#terrible shadow practise

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓

summary: the plan was to spend a chill movie night at the castle but when was the last time anything went according to plan in the devildom?

pairing: dragon! barbatos x afab reader (gn/no pronouns used)

warnings: nsfw/ minors dni, dragon! barbatos, dom! barbs , aphrodisiac spit (idc if i made it up, deal with it), double penetration, two cocks, monster + tail fucking, breeding kink, oviposition, cream pie, pool sex, marking, a little bit of possessiveness (as a treat)

a/n: this is part of a low-key collab between @majoliish and me (aka we worked off the same setting and then branched off); i will update this with the link to his fic once he posts dia's part ♡

obey me! masterlist

The golden gates of the Demon Lord’s Castle swung open, revealing the grand hallway leading you inside. Awaiting you was, of course, none other than the royal butler, Barbatos. You couldn’t help the grin spreading on your lips as you skipped up the last steps to meet him, grateful for the warmth radiating against the frigid night air. 

“Good evening,” Barbatos greeted, slightly bowing, despite how often you told him not to. “It is most fortunate you could meet the Young Master and I for our Halloween movie night. As you are aware, the Young Master wished to spend the night before his grand birthday party learning more about human culture, so we appreciate you making the time for us.”

“No need to make it so formal, Barbatos, you know I’ve been looking forward to seeing you guys. You’re always terribly busy after all,” you laughed as he led you inside. The castle was lit entirely with candles tonight, making your shadows flicker as you walked.

“You are no better in that regard, always trying to reign in those brothers. It cannot be easy either.” When you entered what in other houses might be considered the living room, the smell of buttery popcorn, pumpkin spice and baked goods filled your senses.

“Wow, Barbs, speaking of busy, how many hours did you slave away in the kitchen for this?” You breathed in deeply, savouring the delicious aroma. “I can’t wait to ruin all your hard work by eating it. It smells divine.” 

“Oh please, this was nothing. There  would be no better compliment than enjoying yourself.” With practised ease, Barbatos helped you out of your coat, taking in the costume you were pulling at nervously with his malachite eyes studying you. “I must say, you look lovely tonight, as always. Though I’m afraid to say it is not fear my heart is shaking with.” 

“Thanks,” you stammered out, one hand bashfully rubbing your neck. 

You took this opportunity to take in Barbatos’s appearance as well. On first glance, his costume would pass for an ordinary demon form, however, his normally delicate looking horns had been replaced with ones growing backwards, branching out like sleek corals, and his ears had elongated into translucent fins. Different hues of blue and teal draped around him, the silky texture of his clothes shimmering with every motion and reminding you of the ocean.

Patches of scales were visible on his cheeks and collarbones, shimmering different shades of turquoise and aquamarine as he moved. As a nice surprise he had also removed the gloves he’d usually wear, showcasing claws that looked sharp and were probably sharper. Most intriguing of all, however, was the scaled tail swishing under layers of flowy, wave-like fabric. While it resembled his demon form in colour, the texture was completely different and it reached way further than normal.

“Wow, Barbatos, you look amazing,” you said, in awe at his graceful appearance. He was already a fascinating demon under normal circumstances but on this night it was hard to tear your eyes away from him. 

“Your high praise is ever so delightful, I shall remember it.” Again he bowed politely, the gesture smooth and elegant. “The Young Master and I have settled on the theme of dragons, though we both directed our focus on different kinds. As you can see, I have taken on the appearance of an aquatic dragon.”

Speaking of Diavolo, he met up with you shortly after, sporting a red and golden costume that played into his already dragon-like features and made him look even more impressive than usual. But in typical Diavolo fashion he was nothing but sweet as he greeted you, his joyful laughter bouncing off the wall as he gladly shared his excitement with you.

“Oh right, I almost forgot! I brought some snacks too!” You pulled various treats from your bag, some of them procured from the Human Realm with Solomon’s help but also a pack of chocolates Asmo had given you. “I know they don’t compare to Barbatos’s creations but I didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

“No, this is great!” Diavolo grinned, inspecting the candies from your world. “The purpose of this get-together is to learn about your culture after all.”

“Indeed, these provide a most valuable insight.” Quickly transferring them into various bowls, Barbatos set them up on the table in front of the biggest TV you had ever seen, before turning back to the two of you. “Shall we begin our movie night then?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for tight?” You laughed as you settled on the couch, Diavolo and Barbatos on each side of you. With a flick of his hand, Barbatos dimmed the flicker of the candles to a dim light, creating the kind of spooky atmosphere expected of a Halloween movie night.

It was nice to see some classic films from your world while trying everything laid out in front of you. Obviously Barbatos’s baking tasted even better than it smelled and you could have eaten every last piece of it, but the chocolates you brought were pretty decent as well, your companions agreeing.

All in all, it was just the kind of relaxing night you didn’t get often around here and which you desperately needed.

Half-way through your second film, you’d noticed Barbatos shift rather often, which was unusual for someone as composed as him, to say the least. He’d assured you everything was alright, that it was just the unfamiliar attire that took some getting used to. Still a little sceptical, you turned back to the movie and tried to trust his judgement.

The heat radiating from both sides was getting harder to justify by the two just being demons and your concerns were proven right when Barbatos, of all demons, excused himself and took an awful amount of time just to never come back.

You apologised to the prince as you got up to search for the butler yourself. Something was definitely wrong and if there was someone who was predestined to uncover it, it would be you. The only problem: the castle was huge and Barbatos was more skilled at appearing and disappearing wherever and whenever he liked.

The halls were eerily silent, making your steps echo loudly in your ears despite the plush carpets. Every few metres you looked over your shoulder when the flicker of your own shadow or the branches moving outside the window caught your attention from the corner of your eye. Whenever a particularly strong gust of wind howled and rattled the windows, your steps hastened just a little bit.

When you had already opened just about every door and checked every room you came across, you were about to give up. Clearly, Barbatos didn’t want to be found, so what were the chances that you could?

You pushed open the heavy door to the palace pools, inhaling the distinguishing smell associated with pools and feeling the humidity in the air. The moon was full and high in the sky as it shone its silver light through the round centre of the all-glass window front and the waves broke the light, reflecting a hypnotising pattern onto the walls.

It might have gone unnoticed under the moonlight but a splash in the water alerted you to the presence in the room. There, in the centre of the pool, teal hair floated through the water, the long flowy fabric of Barbatos’s costume moving around him like the iridescent tentacles of a jellyfish.

“Barbatos!” You exclaimed, already at the edge of the pool by the time his name fully left your lips. Of course, his attention was already on you; he never could have missed you entering the room. “There you are! I was so worried, you know. But it’s an odd time to take a dip… not that I’m judging you or anything.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” the demon chuckled, a low and melodic sound that had your heart melting. “Although I assure you I would not be here if it was not strictly necessary to my predicament.”

“Your predicament?” You questioned, squatting down to be closer to him. “What’s going on? Are you ill or something?”

“Your concern warms my heart, truly,” he smiled. From up close you could see the scales that looked so realistic glistening with the water drops that dripped from his hair. In the moonlight they looked like they were made of precious gemstones and you couldn’t help but think how good he looked like this. Extending a courteous hand to you, his stunning eyes found yours. “Why don’t you join me and I'll show you what I mean? I promise there’s nothing dangerous about it.”

Without hesitating you put your hand in his, fully trusting him. Then you realised how detailed his costume was. You hadn’t noticed earlier but the colour of his teal nails extended onto his fingers as well, right about to the second knuckle, contrasting the translucent webbing spanning between his fingers. 

Then he pulled you into the water and steadied you by the waist when you jumped because of the chill. You could feel his claws digging into your hips through the wet clothes sticking to your skin. But you hardly had time to think about it as you were already drifting through the water, securely held in Barbatos’s grip, who was cutting through the water as if it was nothing. Sure, he always looked effortless but it was as if he didn’t even need to move his legs.

That was when you felt it. Amongst the tingling sensation of his silky attire wafting around your legs, something strong and scaly brushed against your calf. You of course saw the tail earlier but it was just a costume, surely it shouldn’t be this functional… or this long.

“You seem rather speechless, what is the matter?” Spinning you around as you came to a stop, his chest pressed against your back, your hand still in his grasp. His voice was low as his lips rested near your ear, the vibrations of his voice travelling down your spine. “Imagine my surprise when I found out I had turned into the very thing I was masquerading as this entire evening.”

“W-What?” You stuttered, trying to wrap your head around this new piece of information as Barbatos’s lips attached themselves to the skin behind your ear. “You turned into a dragon? How?”

“Because of you, my dear. Or rather, because of those chocolates you brought. An accident perhaps,” he muttered as his mouth travelled down the side of your neck and lavished the juncture where your neck met your shoulder with attention. “Or perhaps you knew full-well of the effects it had and it was a deliberate move on your part? No matter what is the case, are you ready to face the consequences of the situation you have put me in?”

“The consequences?” You airily asked, focusing on keeping your thoughts in line as Barbatos leaned over you and started trailing kisses all over your jaw. The hand that was on your waist all this time had moved to hold the other side of your face, angling your head the way he pleased. This dominant side of Barbatos made you thank the stars that your knees couldn’t buckle as you melted into his hold.

“Looking at you, I’m certain you are already aware,” the demon said, though he still pressed his hips into your backside for emphasis. The feeling of the big bulge straining against his clothes had you stifling a moan by biting your bottom lip. “If I may be so bold to read your reaction, you want this too, do you not? If not, you should voice it now as I can feel my self-restraint slipping.”

There was no denying it, you had been dreaming of having Barbatos like this since you had gotten to know him. Something about the butler had captivated you and your interest had only grown the more time you spent around him. And though you would never admit it, the image of his skilled fingers doing other things than preparing tea had filled your mind on more nights than one. Even if he wasn’t completely himself right now, you would not be idiotic enough to pass up this chance.

“Barbatos, please,” you all but whimpered, trying to grind your hips back against him in the water, your fingers grazing over the fin on his ear as you reached back for him. His groan sounded like music to your ears and you could feel the arousal starting to pool below your navel. 

“What are you pleading for, my dear?” Barbatos whispered, his lips almost brushing yours now as he pulled you even closer to him. “What are you thinking of? Tell me, so I can make it become reality.”

“Please touch me, Barbatos,” you begged, aware how needy you sounded when he hadn’t even done anything yet. “I need you to.”

“As you wish,” he approved before slotting his lips against yours. They were slippery from the water but still pillowy-soft and soon you were humming against them. As if to swallow your noises, Barbatos parted his mouth and you felt a split tongue flick against the seam of your lips.

You easily granted him access, allowing him to tangle his tongue with yours but you had underestimated his transformation, which granted him an inhumanly long appendage to map your mouth out with. Occasionally, your tongue would bump into the tip of one of his fangs and it sent a shiver down your spine. When you parted to allow oxygen back into your lungs, rather than water, it was your shared saliva coating his lips and connecting you both by a string.

