunk, ring. Grab, dunk, ring. They weren't even becoming clean, and the water needed changed. "My family is there. Where are they meant to go?"

"Even if I did tell the general no, I cannot stop an entire army from marching. The war will happen with or without me."

A sigh veiled the tension in the room. Villain's weight creaked beneath him as he stepped towards his lover. He took a linen shirt, wet and soaked, from her hands, and dropped it in the brown water. He found her hands next, then tugged her up slightly. She took the cue and stood, let herself be held.

"I love you," Villain said.

Hero didn't like crying. This is why Villain began rubbing her back as he pulled her into an embrace. She buried her face into his chest and sniffed once, twice...wiped a face full of tears, sniffed again...stopped, then began sobbing. No amount of squeezing could console the thought of her family being innocently slaughtered.

"You would hide them, wouldn't you? If you found them, you would save them?"

His grip loosened. He whispered, “Of course I would.” Did Hero know it might have been a lie? Even Villain wasn't sure what he would do when the time came that he marched onto her homeland.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"Then I'm leaving now." She attempted to pull away from Villain's chest, but he held her firmly. Her muscles tensed beneath him, but Villain knew she knew better than to try again.

"Hero, be level-headed.

"I want to warn them," she whispered, so quietly that Villain only knew what she said because of how well he knew her. He knew her every thought before she even had it herself. It wasn't magic; just love.

"And you think you will outrun an entire army overnight?"

"I know I won't!" her tone had changed, and this time when she pulled away, she didn't stop until Villain let her go. "But who am I to not try at all? Who would I be, Villain?" Her face was red and swollen, glistening with sad, then angry tears.

For a moment, she stopped. She took a breath. then swallowed as if she needed to stop herself from asking what obviously came to her mind. Alas, she said it. "How long have you known?" Her voice cracked, and Villain could see she already knew the answer: longer than he should have known before telling her.

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't ask for an apology." Her eyes refused to meet his. Villain was almost glad for it. He couldn't bear her anger, not when it was directed at him. "I asked how long you have known."

"Hero..."

"Clean your own damn clothes. I'll pay the Baker family back when I return."

"Pay them back? For w-" No. "You're not taking their horse." Hero was already scrounging around, first grabbing a raggedy sack, then stuffing one random item after another in. "Hero, stop. Hero-" She was going to take the neighbor's horse just to get caught up in the war herself. "Stop!"

She fell to her knees in the next moment. Broke down as if his voice took out the last support beam keeping the house together. hero cried, screamed, and wailed. "No. No. No. No. No," she repeated, and her voice broke time and time again as she screamed.

Tears sprung into Villain's eyes. What did he do?

"I'll send a bird. It will arrive before our army does, and when they receive it, they will know to leave."

Hero's head lifted, and her puffy eyes finally met Villain's glistening ones. "I will prepare beds. We have pelts; I can throw something together, and my brother can take-"

One blow after another, each and every passing moment. Just when Villain thought all might be well, the both of them realized there was no saving anyone. The war was an ambush, and Hero's brother would be expected to take a stand, to protect his own homeland.

"I won't-" Villain swallowed. "I won't harm your family. I will send the bird, and I will pray with every moment of travel that they receive it and leave. I will not draw my sword until I find their home empty, until I am sure they have left."

"You would be a traitor to your own kingdom."

"Better it this kingdom than you."

[hidey-writes]

six sentence sunday

Under Gu Yiran’s hands, the chicken van bumps along the uneven road like a living thing, and he tightens his grip against it. Beside him in the passenger seat, Zheng Bei stares out the side window in silence. Gu Yiran had made Zhao Xiaoguang show him the map, during one of the endless waiting afternoons in the hospital when Zheng Bei wasn’t there. He’d reached out to trace the circled spots, all three, the sleeve of his hospital shirt catching against the edge of the paper as Zhao Xiaoguang said, Ge wanted us to check all of them, even though he was pretty sure you could only be here, pointing. A cluster of rectangles marking the abandoned crematory buildings north of Halan. Zhao Xiaoguang had left a fingerprint smear of grease along the entry road, right where it ran along the train tracks.

another snippet from the start of ch5! it feels so weird to be back to down drafting now that ch1-4 have shifted the story so far from the original final chapter outline that literally none of the draft material is appropriate anymore lol but it's really enjoyable to just sit and type the most medium sentences in the world without having to do any higher-level thinking about pacing or subtext or anything :) brain off drafting my beloved :)

[foundfamilymylove]

Imagine the chaos if the people in the indignity test suddenly came into the LCF world-

Dodam calling Cale 'the terrible bastard' while everyone is confused

Raon is happy knowing that even in another world, his human will always save him, just like he promised

Maybe even them fighting for Cale's attention

Both CHs look at each other warily but bond over the confusion that is known as Cale Henituse. Also, CH promises to teach indignity test CH how to become stronger to protect his new-found family. Cale is scared at this, as always

Alver laughing with a refreshed smile, while the younger him wonders if he's gone crazy when he sees how much paperwork he has.