“So soft and obedient…” Babatos groaned as he nipped at your shoulder, sharp fangs grazing the skin but not breaking it. Turning you to face him, he encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist as he moved you through the pool again. “No wonder demons fall for humans’ temptations so easily. You make it incredibly difficult to control myself.”

Shortly thereafter, the edge of the pool dug into your back as your demon started working on freeing your body from your costume. Uncharacteristically enough, instead of meticulously peeling you out of it, the loud sound of ripped fabric could be heard over the rippling water. Whatever was left of your clothes was carelessly tossed somewhere onto the floor, Barbatos too busy licking and sucking all over your collarbones and chest to care.

As you were stripped bare piece by piece for his eyes to drink up, you rolled your head back when his tongue literally wrapped around one of your pebbled nipples, making you gasp. Threading your hand into his teal locks, you gave them a harsh tug when his mouth closed fully around your areola, no doubt leaving a red ring of imprints around it. To keep you steady as your back arched into his touch, you felt pinpricks of his claws digging into your hips, the pain making you moan out in lust. 

Seemingly drawn in by the noise and determined to coax more of them from you, Barbatos connected your lips again in an open mouthed kiss that felt filthier than the first one as he crowded you against the edge of the pool, pressing his hips into your swivelling ones. The more he kissed you the foggier your mind became, slick starting to ruin your underwear which was clinging to your folds. It also loosened your inhibitions, having you moan freely and making you beg without shame as long as he touched you.

“You are truly magnificent,” he whispered as if it was something only deemed fit for your ears to hear. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his wandering fingers, claws grazing your skin as light as feathers, the ghost of his touch spreading across your entire body. “The finest works of art do not compare to you. It’s my deepest pleasure to have you all to myself and leave my mark on your beauty.”

“More, please, more,” you whimpered and Barbatos would be a fool not to give you exactly what you wanted when you were giving yourself to him so freely.

“Such a good human, already begging me so sweetly,” he crooned against your temple, water droplets from his hair landing on your feverish skin. With a quick swipe of his claws, the restricting fabric of your bottoms and underwear fell away and you sighed at the cool sensation of the water enveloping your heat. “Anything for you.”

You felt weightless as Barbatos lifted you out of the water to settle you on the edge, then swam closer to take his rightful place between your legs. Even if you wanted to close them out of embarrassment, you couldn’t, not with his strong, webbed hands keeping you spread wide open for him as his nails dimpled the fat of your thighs. To steady yourself and avoid keeling over, your fingers found their way back into his hair, this time grabbing hold of the base of his horn.

The tips of his tongue flicked around the inside of your thighs, gradually wandering closer to where you wanted him most but in your opinion he was needlessly drawing it out. By now, your muscles were twitching in need at his sweet torture and your fingers tightened around his horn. In return, a sharp nip into the inside of your thigh jerked your hips and heat shot through your veins.

“Patience, my dear,” he reprimanded, eyes sharp as he looked up at you. You could see his tail flick behind him, the fin and tapered tip breaking the surface of the water every now and then. “I need to prepare you well for what’s to come or you’ll struggle to take all of me.”

In response, you clenched around nothing, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the dragon in front of you. His eyes attentively tracked the way your slick gathered on his fingers as he carefully ran a digit through your slit, careful not to nick you with his claws. Your entire being seized up when he put pressure on your neglected clit which only started pulsing more intensely under his treatment.

The tongue you had grown to love slipped past his lips and lapped your arousal from his own digits making him sigh. “You already smelled delicious but you taste so much more exquisite. I have to get a proper taste if you offer something so sweet to me.”

Just from watching him, an embarrassing amount of slick had started to soil the tiles you were sitting on and you couldn’t remember ever being this worked up before. So it felt like heaven when Barbatos’s tongue finally came into contact with the sensitive skin around your core. For a moment you thought he’d tease you further but he decided to be merciful and drag the appendage through the length of your slit, the tip pressing down on your clit after the delightful reaction you had shown him earlier.

If you thought the butler was already skilled with his fingers you had severely underestimated his oral capabilities. When he’d drenched your core in his spit to his satisfaction, your folds even more susceptible to his every touch now, he wasted no more time diving into your heat.

“Barbatos!” Your gasp of his name echoed around the otherwise empty pool area and you gripped the tiled edge for dear life. The length of his flexible tongue allowed him to easily map out your body and find every last sensitive spot of your velvety walls. “So good! Don’t stop, please!”

Spurred on by your praise, one hand reached up to circle your clit, the movement fast and precise and you simultaneously pushed your hips forward and his head closer to you. Peering down through your lashes with half-lidded eyes, you saw that his striking eyes were already on your face and the sight of him between your legs, his clothing fanned out around him and his scales shimmering under the surface, was almost enough to push you over the edge.

By now, your entire being was so sensitive, the faintest of movements had you twitching and clamping down on his tongue. You didn’t know what was up with you and you didn’t think about it further, the only thought in your head being how much you wanted to cum. 

“You’re almost there aren’t you?” He gently coaxed and was satisfied by the melody of your broken moans mixed with syllables of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of nectars. Barely parting from you to speak, his hot breath fanned your lower lips as the pads of his fingers continued the assault on your clit. “Be a good human and show me how well you can cream all over my tongue. I know you want to, so go ahead and give me all of you.”

As if your body had only waited for his approval, you did as you were told and came with a high-pitched moan of his name. Without realising it, you were white-knuckling both the tiles and Barbatos’s hair as pleasure coursed through your veins and pulled you under the waves of ecstasy. Said demon didn’t seem to mind though, instead just diligently keeping up the sinful caress of his fingers until you were trembling in overstimulation like a leaf on a lake. 

When you pushed him away from you, his hands settled on the curve of your hips and gently lifted you back into the water with him, carrying your entire weight as you rested against his chest, relaxing into the hypnotic sensation of his hands wandering all over you and massaging your tired thighs.

“As much as I’d love to let you rest, I’m afraid we are far from done,” he whispered, lovingly kissing the crown of your head, actions betraying his words. The hands that had lovingly taken care of you, wandered to your butt and kneaded the flesh there, all the while grinding his hard erection against you. “This was just the beginning of the pleasure I can show you, after all.”

Finally discarding his clothing as well, he revealed his flawless skin which shined like silver in the moonlight. You slung your arms around his neck as Barbatos curled his heavy tail around your middle, keeping you flush against him so he could grind his hard cock against your soaked folds and coat himself in your release. And suddenly you understood why his bulge had felt so big against you earlier.

Instead of one, two heads kept bumping into your clit.

“Barbatos, I don’t think I can–”

Before you could finish your sentence, your doubts were silenced by his lips on yours and slowly the fear of pain was replaced by the anticipation of a delicious stretch and the feeling of being fuller than you’ve ever felt. 

“Don’t worry, my love,” Barbatos spoke through the mist clouding your brain as he hiked you higher on his waist and wrapped your legs around him, “I won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure you’ll take all of me and that you’ll beg for it.”

You squeezed his hips between your thighs as you sighed into the crook of his neck. “Who knew that you had such a dirty mouth on you under that prim and proper façade?” 

“It is hardly a façade, merely the proper etiquette expected of me by my position.” The end of his sentence already trailed off into a groan as the mushroom head of his bottom cock breached the tight ring of muscles with ease, the stretch facilitated by how worked up you were. Though, the foreign oversensitivity you were experiencing on this night had you clenching hard around him and enveloping every prominent vein. “Under these circumstances, however, it is natural I’ve been released from my royal duties. So right now I’m just the demon Barbatos.”

“You’re always you to me,” you whimpered through the pressure building in your abdomen. “Never just a position, always yourself.”

“No, if I were myself around you,” he bottomed out slowly as you panted against his collarbones while trying to get used to his girth, “I would have given into my urges and made you mine already; would have had you writhing underneath me far earlier than it would be appropriate.”

At his confession, fiery passion blazed through your nerves as you remembered how often you had fantasised about him on quiet nights. To find out he felt the same way made you crave him more, your hand clawing at his shoulder as you did your best to swivel your hips even if all your muscles seemingly turned to jelly with him filling you so deliciously. 

“And I would have let you,” your own admittance was quiet against the heartbeat pulsing in your ears but Barbatos heard you clearly. The sound he let out was the most animalistic yet, barely human anymore and it shot straight between your legs. “Move and– And you can have me any way you want now…”

“All this time spent in the Devildom and you still don’t know when you’re getting yourself in trouble,” Barbatos’s jaw clenched as he slowly pulled out of you, making you feel every vein and ridge against your walls, until only his tip remained inside of you. Then, without warning, he thrust as deep as he could, pulling you back down simultaneously. “You need to watch what you’re saying to a demon such as myself.”

The slow pace he set at the beginning was quickly abandoned in favour of pounding into you, almost using you like a toy with how easily he moved you up and down on him to meet his thrusts. Nevertheless, he never lost his ability to hit your most pleasurable spots dead on, not that he could really miss them with his girth. 

Vaguely, you registered his tail winding around you but you didn’t realise his intentions until something scaly was catching some of your arousal before poking your other hole, making you gasp out his name. Then, his mouth was on yours again and it became harder to hold on to lucidity the more you swallowed around his tongue, your speech becoming even more incoherently slurred as pure lust swirled in your belly.

“It’ll be alright, you can take it. You just need to relax for me,” Barbatos whispered. At this point you didn’t think you had control over your body anymore, instead having your strings pulled by the demon whose arms you were held in. His tail wriggled in further and further, through the thrusts that hadn’t ceased alone, and the pressure against your walls from both sides wound the knot in your stomach impossibly tighter. “There we go, you’re taking it so well. Almost as if you were made for me.”

Somewhere in your mind, you agreed. With the way he was moulding your insides to the shape of his dick you were positive he was currently ruining you for any other man. As your head rolled to the side, you barred the expanse of your neck to him and Barbatos gladly took the invitation to leave more evidence of this night behind, every kiss and lick searing hot against your already feaverish skin.

Just when you thought the pleasure would finally drive you to insanity, Barbatos angled his hips in a particular way and struck gold by having his second dick apply pressure on your clit, immediately drowning you in another orgasm that left you gasping for air. The day after, there’d be vicious red marks decorating his back but neither of you cared right now as you spasmed in his arms, your muscles no longer listening to you. 

Vision hazy, you barely registered the texture of the tiles underneath your torso until your cheek squished against them. Your legs were still submerged as Barbatos repositioned himself behind you. Spreading your ass with his webbed hands, he watched as your glistening holes twitched against the newfound emptiness before he gave you what you were missing.

“I can’t believe you’re still so tight,” he groaned, cursing under his breath as he lined up both of his cocks and bottomed out until his balls slapped against your clit in one smooth trust. The upper one of his dicks wasn’t quite as girthy but still filled you up deliciously until you couldn’t anymore if the stars you were seeing were the real ones behind the window. 

“You look so beautiful, all splayed out for me. And I’m certain you’ll look even more enchanting carrying my clutch,” Barbatos panted, the strain from fucking your brain out finally getting to him as well. “Such a waste that they won’t take like this. You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you? To carry my eggs around? Oh dear, I can feel you clamping down on me… We’ll leave that for next time, I suppose.”

Only half of what he was saying was registering in your mind but the low, rich timbre of his voice had your own moans rising in cadence and pitch, creating the most sinful symphony. The rhythm of his hips, however, started to falter as the pulsing of your warm walls coaxed him to the peak as well.

Your breasts rubbed against the cold tiles with every thrust, the difference in texture and temperature adding to the stimulation. Despite not being able to see it, you could hear the splash of his tail behind him followed by stray water drops landing on your back. Snaking his hand between your legs, you guessed he truly tried to drive you mad with pleasure as he leaned over you with stuttering hips.

“Barbatos–,” you downright sobbed in warning, “I’m so close.”

“I’m almost there too, just keep sucking me in like this… That’s a good darling,” he groaned out before his fangs sunk into your shoulder.

If you thought you felt full before, you weren’t prepared for the sensation of the first egg being pushed inside of you. You could feel the bottom shaft swell with the oval shape as your muscles stretched further to accommodate for the size. It reminded you of the first time his tip had spread you open, only ten times as intense.

Just when the first one slipped through your tight opening, you came. Hard. And it wouldn’t stop, prolonged by several more of his eggs nestling inside of you. At the same time, your other hole was stuffed to the brim with hot strings of white, leaving you to feel completely stuffed. 

By the time Barbatos pulled out of you, you were still left gasping for air, dripping cum and slick and trembling against the edge of the pool. After admiring the sight in front of him for a little longer, he gently pulled you back against him, letting himself drift backwards in the water. With your back resting against his chest, it was easy for Barbatos to knead the knots out of your sore thighs, hands wandering to stroke over your belly every now and then. Lovingly, he kissed the top of your head as you clung to lucidity, his tail curling around the length of one of your legs. 

“You did so well for me,” he reassured you, stroking along your arms. “And do not fret about the eggs. Since they won’t take like this, they’ll just come back out. Of course, I’ll be there to help you through it. Though I was quite right, you look positively enthralling carrying my clutch.”

“Well, getting to this point felt amazing as well, though I doubt I’ll be moving a single muscle tomorrow,” you admitted, making a chuckle rumble in his chest. Sighing as you shifted in his hold you added, “Guess I’m not so upset I accidentally fed you some magic chocolate if it gave you two dicks. I’ll still get Asmo for it though.”

“Please do.” You could hear the smile in his voice as his fingers traced your body. “Though I must correct you: It was not the transformation that gave me this anatomy.”

“Wait, you always–”, you gulped.

“Naturally. However else could I have promised you to breed you properly in the future?” The teasing tone hiding behind his polite demeanour and closed-eyed- smile did not go unnoticed by you. “That is, of course, if you are willing to help me understand the human body even better.”

“I- I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you answered bashfully.

“Splendid. Now then, given the nature of the candies I suppose the effect should wear off when Halloween night ends,” Barbatos cleared your next question before you even posed it. “Judging by how high the moon still stands, it appears we still have plenty of time.

“Perhaps we should test your stamina next while we see how many clutches you can carry?”

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[ceruleancattail]

Masterlist:

Aus:

-butler au

-Nightfall au

Heartsabyul:

-Guitar Practise with Cay Cay! (Cater Diamond x reader) 🔹

-Heartsabyul as Butlers🔹

-Helping Ace with his Makeup (Ace x reader)🔹

-How he Loves you (Ace x reader)🔹

-Trey at the gashapons🔹

-How he Loves you (Deuce x reader)🔹

-Eyes on Me (Cater x reader)♦️

-kissing headcanons (Ace x reader, Trey x reader)🔷

-Deity Trey🔷

-Just wanna hold your hand ( Cater x reader )🔷

-Cater in Octavinelle (Cater x reader)🔷

-Livestream (Cater x reader)🔷

-Nightfall Ace (Ace x reader)🔷

-Dancing in Twos (Deuce x reader)🔷

-Househusband Riddle (riddle x reader)🔷

-Red (butler Ace x reader)🔷

-A Master who leaves little gifts for their butlers (Riddle x reader, Ace x reader)🔷

-Butler Deuce (Deuce x reader)🔷

-yandere cater (Cater x reader)♦️

-Hand in Hand (Nightfall Cater x reader)🔷

-Spotlight (cater x reader)♦️

-Butler Trey (Trey x reader)🔷

-The Stage (Ace x reader)🔷

-Cater with an s/o who is insecure about their appearance (cater x reader)🔷

Savanaclaw:

-Stay (Jack Howl x reader)🔹

-Lead me, Darling (Leona Kingschoolar x reader)♦️

-Hold me (Ruggie x Childhood friend reader)🔹

-Savanaclaw as Butlers🔹

-Mine (Yandere Leona x reader)♦️

- A Cat-aclysm! (Leona x reader)🔷

-Savanaclaw with their butler / Leona / Ruggie / Jack / 🔷

-How he loves you (Leona x reader)🔷

-Leona with a s/o who’s a foodie 🔷

-Guard Dog (butler Jack x reader)🔷

-Ballrooms (butler Leona x reader)🔷

-Bullseye (nightfall Ruggie x reader)🔷

-Nightfall Leona (Leona x reader)🔷

Octavinelle:

-Shadows (Jade Leech x Mage Reader) ♦️

-Potions and Bubbles (Jade x Mage Reader)🔹

-Octavinelle as Butlers 🔹

-Octavinelle Butlers and how they wake you up🔹

-Yandere Jade Drabble♦️

-Butler Octavinelle with a self indulgent master🔹

-Octavinelle when you’re gone not🔹

-You called? (Azul Ashengrotto x Reader)♦️

-Octavinelle with butler reader ( Azul / Jade / Floyd)🔹

-Deity Jade (Jade x reader)🔷

-A butler’s love (Floyd x reader, Jade x reader, Azul x reader)🔷

-kissing headcanons (azul x reader)🔷

-octavinelle with a reader who doesn’t remember them🔷

- Octavinelle on receiving affection🔷

-A Cat-aclysm! (Azul x reader)🔷

-getting hurt in the name of your masters (Octavinelle x butler reader)🔷

-How he loves you ( Floyd x reader)🔷

-A change of Attire (Octavinelle x butler reader)🔷

-Octavinelle’s reactions to their butler receiving gifts from a suitor (Octavinelle x butler reader)🔷

-Jade with an artist s/o (Jade x reader)🔷

-Floyd with a s/o who already has a lover (Floyd x reader)♦️

-Beck and Call (Butler Jade x Reader)♦️

-Bow (Butler Floyd x reader)♦️

-mine (Butler Azul x reader)♦️

-stay with me (Octavinelle x reader)🔷

-Floyd with a s/o with terrible luck🔷

-Flirtations (Butler Octrio x reader)🔷

-Jade with an s/o who gardens🔷

-A master who leaves little gifts for their butlers (Floyd x reader)🔷

-Nightfall Floyd and Jade (Floyd x reader, Jade x reader) 🔷

-Nightfall Azul tries to buy the Lantern (Azul x reader)🔷

-Floyd with a s/o who is insecure about their appearance (Floyd x reader)🔷

Scarabia:

-Scarabia as Butlers🔹

-Jamil x Basketball manager reader🔹

-Jamil confessing to Basketball Manager reader🔹

-Jamil with a s/o who already has a lover (Jamil x reader)♦️

-Scarabia’s Butler (Kalim, Jamil)🔷

Pomefiore:

-Yandere Epel♦️

-Vampire Epel♦️

-pomefiore as butlers 🔹

-Masterpiece (Vil Schoenheit x bodyguard reader)♦️

-Bare your soul (butler Vil x reader /butler Rook x reader)🔷

-Rook with a s/o who enables him (Rook x reader)🔷

-Compliments and Flowers (Vil x reader)🔷

-Rook with a s/o who is insecure about their appearance (rook x reader)🔷

Ignihyde:

-Ignihyde as butlers🔹

-for you (Idia x reader)♦️

-Asking for kisses (butler idia x reader)🔷

-Butler Idia with an artistic Master (butler Idia x reader)🔷

Diasonmia:

-Lilia’s prank gone wrong (Lilia x reader)🔹

-Diasonmia as Butlers 🔷

-A Cat-acylsm! (Malleus x reader)🔷

-Yandere Malleus (Malleus x reader)♦️

-Butler Sebek’s kisses (Sebek x reader)🔷

-Silver with an Artist s/o (Silver x reader)🔷

-Encounter (Nightfall Malleus x reader)🔷

-The Knight’s Vow (butler Silver x Reader)🔷

[queen-scribbles]

Healing Hurts

First LOTRO fic, only, what, five years after I started playing the game? Better late then never. \o/ ---

Halthiras first met Aelinril because of the rain, though it was a meeting she would not remember.

In the days of his youth, before the return of the Shadow, Halthiras was given to walking the woods and valleys surrounding Imladris, exploring the vales of the Trollshaws, learning their secrets, befriending the animals that inhabited them. Though he'd held to this habit unbothered by rain on many occasions before, this was no gentle mist or soft silver showers but a harsh outpouring, fiercely accompanied by thunder and lightning.

So rather than wander the woods, Halthiras wandered the halls of Imladris itself. Even being his home, there was much yet unexplored. He had no plan for these wanderings, simply allowing his feet to carry him where they would. And so his path wound its way through many peaceful hallways and turnings to Tham Send. The Hall of Rest was quiet, as befit its purpose.

Most of the beds stood empty, freshly made and ready for use should they be needed. And the ones occupied he could see, the Elves slept peacefully, resting from long labors or deep hurts. There was, however, a small bustle of hushed activity in a back corner of the hall, so Halthiras was naturally drawn in that direction, with steps deliberate rather than idle.

A cluster of healers stood around two beds, murmuring among themselves as they worked. It was another Elf nearby, differently clad and standing as if to guard the invalids, who noticed his curiosity.

She gave him a questioning look of her own, one brow arched in silent wonder of his purpose.

"Is everything alright?" he asked at the prompting in her eyes.

"As it can be," she replied, concerned gaze lingering once more on the Elves in the beds before she looked back at him. "The last and most gravely wounded from our battle at the end of the Age. We hold hope of healing their wounds ere they succumb, but the servants of the Enemy did them great harm. Hithgol" --she nodded to the male Elf, dark hair, and his face twisted in uneasy slumber--"was struck by what weapon we know not, but its effect on him is most grievous. And Aelinril"--a gesture to the female Elf, long brown hair and features only faintly troubled for the moment--"was pierced by a morgûl-blade, a foul weapon wielded by the chief of the Enemy's servants, meant to linger and wither those it wounds until they are mere shades bound to his will."

One of the healers, indeed, was tending a wound in Aelinril's shoulder, not yet closing though the battle was a century past.

"Why does it refuse to heal?" Halthiras found himself asking.