Tiny Alver being happy when he sees that the dark elves, and them too, have been accepted by people. It only reaffirms the fact that he didn't make the wrong choice.

Baby KRS who is wary at first and sticks to CH like glue, however soon opens up with the help of the children. I can imagine Alver going 'Aigoo, why can't I have such a cute dongsaeng?'

However it's ruined when they teach baby KRS how to scam with a bright smile to get money (a critical hit to Alver)

(If you want angst then they wonder why KRS is here when he's so young, however they see how skinny he is still, his footsteps too quiet to not have been learned, the way his eyes were always looking for escapes and he hated people getting too close. The way he dissociates sometimes, just staring blankly at the wall. It's... unnerving, to say the least, to watch a child go so blank and unmoving.

It's clear that something terrible had happened, but both CH, KRS and Cale (to Alver) hold their silence, so all they can do is treat him with care.)

Tiny KRS and the children bonding.

Raon being taught by Eruhaben and Rosalyn.

If they still had the cintamani, maybe they could also dote on baby KRS and how cute he was as a kid, asking 20yr KRS why couldn't he smile at them like that and how such a cute kid turned into such a grump- (tsundere-

Them helping each other out for the future, and sharing concepts/ideas from their worlds.

Vicross having to babysit but he doesn't mind

Ron noticing the similarities between KRS and Cale and deciding to pay more attention to the two of them

Anyways, wow. This got way longer than I expected-

[suspensefulpen]

Unconscious

TW: Creepy/Intimate Carewhumper, Implied Gaslighting

Emory stirred, flinching at the pained sensations across his body. Adjusting his eyes to the bright lighting above him, he noticed a face in his peripheral. When the room stopped blurring, he recognized the face as Athena. She looked concerned as she watched him carefully. It took him a moment to realize that she was holding him in her arms. 

He attempted to push himself into a sitting position. 

“No no no! Rest!” 

Reluctantly, he obeyed and returned to his relaxed position in her arms despite not wanting to. He shivered. “My head hurts… really bad. And my throat hurts too. What happened?” 

“You nearly bumped your head, Emy.” She said worriedly. “You were about to leave when you lost consciousness. I had to rush and catch you so you wouldn’t get hurt.” 

“I lost consciousness…” He echoed, once again attempting to sit up only to be stopped by her hand on his chest. “But how? Why–” 

“I’m not sure Darling but I’m glad that you’re awake.” Athena smiled softly. For some reason, that smile felt oddly comforting to see after weeks of seeing it as a threat. What if she was just playing the savior so Emory would let his guard down? After all, he has more than enough reason to believe that she could’ve had something to do with it happening in the first place. 

“It might be time to leave now.” She continued. “I’ll have your doctor check you over tomorrow. For now, we need to get you down the stairs so we can get back home.” 

Oh right, they were at this cursed party Athena had dragged him to. Emory began to once again question his safety. Now more than he did before he lost consciousness. 

Why couldn’t he just remember what happened? He could only remember walking down the hallway. When did he come to this room? How long had he been in this room? How long had he been unconscious? More importantly, why? 

“Listen, don’t think about it too much, okay Emy?” She said tilting his chin up, making eye contact with him. “Let’s just get you safely downstairs so we can go home, okay?” 

With no other choice, he nodded and allowed her to usher him to the car as she smiled and waved everyone off as she went.

[yasmeensh]

Paleolithic Media Catalogue

Hello everyone :) Short story first: When I began brainstorming for my prehistoric story, I started wondering what other prehistoric fiction there is out there. I was not familiar with it and have not seen much. That's when I started my grand literature review and began a search for what fiction exist out there. I wanted to know what kinds of stories are being made with this time period. What are the common themes or recurring ideas (I found lots of humans and dinosaurs works. And time travel). Since I've had a growing collection on my computer, I decided I should keep on enlarging it and put it online. It's nowhere near complete. I'll slowly keep accumulating the collection as I find more. I only have fiction books and comics right now. I still need to work on the film section.

You can access the blog here!

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As for where I am in my reading, the one's I've finished reading are Earth's Children series (book 1-4. Dropped it afterwards lol. I made a post on with fanart) Dance of the Tiger and it's sequel Singletusk (They were good! I'll upload my review on the blog), and Sisters of the Wolf (It was ok!). I got my hands on The Inheritors and excited to start reading it. I REALLY want to read the Shiva trilogy, but I found no PDF online... and it's out of print :( There is certainly old copies on ebay. And I want to read Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. There seem to be lots of good books out there.

[vaguely-concerned]

more experimenting with animation! under the creed of being the kind of stupidly artistically self-indulgent you want to see in the world, this is based on the opening of the first fic in my ever-fixed mark 'verse lol. I think my favourite part ended up being managing to capture at least some of blue's 'if not for the maddening physical realities of this my puny mortal form I would rip your chest open with my teeth and eat your heart dripping and raw in the marketplace you motherkriffer (psychosexual and unexaminedly horny undertones)' vibes, to contrast against zero's 'once I've explained to him the context behind my seeming sudden but inevitable betrayal the wedding is back on!!' nervous bridegroom energy