The guarding Elf shook her head. "They know not. Some foul magic of the Enemy. And so they work on, to delay the fading until a cure is found."

"Is the aught I can do?" He had not seen the great and terrible battle of the Last Alliance, but it made his heart sit heavy that some remained still suffering so.

She studied him. "Unless you are practised in the healing arts, I fear watching over them is the only aid to offer." A sad smile played at her lips. "If you wish to do so, I would welcome the company in my vigil."

"Then you have it," he said with a bow. "When I can lend it."

"Indeed? And might I know the name of my new companion?"

"Halthiras of Imladris," he said.

"Ah, this is your home," she said, smile tinged with melancholy. She placed a hand to her chest and bowed low in returned greeting. "Harthalín, previously of Gondolin and elsewhere, though now I suppose my vigil makes Imladris my home as well." She looked to the beds. The healers had withdrawn from Aelinril, but two lingered over Hithgol. "Aelinril is one of my dearest friends, and Hithgol a brave comrade in arms. I will remain here as long as I may, to watch over them until Lord Elrond comes to tend them."

"And... how do we help?" Halthiras asked as he and Harthalín seated themselves in the chairs by Aelinril's bed.

"Simply be here to keep vigil," she answered. "The healers have said there's a chance they can hear us though they slumber, so if you wish to tell tales or sing songs it might ease what dreams they have." Her brow furrowed. "It has not seemed to help Hithgol, but there are times it does appear to hold Aelinril from fading."

He nodded, studying Aelinril's face as she slept. She still looked peaceful, with only the faintest edge of disquiet. "Whatever I can do, though I fear the songs I know are of celebration, merriment, joy. Hopefully the result of this vigil will warrant them, but I'm unsure they would be fitting now."

"Calling to their minds the joys of the world seems a fine way of helping them cling to it," Harthalín said. "And it is the wont of those young and not touched overmuch by loss to focus on such things."

And so was a new habit begun, on a rain-soaked day, in the Hall of Rest in Imladris.

Halthiras would come when he could, even on days Harthalín was absent. Sometimes days in a row, sometimes with weeks in between, though that was rare, through the long years that followed as Master Elrond and the healers endeavored to pull the sleepers from the Shadow.

Harthalín knew all the tales he did, and told them better, so he spoke of the world now. Things he saw on his exploration of the woods, tales and news passed on from scouts who went further afield into the Trollshaws and Lone-Lands. When he was apprenticed to Master Talagan. When his sister was born. He learned the songs of peace Harthalín knew, and sang them.

Hithgol sank into a deeper slumber, where no voice seemed to reach him. Aelinril's dreams grew more troubles by turns, Master Elrond's skill stayed her from fading but did not yet draw her back, and the wound remained in her shoulder.

And still Halthiras came whenever he could. Once or twice, as she came of age, he convinced his sister to visit, but Hiraneth was too restive enjoy long days of peaceful vigil. He talked to Harthalín, heard her tales of resisting Morgoth, the glory and peace of Gondolin, the might and deeds of Turgon, Glorfindel, Gil-galad and others, alongside reminisces of quieter blissful days over centuries building her friendship with Aelinril.

Some days, when he kept vigil alone, he would braid Aelinril's hair if her dreams grew especially troubled. Like he did for Hiraneth, a simple plait meant to keep it from tangling. And he would sing the songs he learned from Harthalín as well as the ones he knew, and speak of his lessons with Master Talagan, his parent's decision to leave for the Havens. The things Hiraneth would tell him she had seen, grey eyes alight and gestures avid as she explained.

He wondered what color Aelinril's eyes were. But they remained closed, though her dreams eventually seemed to grow more peaceful under Master Elrond's ministrations.

And so it went through the centuries, as the world rolled on outside the valley. It was with mingled joyous anticipation and regret Halthiras told Harthalín--and by extension Aelinril--of his master's decision they would go study at Edhelion for a time. He was excited to travel further than the valleys of his home he knew so well, to see the world a little and study at an Elven refuge known for its history and beauty. But an absence of months or years would be an odd change; he would miss his time with them in Tham Send. Harthalín encouraged the former while understanding the latter.

"I have found myself in new homes a few times in my life," she said with a wistful smile, "it can take time to adjust. But you will not be gone forever, and I will send word of any changes. You have spoken often of how you love to study and explore, you should enjoy the opportunity to do both to the full." She gave his arm a bracing squeeze. "I shall keep my vigil and look forward to your return."

With her blessing and a final farewell, unheard as it likely was, to Aelinril and Hithgol, Halthiras departed for Edhelion alongside Master Talagan and a select company of others, including Hiraneth. Edhelion was wonderful; woods and libraries to explore in equal measure, a place of safety, beauty, and learning. And he did enjoy it. But a portion of of his thoughts remained on Imladris always; missing home, missing the vigil he'd kept in Tham Send. He only made it a year before writing to Harthalín to ask how things stood. Her reply was a few months coming, and what he expected. No change, Hithgol still slept so deeply nothing disturbed him, Aelinril was more prone to restless dreams alternating with peaceful slumber. Perhaps she would wake soon, perhaps not, even Master Elrond did not know. He had some thoughts of cures to try, she would write with updates. And she did, though they were sporadic and rarely altered in content. They both sleep still, but there are more things to try, and they have not faded. That was something, at least, that they lingered yet. It gave hope they would wake eventually, and the Elves could wait long for such a change.

And then came news, in the form of Master Elrond visiting Edhelion. Halthiras had been hoping for a letter from Harthalín, as it had been moths since the last. But though Master Elrond brought no letter, he bore the same glad tidings a missive would have contained.

Aelinril had awakened. Only briefly, before lapsing back into slumber. But it was now the sleep of true rest, untroubled by lingering Shadow. He had every hope for Hithgol as well, indeed, he had come to avail himself of Edhelion's libraries for ways to further ease their slumber, and record the cures that had been successful in treating morgûl-blade wounds, should such knowledge be needed.

"Centuries keeping vigil and keeping hope, and she wakes when I am absent," Halthiras commented to his sister, amused at the timing more than anything.

"Yes, but she woke," Hiraneth returned. "With every indication now that she shall do so again, with the other hopefully not far behind. Focus on that, rather than regret you were elsewhere at the time."

There was wisdom in her words, and he knew it, though she was the younger. "I am sure Harthalín is greatly relieved by this turn, the proving her vigil has not been in vain for her friend." He drew a deep breath, resting one hand on the carven rail as he looked out to forest. "As for myself, I shall enjoy the time here, and hope for more such turns after we are home in Imladris once more."

It was a return marked rather more by sorrow and loss than anticipated. Only a few short weeks after Master Elrond's arrival came an assault by the Dourhand dwarves. By the time they were driven back and their leader killed, the attack had cost much--Edhelion lay in ruins, its libraries destroyed and a great many lives lost in its defense, including Master Talagan.

Harthalín did not press for details when he rejoined her in Tham Send, did not ask him to speak of his mentor, and Halthiras was grateful. There was an understanding in her eyes, a familiarity with grief too near and new, and she let him hold his silence. Which he did, on the days he joined her. But despite the shift in Aelinril's condition and the hope it heralded, he found the forests called to him more than before. The rustle of wind through leaves was a balm to his grief, and he spent much time walking the woods or sitting under trees to heal his heart. It took centuries for the pain to ease, but it did ease. And as it did he found himself in Tham Send more and more again, the peace of the Hall equal to the peace of the woods once more. First in silent vigil, but on an occasion Harthalín was absent he spoke of the loss to Aelinril. Unsure whether she could even hear or not--he almost hoped not--but needing to speak of it to someone, and Hiraneth's anger had driven her to remain in the woods around Edhelion, a watchful guardian of its repose, but also absent from her home. No change came to the sleeping face and he was glad not to disturb her dreams, but speaking of it aloud began the mending.

He began to speak of tales and happenings once more, sing songs both wistful and joyous. Halthiras maintained the renewed vigil through the whispered rumor of returning Shadow, through Dwarves traversing Imladris valley, through Harthalín departing once the Shadow was no longer rumor, foreswearing the Havens until the Enemy she had helped lay low was defeated for good.

"Tell her for me, when she wakes," she asked, and he promised to do so.

But then came word of Dwarves, Dourhands, settling Thorin's Gate, near the ruins of Edhelion. As Master Elrond had recently been given a worrisome dream, he purposed to send his sons and a party of Elves to investigate. He asked Halthiras to be among them, given his close ties to the loss of Edhelion, and in truth, Halthiras would have volunteered if not asked. The next few weeks were full of preparation, wondering if Hiraneth had been the one to send word, and regretting his departure would perhaps mean Aelinril being alone when she woke. He bid her farewell the day before departing so as not to rush, torn between hoping for her to wake soon and hoping for it to be after his return. He tied back her hair once more as she shifted with her dreams.

It was raining as they prepared to leave the next day, a gentle mist the party was protected from by hoods and cloaks. Elladan and Elrohir emerged from their final council with their father, trailed by another hooded figure.

"We go at my father's behest to investigate the Dwarven presence near Edhelion," Elladan addressed those assembled, "but we shall have another companion for part of the journey." He moved to lead the company as he spoke, and Elrohir guided their late addition to join them. "She has been recovering in Tham Send from a most grievous injury and Lord Elrond has given leave for her to depart to the Grey Havens, should she wish to. As our paths align for a time, we shall travel together until Celondim."

Something strange pierced Halthiras' heart at the words. Hope and shock and regret mingled as one. If that meant who he thought...

The figure fell in near him as the Elves began their journey, and one look was all that was necessary. It was her, her hair still tied back as he'd done it. She had awakened at long last and he hadn't been there as he'd promised Harthalín, and now she would be leaving Middle Earth, forever. He wanted to greet her, be courteous, but didn't know how to start.

He caught the knowing look in Elrohir's eye before the son of Elrond spoke. "Aelinril, this is Halthiras, one of my father's household, and a friend I believe would serve well as traveling companion."

She looked at him, then, and her eyes were blue, tinged green, bright and radiant though haunted by long memory. "Halthiras."

He bowed in greeting. "Aelinril."

And so they met for the second time in the rain, and however long or brief the acquaintance would prove to be, it was one she would remember.

[krikeymate]

so i was watching some tlou edits today and i had the most terrible idea..

something kind of like joel’s death. with sam. with tara being held down while screaming for sam to please get up.

boy i hate angst (this probably gives away who i am) but i’d like to see your fantabulous writing with that situation!

Hi, the fuck? Double whammy.

-

The temperature difference is the first thing she notices.

The sudden heat from the building is a sharp contrast to the snowy landscape outside, it leaves her body tingling, fingers and toes numb.

That must surely be the cause of the shiver that runs down her spine.

Surely.

The room is empty, but only recently so if the melting slush that’s been stepped across the room is anything to judge by. It’s hard to say how many footprints there once were, puddles fusing together in the warmth.

But there’s too many, she thinks.

Sam, and Sidney, and… others.

Tara struggles to swallow, breath catching in her throat.

It’s just the cold.

It’s just the cold.

There’s a noise, muffled, unclear.

She wants to call out. She should call out.

She can’t.

Tara creeps through the doorway silently, gun clenched tight in her hands.

Sleeping bags. Half a dozen of them, all spread out around a fireplace, burned wood still dimly aglow.

This room is as empty and quiet as the last, signs of life with no bodies to fill them.

“Sam,” she whispers to herself, “where are you?”

It feels wrong. Abandoned. Worse yet, abandoned in a hurry.

That’s never a good sign.

She doesn’t even know if this is where Sam and Sidney ended up. They could be anywhere, it’s been hours after all, and tracking has never been Tara’s speciality. Sam was the tracker, the one with the good eye.

If Tara had been the one missing, Sam would have found her by now.

A thud has her spinning on her heel, gun nearly flying out her hand as she turns.

Fuck.

She should know better. What a stupid mistake to make. It could have cost her her life, had anyone been there.

But the noise isn’t coming from behind her, it’s coming from below. Now that her ears have trained onto the noise, Tara can’t unhear it.

She goes searching and finds the stairs to the basement behind lucky door number three, and takes a moment to breathe and settle her shaky hands before her descent.

The dread she had tried to ignore earlier is a chain now, nestled across her tense shoulders. Every step she takes feels heavier than the last.

The groaning of the wood beneath her feet sets her heart racing.

She doesn’t know why her hand trembles as she reaches out for the door handle.

She doesn’t remember the last time she felt so scared. She doesn’t remember the last time Sam wasn’t there, just within reach in case she needed her. Even when they were fighting, Sam was still there.

Then Tara hears a familiar whimper from behind the door, and finds her fear isn’t important anymore. The door flies open.

She can barely comprehend the scene before her.

Sam.

Sam’s here.

Lying on the floor.

Bloody.

There’s so much blood.

Too much blood.

Between them stands a silhouette.

Shadowed and still, other than the drip drip drip, a golf club in their hand, repurposed into a tool of violence.

It makes Tara burn.

With teeth bared, she raises her gun and steps forward, only to be thrown to the side as something collides with her.

Stupid girl.

They aren’t alone. Remember?

Tara disregards the gun now skidding away from her, and with a heavily practised motion, has her favourite knife in her hand – a gift from Sam long ago, regularly sharpened, and cherished – and thrusts it behind her and into the neck of her assailant.

The body falls away, but she has no time to breathe, to move, before an elbow cracks into her face and another takes its place.

“Get the fuck off me!” she yells as she struggles against the knee on her back and the hand pinning her head to the floor. “Sam!”

The woman holding her down laughs.

“I’m so glad you’re here to see this,” she says, fingers twisting into her hair and pulling. Tara can practically hear the grin in her voice; the manic tone holds no anger for her fallen companion, only glee at her presence.

Tara doesn’t have time to wonder why.

“Ethan,” the stranger calls out to the figure, slamming Tara’s head back down into the floor. “It’s finally time to end it.”

Ethan turns to them and smiles down at Tara, teeth bloody like the rest of his face. Her stomach lurches as she realises it’s blood splatter.

“Gladly,” he replies softly. “Don’t worry Tara, we’re not going to hurt you. We just want to settle a debt.”

He speaks with a gentle cadence, but his face tells a different story. Dark and predatory eyes, a sharpness to his toothy-smile, an unnatural giggle as he drags a hand along the wet club.

“SAM!” Tara cries out, feeling desperate in a way she’s never felt before.

Ethan smacks the club against the floor.

“Sam, please get up, Sam please, Sam fucking get up!”

Her sister groans, dragging her head to face her. It looks painful. She looks like she’s in so much pain. It brings tears to Tara’s eyes as she struggles against the stranger’s grip.

It’s useless. She’s too strong, Tara’s too weak.

“Tara…” Sam whispers, fingers twitching as she tries to reach out for her.

Ethan stomps on the reaching hand, delighting in the way Sam whimpers.

“STOP IT!” Tara begs. “Please, please stop, I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt her.”

Ethan laughs harshly, persona forgotten.

“Oh, it’s too late for that Tara. Samantha here took our brother from us, now you’re going to learn what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

He swings the club before Tara can even scream out.

She finds herself frozen as he swings again and again.

All she can hear is the crack of metal against bone, the stranger above her giggling into her ear, the sound of her own sobs tearing themselves from her throat.

By the time he’s done, Ethan’s gasping, face orgasmic as he takes in the carnage.

All Tara can focus on is the shattered remains of her sister’s skull. It doesn’t feel real.

It can’t be real.

This can’t be real.

Tara thinks this image will burn behind her eyelids for as long as she lives.

She hopes it isn’t much longer.

Ethan lazily tilts his head towards her and taps the club against the floor, considering.

He says something. She can feel the woman respond, vibrations against her back, but Tara can’t hear a thing.

She feels deaf and mute and blind, stuck in the moment the club struck, that she lost her sister.

She didn’t do anything. She should have done something; she could have done something. Why didn’t she do something?

She feels her head tilt up, something hard and wet beneath her chin.

Tara looks into the eyes of the man who took her sister from her. She memorises every feature, the pattern of blood spread across his face, the knowledge of who it belongs to.

“I’m going to kill you,” she promises, voice barely a whisper.

“Good luck with that,” he laughs, and he swings.

[benjamin-ovich]

snippet sunday

from the muggle!au fic i’m writing for @narcissa-black-supermacy (james is a medical student and sirius is a mafia heir) <3 

The stranger – Sirius – doesn’t jump at the clatter of noise as medical supplies go rolling all over the floor, doesn’t show any sign of surprise at James’ sudden and blatant horror. 

“I take it you’ve heard of my family,” he replies in a calm voice, arching an eyebrow.

“Heard of them?” James stares at him. The Black mafia is only one of the country’s most prominent, powerful, and dangerous crime families, owning over half the local cartels and frequently making puppets of the government through bribery and extortion. Everyone knows it’s the Blacks who truly run this city – bending its laws to suit their own wishes, ruling quietly from the shadows, making everybody else dance to their clandestine orchestration. “Who the hell hasn’t?”

Sirius watches him with an unreadable expression, his scrutiny almost piercing. “Are you afraid?”

James opens his mouth, but nothing escapes it for a fleeting moment. He’s caught more between shock and disbelief than fear itself, and still can’t quite wrap his head around it. He can’t reconcile himself with the fact that this gorgeous, shirtless man sitting in his kitchen could in any way be associated with that terrible and violent family. 

“I probably should be, shouldn’t I?” James responds at last, his eyes still locked on Sirius. “Afraid of you?”

Sirius’ lips lift into a sharp and sudden smile. There’s something knifelike behind it, glinting with a dangerous sliver of amusement. “You let a stranger covered in blood into your home after dark. Something tells me you don’t frighten easily.”

“You’re right,” James murmurs, shrugging. “But I didn’t do it because I’m fearless. I did it because I believe in compassion, in helping those who need it.”

“What was it that Schopenhauer wrote? Compassion is the basis of morality?” James looks up at him in surprise. “You’ve read Schopenhauer?”

“Among others,” Sirius says. He’s still watching James with the same cynical, narrowed gaze. “The problem with that statement is it assumes that everybody is deserving of compassion. That the world is full of good people who only need to be set right with a little bit of kindness and understanding.”

“As opposed to what, you reckon?” 

“The world isn’t a good place filled with good people,” Sirius’ voice grows rough around the edges as he speaks, bitterness seeping through his words. “It’s an abyss full of monsters who would hurt you for the fun of it.”

“And yet here you are,” James points out gently, “getting patched up by someone whose name you don’t even know yet. I think there is good in the world, Sirius - if you just know where to look for it.”

The bleeding is finally starting to subside. James makes a concerted attempt at stilling his hands before slipping the suture needle through the seam of Sirius’ open wound. Sirius’ whole body tightens at the intrusion; the colour drains from his face and he briefly snaps his eyes shut, but otherwise he shows no visible signs of weakness. Given who he is and the family he comes from, James is no longer surprised by Sirius’ determined refusal to display even the slightest shadow of vulnerability. 

He continues to work on closing the incision, avoiding Sirius’ weighty gaze. Despite James’ practised, methodical movements, he can’t say he’s not slightly nervous – some part of him knows that this is a terrible idea, that he should just ask Sirius to leave and never come back. Given how formidable and ruthless the Blacks are known to be, Sirius’ very presence in his apartment should have James reeling and sick with fear. 

The odd thing is, he isn’t. Maybe it’s something about Sirius’ haughty and restless gaze, his low, gravelly voice, or the long lashes adorning his strange smokey eyes – the way he moves his hands, agile and quick, like some sort of graceful apex predator. Even the smooth, polished cadence of his speech seems to draw James in, the way he speaks like someone who’s used to commanding every room he’s in. He’s so unlike anything James expected him to be; Sirius’ whole demeanour conveys an air of complexity and magnetism that James can’t help but be fascinated by. 

The minutes flit past in silence, and neither of them speaks again until James is nearly done. As soon as he ties the last few knots on the sutures, James cuts the excess material off and straightens up to examine his handiwork. Sirius glances down at his stomach – the wound looks much better now that it’s cleaned and closed, just a tightly-sewn line running across Sirius’ abdomen, where before there had been a gushing crimson crevasse. 

“There,” James declares, pulling his gloves off triumphantly. His migraine has nearly dissipated altogether now; having something else to focus on seems to have helped it fade to the back of his mind. “Now I’d say you’ve got a ninety-nine percent chance of survival.”

The corners of Sirius’ lips twitch slightly. “Just ninety-nine?”

“Well,” James admits, “if you don’t take a course of antibiotics and keep the wound clean, there’s still a chance it could get infected – and then you’d just die anyway, and all my hard work will have been for nothing.”

“Noted,” Sirius replies, flicking his gaze down to his stomach before returning it to rest on James. “Well, thank you. For – for this.”

James gives him a warm smile as he begins packing up the medical supplies, placing them back onto the metal tray in neat rows. He can still feel the palpable pressure of Sirius’ eyes on him. “Don’t mention it.”

“I’ve never really liked doctors,” Sirius admits after a moment, the intensity of his gaze not wavering for even a second, “but for what it’s worth – I think you’ll make a good one.”

James runs a hand over his face, wishing there was a way to conceal the resultant flush in his cheeks, the inexplicable rush of glowing pride that has filled him at those words. Because Sirius is a perfect stranger at best, and a ruthless criminal at worst – his validation and opinion shouldn’t mean anything to James, but it does; James gets the sense that Sirius is not one to hand out compliments like that all too easily. 

“Thanks,” he says, feeling a little flustered, then holds out his hand toward the other man. “I’m James, by the way. James Potter.”

Sirius looks at him for a long while, considering this. Then he takes James’ outstretched hand and squeezes it briefly. His fingers are long and thin, clad with a myriad of silver rings, delicate against James’ own. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, James.”

[chaotic-super]

Back To Krypton - Chapter 36

Read Back To Krypton on AO3 here!

Her feet aren’t particularly accepting of the rough stone floors as she gets to the ground floor of the building. At that point, she’s forced to put her heels back on because of the pain from the constant jabbing of the sharp edges of the rocks. It means that her sneakiness levels just plummeted but there’s nothing she can do about that, she can’t run if the soles of her feet are bleeding.

She starts off running but has to give up on that pretty fast because the second she’s out of the building, the streets are really quite bustling and it would only serve to draw a lot of unwanted attention to herself.

Now that she is in public though and she’s being immersed back into the culture that’s so far into her past that she barely knows how to absorb it all, she’s very aware of every glance in her direction and it makes her a little self-conscious of her make-up, afraid that it’s obvious that she’s not well-practised the way she should be as a woman of her age.

There’s music playing, a jaunty tune that makes her want to forget what she’s doing and just stop and dance along to it, her body conducting her into moves that her mind has long since forgotten but her soul has not.

Kara keeps her head moving, her eyes darting in every which direction to keep tabs on anyone following her, getting so distracted that she barely stops to think that she needs to look at her notebook for the map of the city so she can figure out which way she needs to go to get to the labs.

With a good glance around her, she spots a shady corner beneath some stairs leading up to the second floor of a building and ducks beneath them so she can open up her notebook with sweaty palms. The adrenaline is making her shake slightly, the fear that her parents are going to come after her and stop her before she can get the blueprints for the team.

Of all the people she’s been expecting to have to go up against, her parents are the last on that list. She’s known for quite a while now that they aren’t the amazing people she was led to believe they were when she was younger, actually learning more and more dark secrets about them as the years have gone by, but this takes the cake, well, not in terms of terrible things they’ve done, but in terms of the thing they have done that has caused her the most pain.

It's a pain that she can genuinely feel in her chest. It’s one she can feel sitting there heavily and with each motivational speech she gives herself to get her moving to complete the mission and leave them behind, she’s chiselling away at the weight but it’s far too large, it helps but barely, a band-aid on a stab wound.

It’s hard for her to decipher the map when her mind is moving so fast and her hands aren’t steady. She had marked very clearly where the lab is before they left on the mission so she knows where she needs to get to but she never marked anything other than the major monuments and buildings directly around it and leading from the part of the forest she assumed they would have been travelling from, nowhere near where she is now.

She knows she’s on the North side of the city. That’s something. She just has to head south-west and she’ll be able to spot some of the buildings she has marked on the map. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out since Kandor has a special feature in its architecture. The city is built with The Great Temple of Rao in the centre of it and every building faces the temple so that everyone can pray towards it should they so wish to and that means that Kara knows where the centre of the city is. She can get to the temple, which is on her map, and from there she can get to another monument closer to the labs and from there, the labs themselves.

“Come on, Kara. You can do this. Do it for your family.” She hypes herself up, glancing out of the shadows out into the street she was walking through just a minute ago.

She’s about to step back out but stops when a small collection of guards start making their way through the streets, their heads turning left and right as they walk, clearly looking for someone. She can’t help but wonder if they are really after her because she can’t imagine that she’s all that important enough for so many people to be looking for her but when her mother and her father walk out and join the guards, worry and barely subdued anger written across their faces, she knows.

Her back presses against the wall further beneath the stairs. She has to get out of here. The streets are the best place to stay hidden, even with the guards everywhere. The alleys are wide and there’s nowhere to hide. No obstructions are allowed there so it’s just an empty road space for people to walk through, nothing to duck behind and even fewer people to mix in with than the streets.

Her mother hadn’t lied about her looking the part when they were getting ready at the accommodation, there are plenty of people dressed up as nicely as her but they do stand out and her beautiful blue dress might as well be a big neon sign calling for the guards to look at her.

There’s a window on the second floor, she can see it when she peers up the gap between the stairs and the building. She could get into whatever place this is and go out the back way. She would have to find a way to get up there without being spotted though and even then she could be mistaken for a thief and draw more attention to herself.

She could just wait for a group of similarly dressed people to walk by and try to blend in with them. That’s her best choice but it somehow feels like the riskiest of them all. She’s wearing the crest of her house; she can’t hide that. Unless she can.

There’s a store just down the street selling wraps, shawls, overcoats, jackets and robes. She doesn’t have money but she has one thing on her she can trade and pray they won’t hand her over because she’ll be giving them much more than they’ll be giving her, not including their silence. Bingo.

“Ok, Kara. Just act casual.” She waits for a group of well-dressed young individuals to walk in the general vicinity of her, which doesn’t take long because the street she’s on is getting busier by the minute. Bells are ringing out, the universal sign on Krypton that prayer will begin soon at the nearest temple and so everyone is heading there, and if they can’t, they are opening their windows and gathering on balconies, joining the community in their prayers in the best way they can.

She keeps close to these people, standing to the back of the group and keeping her head as level as she can, fighting the urge to duck her head, something that could be spotted and seen as a sign of deception.

The voices of hundreds of people gather into one collective drone she can’t makes sense of, making it impossible to decipher whether or not there are guards surrounding her or whether or not she’s been spotted by anyone.

Finally, she gets to the store, ducking inside as smoothly as she can and breathing out a sigh of relief for having reached her first checkpoint.

She’s celebrating too soon though because guards follow her in and she just barely manages to duck behind a stand holding many long, blue robes, thankfully a similar enough colour that her flowy dress moulds right on in with the display.

Kara peeks between the robes, watching the guards move to the counter and the older gentleman standing behind it, most likely the owner of the store. They question him in low tones, glancing around the store between sentences. A fresh wave of panic washes over her as she hears them give the man a brief description of her, specifically her blue dress and her golden hair.

She isn’t sure whether or not he saw her come in but he doesn’t seem to be giving away her location, just shaking his head to everything he’s being asked.

The guards ask to take a look around and her eyes grow wide, she can’t move from behind this display without walking into the open, she’s trapped and there’s nowhere she can really go unless she makes a break for it but she probably won’t go far.

The man behind the counter shakes his head. “Khuhp skilor zha shed fis ukep.”

He has an accent, one quite distinguished from the usual Kandor or Argo accents, he must have moved here from somewhere else, somewhere that the matrix gives Kryptonians shiny spines. Kara has to mouth the words to figure out what he’s saying. “I see no people here.”

The guards lean a little closer to him, their words so quiet Kara can’t pick them up at all but the man leans in just as far, their heads close together as hushed words are exchanged. It doesn’t last long though because, she supposes, the guards are more inclined to keep looking elsewhere than fight with a ballsy store owner.

Once they leave, she’s hesitant to step out but upon peeking between the robes, she can see him looking right over at her, one bushy eyebrow raised. The jig is up.

She steps out hesitantly. “Thank you.”

“You welcome.” He replies, now frowning because it’s not often anyone speaks English around here, or any kind of Earth language. “I speak Earth not good.” He makes out in broken English.

Kara holds her hands up. “Zhalish khuhp, khuhp ehwor kryptahniuo.” Forgive me, I speak Kryptonese.

He simply smiles at her. “Khuhp ehwor Rth.” I speak Earth.

Kara shakes her head. “Zha, rrup ehwor ehngiuo.” No, you speak English.

He nods slowly. “Thank you. Still learning.”

Kara smiles at him. “Thank you for protecting me.”

His gaze darkens slightly and Kara knows that the help wasn’t free. “You owe.”

“I know. I need to change my clothes, if you can help me with that, I’ll give you this.” She pulls her necklace out from under the neckline of her dress. It’s one that has always meant the world to her, one that has gotten her through a lot of dark times when she had nothing else to remind her of the people of her past.

She unclasps it and holds it up for him to see and he holds his hand out for her to pass it to him. She does. She doesn’t have a whole lot of room for negotiation here. He looks it over closely, his face giving nothing away but Kara knows he’s impressed. That piece of jewellery wasn’t just her mother’s but it was her great grandmother’s originally and as much as she doesn’t want to part with it, it’s all she’s got and Earth is kind of in danger here so she’s got to do what she’s got to do. That and she’s pissed at her mom.

He keeps staring at it, flipping it over in his hands several times before looking up at her and nodding once. “I help. You leave.”

Kara can’t argue with that. “Good. Clothes?”

“Come, come.” He beckons her to follow him through the store and into what appears to be a back storage room. There’s a little stool in there, usually used for reaching rails of clothes high up but he pushes her down to sit on it with gentle yet insistent hands. “Stay. I go get.”

He goes back out into the front of the store and for all Kara knows, he’s going to go and get the guards. He pocketed the necklace before bringing her back here so he has what he wants, he’s got no real ties to her and no reason to uphold his end of the deal other than his word but the word of a stranger doesn’t mean much to Kara and nor should it, that’s how you get killed.

He comes back in just a minute later. That minute was enough to keep her on edge but he does his part, carrying in a bundle of clothes.

“Dress. There.” He points to a little curtained-off area and she takes the clothes, heading right in.

Upon closing the curtain after her and hearing the door to the storeroom close after he leaves, she takes a look at what she’s been given. The clothes aren’t particularly inspiring but she supposes that’s the point. He can probably guess that she doesn’t want to stand out and he probably doesn’t want to just hand over his best clothes when he can sell them later on.

There’s a pair of pants, a soft cream colour that she wouldn’t choose for herself but every other person outside is wearing, and a shirt, loose fitting and a darker grey. There’s a small diamond shape embedded into the breast of it but it’s empty other than a few faint lines. At first glance, it looks like a real family crest but if anyone looks too closely, and she very much doubts they will, they’ll see that it’s not real or just assume that her family isn’t high up enough socially to have a proper family crest and she is merely trying to show herself to be of a higher social standing than she is.

There’s a jacket too. It’s a deep blue that’s dark enough to pass for black when in dimmer areas and Kara falls in love with it the second she sees it. It has a lighter blue trim that is just beautiful and a hood that is going to be very useful when she gets back outside in a minute. She can’t afford to dawdle and lose the crowd for the temple.

She slips them all on and tucks her notebook into the inside pocket of the jacket and folds the dress up to the best of her ability. She might as well give it to the man, maybe he can take the crest off of it and sell it.

She comes out and then peeks her head out of the door, checking the coast is clear. There’s nobody in the store except for the man so she heads right for him and drops the dress on the counter. “Here, maybe you can do something with it.”

He slides the dress closer to himself. “Shoes.” He points at her heels. She very much needs them but if giving up her shoes gets her to the lab, that’s what she needs to do. She takes them off and hands them over, placing them delicately into his waiting hands.

She’s about to turn to the door but he hits her with a stern look. “Wait.”

He marches back off into the store room and is back before the door even has the chance to swing closed behind him, a different pair of shoes in his grip, much more sensible. Plain brown leather and durable. He passes them to her and inside the left shoe, there’s even a pair of socks. Perfect, no blisters today. “Thank you.”

“Rao helps us all to help each other.” He replies back simply.

“Bless Rao and bless us all.” She replies back.

He smiles his approval of her answer.

She makes quick work of the shoes, tying them up tightly. She’s not losing a shoe in this mess, not when she’s just traded away a family heirloom for them.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.” He retorts and with that, Kara flips her hood up and steps out into the crowds, thinner than they were but still enough to provide her adequate cover. It’s definitely a good idea to up her pace and try to catch up to the bulk of the crowd though.

She follows the flow of the streets, her feet tapping rhythmically against the stone in her new shoes that she’s totally taking back to Earth with her because they are incredible. She almost wishes that she asked the man’s name but that wouldn’t have gone over well, he would probably have turned her out the second she asked that, afraid of being turned in for helping what he must presume to be a fugitive.

That’s not completely the case. The guards are those under the employ of prestigious families. They patrol the streets in combination with Krypton’s peace enforcement teams. It means that while she’s not being labelled as a criminal, there are still a lot of powerful people out there looking for her because her parents said so and if they find her, she’ll probably be taken right to them and won’t get the chance to get the blueprints back to the team before it’s too late.

There’s still music playing, the beat only urging her along. The hood threatens to fall down with the wind but a sold tug to pull it down as far as it will go does the trick to get it to stay in place enough that it won’t fall off on its own.

Kara’s breathing is increasing. The crowds are getting thicker and she’s darting between people now. Her arms are brushing other people’s and she hates it, everyone is far too close to her but she can’t risk moving away. She tucks her hands in the pockets of the jacket and her heart stutters. There’s something in there.

She knows what it is without pulling it out but she does so anyway, clutching it in a tight fist. The necklace.

That gentleman was the best of Krypton. He’s the person she misses, the good, kind, true kind of person she believed her parents to be. They aren’t good but there’s still good here. She wishes she could do something to protect Krypton from the fate it’s sealed in but she can’t. For Earth, she can’t even try, even if it does make her want to curl up into a ball and cry until she can’t anymore.

She can deal with that when she’s not actively in the thick of the mission. Now is not the time for another mental break. She’s had enough of those and this would be the most inconvenient place for it to happen.

With the brutal speed-walking pace she’s set, it doesn’t take her all that long to get to the temple. That or she’s just so caught up in her own head that she can’t tell but since nobody around her looks too annoyed at the time it’s taking to walk across the city, she’s certain that it’s not been that long.

The temple is just as grand as she remembers it being and no less impressive than she was expecting. She is faced with a challenge she hadn’t thought about before though. With everyone piling into the temple, she would make obvious waves by walking in the opposite direction while everyone is entering and getting ready to pray. In theory, she could find an alley or a smaller path out of the way of the temple but she can’t risk being questioned and all strange behaviour will be spotted by the guards, which are in sight again now, although their thorough searching has turned into more of a lazy meander through the crowd with the occasional head-turn.

There’s a clock outside of the temple counting down to prayer time. She hasn’t prayed properly since she was a child, not since when she first arrived on Earth and attempted to pray to Rao whilst under Sol. Nothing had ever felt so wrong and that was her last attempt at strict prayer, the way she was raised to do it.

There are only a few more minutes until prayer starts. Once it starts, she can just sit through it and use the crowds once more to cover herself as everyone heads back home or to work.

Kara takes a deep breath and she strolls into the temple and a sense of pure serenity overtakes her. All she can do is wait and while she’s waiting, she can pray and find peace she hasn’t felt in a long time. She can scarcely remember how to do it properly but with a little practice, she’ll be up and running again in no time.

She finds a spot. There are circular cushions laid out on the floor across the entire temple but there are no worries about running out of space. The place is so large, Kara’s certain it could house everyone in Kandor and Argo should it be the last temple standing between the two cities.

Crossing her legs as she sits, Kara ducks her head and closes her eyes, resting until a bell rings to mark the official start of the prayer. Candles are distributed along the rows of people, a basket passed from person to person and each person takes one and lights it with a special lighter, also from the basket.

Kara takes a couple of attempts at using the lighter, her nerves still present despite her newfound calmness. The person beside her pays no mind though, patiently waiting for their turn and minding their own business.

With the candles lit, the temple falls into silence and then everyone begins to pray. The initial prayer is simple, it’s whatever that individual person needs. It’s a prayer in which Kara can ask for whatever it is she needs and in this case, she asks for mental fortitude and the blessings of her god to give her the ability to save Earth. There’s a kind of disgust that bubbles deep in her gut for wishing for the ability to save Earth rather than Krypton when she’s in a Kryptonian temple, praying to a Kryptonian god. Her god. The god she abandoned long ago when the world felt too different.

The second part of the prayer is a group prayer led by a priest who reads out the scripture of Rao. Kara’s attention never strays from the words spoken until the prayer is dismissed and actually finds herself disappointed when it’s over but the feeling of safety and accomplishment she leaves the temple with makes everything worth it, the entire mission, the pain of facing her Kryptonian demons head on. All of it.

She steps to the side of the main entrance so she can pull out her notebook and find her way, spotting her path very quickly and making it look easy the way she figures out where she’s going next.

With the crowd surrounding her, she feels safe where she only felt suffocated before and she pays them no mind, just walking with her purpose in mind.

-

Kara stops up the street from the lab. She’s got to be careful now. There’s every chance that there are guards everywhere inside, along with her parents too, so she’s got to get inside without anyone noticing. That’s easier said than done.

Just because it’s difficult doesn’t mean there aren’t options though. She’s got the Alex option which is by using stealth. She’s got the Lena option which is using smarts and she’s got the Supergirl option which is what she would say is using both stealth and smarts but everyone else would just call winging it and punching a couple of people.

She’s going to decide which option she’s going with when she gets closer to the labs.

The building isn’t discreet in the slightest. It’s a massive silver structure with a gigantic sign out front detailing exactly what it is. Kandor’s Science Guild Laboratories. Helpful.

Alright, they are probably expecting her to try to sneak in through the back door so she should just walk through the front and see what happens. If push comes to shove, she’s got to play along with her parents until she can get what she wants.

Kara makes a point of pushing away any tension in her body and lowering her shoulders. Time to be brave. Time to be like Lena. Lena could do this so how hard can it be?

She strolls right in the front door and is greeted by a guard wishing her a good afternoon. She can roll with that. She raises a hand in a wave and greets him back cheerfully, smiling at him happily. He doesn’t bat an eyelid. Score.

This is a building she remembers and she knows exactly how to get to her father’s lab here. It’s right across the other side of the building. She’s not going all the way across to the other side of the building the usual way though. She got by one guard, that’s luck. She’s going for the Alex approach. She would be so proud.

She ducks into the bathrooms, grateful for the floor-to-ceiling separate stalls for the toilets that are apparently illegal in the US because clearly, someone likes perving too much. She walks along the space, seeing that all of them are empty and choosing the one in just the right place.

Not too fast though. She’s taking a real bathroom break.

Real bathroom break complete and hands washed, she goes back into her chosen stall and relocks the door before climbing atop the toilet and pressing her hands against the ceiling tiles. They are much sturdier than any she’s seen on Earth. She purposefully chose this one because it’s hinged, the perfect placement for a serviceman to enter the ceiling to check on the wires or the pipes or whatever else it is they need to check. Kara’s not checking anything now, she’s just taking a detour through the building.

She heaves herself up and closes the hatch after herself. It’s a good job she traded the dress for pants, if she had someone with her, they would have just gotten an eyeful. She wouldn’t have minded if it were Lena with her. Anyone else and it would have been weird though.

Kara smiles, starting on her way. She has to duck because the space isn’t very large but she doesn’t mind, she’s totally going to prove that she can be at being a secret agent and spy as Alex is.

“Ok, Kara. Sneaky mode activated.” She whispers.

Read the next couple of chapters early on Patreon here!

[jessequinones]

Writing Lesson: It’s okay to make mistakes.

I know as a writer I make mistakes, in fact, I’m certain if you go through this text you’ll find grammar and punctuation errors and that's ok. This text isn’t a book or a peer review essay. It’s a conversation from me to you about mistakes in writing.

When I was young, learning how to write, I created this.

***

2010, Wildcats: Civil War

“What are you saying?” A black tom said to a brown tom with anger in his voice.

Before he was finish Shadow walk away wan Deathclan was about to leave but what Whiteheart said next made Shadow froze in his tracks. “I know I can beat you.”

“Is that so?” Shadow said as he was turning around and was slowly walking back toward Whiteheart.

“That is correct.”

“Well then….let’s have a little battle right here and now then.”

Whiteheart could not say no, or back down now. He walks right it in this battle.

***

Yeah...it’s not good but the point is, even though I was a terrible writer, I never stole my writings. All of my terrible stories were original and that’s what I want to talk to you about today.

The word plagiarism has been going around the internet for the last few days and I noticed when people who plagiarised other’s works get caught they tend to say they don’t feel comfortable with their own writings and thought it was a good idea to steal. Assuming they’re genuine, let me say it’s okay if your writing isn’t good, that’s how we learn.

You write a bad sentence or a paragraph which doesn’t make sense, and someone will point it out. You’ll learn over time not to make the same mistakes and grow as a writer. Just copying from someone else won’t help you learn because you’re no longer making mistakes, you’re just copying.

I always hated the saying you gotta keep practising your craft to get better because there were a few times when I thought I couldn’t improve. I kept practicing but I kept making the same mistakes and didn’t know how to get better. For those types of situations, I find it best to ask someone whose more experience how to overcome your hurdle and let me be the first to say there are plenty of people in your craft who’ll be willing to help.

As for writing, here’s a trick I did to help me create stories. For practice, I took a book, like the Warrior series for an example, and copied their words. Before you say that’s plagiarism, first things first, I never published the stories I was copying, and secondly, I was figuring out how the Erin Hunters were creating their stories.

When artists learn how to draw for the first time, they copy someone else’s art style and maybe even do trace works until they become confident in their ability to create their own. I was still trying to learn what my writing style was, and I wanted to figure out how someone else created theirs. Over time I started to get an understanding of how sentence structure was made. I understood foreshadowing, and I understood when and where to add descriptions. I would start looking at lines in the books after I wrote them and be like...I could improve this. I started to see things I didn’t think were necessary for the story and after a while, I told myself I was ready to write my own Warriors fanfic.

Learning from someone else, being inspired by another. These are all things that’ll help you grow as a writer but you still got to do the work yourself. You can’t say you created something original if 90% of it was stolen, you’re only hurting yourself.

If you’re a new writer and have questions, even if you think they’re very basic, please feel free to ask me. I’m not the best writer. In fact, I don’t really know how to create informative writing, which is why I’m practising now, but I do know a few things and am always willing to help someone if I have the time and don’t forget. Keep trying and keep writing, your writing is better than you give it credit for.

[lemonhemlock]

Ok so I went through your Helaemond tag a little bit and had complete whiplash because do not cite the deep magic to me etc., I was shipping it when it was me and iskarieot writing unhinged posts about BTS scenes for the Helaemond adult actors before the episode with them even aired. I dipped around the finale or maybe a little before (I have zero recollection) and had NO idea of the fandom furore lmao. I wrote one of the first Helaemond fics in the AO3 tag (💅) and was literally just mainlining the spice melange ok. I was seeing things my terrible purpose

I cannot believe it got this out of control???? All the moralising??? Nobody (all 5 of us) gave a fuck about team Black/team Green and it wasn't intended to discredit either side at all, although I did love the idea of Alicent's children doing the same shit as Rhaenyra - that was more because I love death misery and despair and Alicent/Rhaenyra parental role-model family tumbleweed free-for-all. You made our children like this!!! lesbian parthenogenesis so true so true

Anyway I really enjoyed the dark courtly romance of it all, one of the things which specifically interested me is that Aegonfail sloppy wet wish-I'd-been-born-a-girl-to-marry-Rhaenyra's-kids-aka-my-cousins-nephews is bad at practising Targcest since he's not interested in Helaena in the one scene that started it all, which is like, a Good Thing Perhaps, but Helaemond is also a little bit True Love, and so everything is lovely and fucked up. It made all the characters much more interesting because you get complexity added to three, even four characters in one fell swoop, illegitimate children or nay. Power is a shadow on the wall etc. I didn't actually like, have a dog in this illegal child fighting ring; I am interested in the way these characters interact with, resist, covet the feudal system/positions therein, the way men and women alike negotiate what power is afforded based on sex and arbitrary inheritance, and being in love with the wrong brother who has the Audacity to not want to Practise Incest, and so on and so forth. (This is my extrapolation anyway. I think it's interesting that dragonboy cannot dragonboy but also has the most beautiful dragon ever and is going to be the king styled after the vewy fiwst Aegon. At least one Targ has gotta have a bit of an ick with this whole business and Mummy's Number One Boy who's passed out drunk and doesn't even wunna rule has to be it for me).

I want to end this ask with an apology because I feel partially culpable, for some reason. I'm literally just a tumblrina nobody but at the very least I can say at ground zero (I didn't see your posts back then but also if you were There, you were There as well ofc - I'm sorry I didn't go back that far through your tag or see you mention when you started shipping it, and also Everybody Matters in fandom no matter when you join, and I want us all to hold hands, and I hate when we fight cries) it was never ill-intentioned. We were just crazy

My goodness, what an interesting piece of lore. 😅 You certainly pointed out a few of the themes that make helaemond appealing from a shipping point of view. The fact that you started to ship it just based on the actors' BTS just goes to show how perceiving a random interaction can open up new perspectives.

I personally started posting a few weeks after the season finale, but, like many people, my helaemond eyes opened just watching the dinner table scene (in conjunction with the Driftmark conversation between aegond regarding Helaena it was just a compounded thing).

And, of course, like you said it was never really meant to be anything other than a fun ship to play around with! I had very little clue about the endless moralising that was about to follow - November 2022 me would tell you it's goofy af to be so stuck up about another incest ship in THEE incest show and, honestly, she'd be right.

So, there's absolutely no need to apologise, we were all just trying to vibe within the freak slice of fandom. I don't think anyone started ~peddling this ship as an inside job against team green or to discredit Alicent or whatever the hell other chronically-online interpretation I've heard. :))

Personally, I know I've used this as a pretext to procrastinate from my actual responsibilities and it was definitely.....interesting.....to witness all the varied reactions, some more unhinged than others, but, at this point, all of us need to step back a little and chill, because there's nothing really to debate anymore. It's the time for fan artists and fic writers to shine.

[sheetsonfire]

Second Chances

Fandom: Chicago Med

Characters: Connor Rhodes x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings: swearing, car accident, injuries

Word Count: 1365

Requested By Anon: Hi ☺️ Could i request a Connor Rhodes imagine where the reader is his ex and also a nurse at the med. One time you get in a terrible car crash and get to the ER where Connor gets called to save you. You nearly die during the surgery but he saves you and stays with you all the time till you wake up. Then he keeps caring for you during your whole recovery and you slowly start getting your old feelings back, so you decide on a second chance. Hope this is ok ❤️

This is Part 1 - Part 2

You were a month into your newfound singleness, and depending on the day or the mood, it was either a blessing or curse. If you were being totally honest with yourself, you missed Connor endlessly, but that same inner honesty also reminded you that things just weren’t right for you and Connor at the time. He was still reconciling the things that had happened with Ava, with Robin moving away too… he had a lot to figure out, and you felt that your presence in his life was serving to distract him from the pain, but not much else. 

He had tried to make the case that you weren’t just a distraction and though you didn’t doubt that he really believed that, you could see his heart wasn’t fully in it. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him that this wasn’t a “never”, this was just a “not yet” kind of thing. You advised him to really look and see what he wanted from the next part of his life, and you reassured yourself that if you were meant to be part of that you’d fall right back in there somewhere down the road. 

Perhaps that was a naive outlook, somedays you chastised yourself for assuming that Connor would ever want you back after “breaking up” with him. But the split had been amicable, Connor didn’t fight you too much on the decision, his eyes betraying his mouth as you saw understanding and agreement in them. 

And so that’s how it went, you cried your way through too many romantic comedies to count, listened to an ungodly amount of country music - which was your go-to comfort genre, and made good use of the new time with your friends at Molly’s. You didn’t hate Connor, you still very much cared for him, and you hoped he felt the same. 

Work wasn’t as awkward as it could have been by all accounts, there would sometimes be shy smiles and nods of greeting in the corridors, you worked a few cases with him with little to no tension, and you found that for the most part, it was still okay to be by his side. 

-

Chicago was now in the grip of winter’s cruelty in the midwest, you had just finished a lengthy and chaotic shift, full of road accidents, homeless people struggling out in the cold, and just general mayhem, despite Chicagoans being well-practised at dealing with this time of year. 

You waved Monique and Maggie goodbye as you departed from your fellow nurses to get to your car. Shivering under the illumination of the parking lot lights your nose is numb, you’re desperate to get inside your car and start the heat. As you fiddle with your key to press the unlock button, you see a figure approaching. Squinting at the humanoid shape you can just about make out a familiar face in the contrasting shadow between artificial light and frigid darkness.

It was Connor. 

You laugh a nervous laugh, relaxing at the sight of the surgeon. “Jesus, Con’, did you forget about nighttime and parking lot etiquette for women?” 

He grimaces, chuckling apologetically himself, “Oh shit, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t think at all, I just saw you leaving and I thought I’d say hey.” 

You smile, looking around, feeling that rarely felt embarrassment around him, judging by his expression he seemed to be feeling the same, perhaps second guessing his decision to approach. You surprise yourself by not being quite sure what to say. 

“Oh, well… hello then, ha… Wait, are you working now?” Connor didn’t typically work nights, but you hadn’t really been privy to his personal schedule of late, so who knew.

He scratches the top of his beanie covered head, nodding, “Ah yeah, Crockett went to visit family back in New Orleans, so I took up some of his shifts for the trauma service.” 

“I see, that makes sense. Nice of you to offer…” Connor simply smiles and you get that butterfly feeling. You weren’t suddenly immune to him after all. 

Unable to cope with even a beat of silence you gesture to your car, “...Well, I better get inside, and so should you, don’t want you freezing up before your shift even starts.”

You squirm under his gaze, he’s got that amused look on his face that you’d seen many times before, the “I just adore how cute are” look. 

He snaps out of it and points in the direction of Med, “You’re right, I better. It was good seeing you, Y/N. Catch you later.” Offering you a departing wave. 

“Good seeing you, Connor.” You call after him, suddenly getting that sinking feeling. Something you’d not felt in a little while since breaking up. You really did miss him, even if you thought this was all for the best…

-

Pulling out of the parking lot you have the heat cranked up, your fingers finally gaining feeling again inside your gloves, your nose tingling as the warm air defrosted it. You find you can’t take your mind off of Connor now, you didn’t know if it was the cold and your desire to cuddle up with someone, or if you just couldn’t shake the regret that sometimes snuck its way into your head. 

True to your ritual of late, you had country music on in the car. More specifically a Garth Brooks playlist that had soothed you through many restless nights, drives and just any general moment where you were alone and idling.

You kept your eye on the flow of traffic as you tuned into the words of ‘Sometimes You’ve Got To Die To Live Again’, you almost laugh at yourself, feeling a little dramatic, yet giving it your all as you sing along.

Feels like starting over is the last thing I wanna do

Yeah, I'd keep it all the same if I could

'Cause everything I've ever been is all wrapped up in you

But somethin' tells me that a change would do us good

But sometimes you have to let your heart break

And sometimes the right choice is so hard to make

Tears spring into your eyes, taking a breath and a moment to compose yourself, your vision clearing as you move your car forward on North Halsted, no ‘a’, which always amused you still for obvious reasons. It reminded you of your dork of a friend, Will Halstead. You thought about the other doctor for a second, he had invited you out for drinks with him, Jay, and some of the others from Intelligence. They were friends you hadn’t seen in a while, and you could do with some cheering up. So you make a mental note to text Will when you got home, changing the gear as you keep the car moving, Garth still singing for you in the background.

You and the other cars in the lane behind you don’t see it coming until it's too late. The flash of headlights burns your retinas, the screeching of tires is all around, and the full force of a pickup truck slams into your side of the car, ramming the vehicle into the wall of an apartment building. The metal bows the car interior inwards, pinning your leg in as your head snaps from side to side, glass and shrapnel flying around in the space. More cars join the chaos as they don’t stand the chance to move out of the way, the impact of their weight only further pressing you against the building, the truck and the tree that completed the triangle.

Then, it stops. 

Your vision swims violently, smoke and vapour roll through the vents of your car, coughing as you try and figure out if you’re still alive. The sound of shouts, horns, screams and sirens seem all so far away as your ears ring, an intense sharpness in your ribs makes you groan, hissing as your sensations start to rush back. The muffled sound of Garth still singing is the last thought that follows you into unconsciousness.

And sometimes it's no use saving your own skin

'Cause sometimes you've got to die to live again

End Of Part 1 

A/N: There will definitely be a part 2, maybe even 3!  

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Life as a barrister never was terribly real to me, and courtrooms were always a place of fantasy to me. They had nothing to do with discovering the truth, really, of course.

- John Mortimer

John Mortimer the barrister and writer died in 2009 and many felt we had lost a national treasure, which he certainly was. Much like Arthur Conan Doyle and his creation Sherlock Holmes, Mortimer became identified with his comic creation, Rumple of the Bailey, an ageing wit and hack barrister trudging along working the criminal courts for the defence. Such was the shadow of Rumpole that Mortimer’s legal achievements were often overlooked - of which were considerable.

His own father was a doyenne of the divorce courts and Mortimer followed his father’s footsteps into the legal profession at the bar, but to undertake civil liberties cases and censorship cases.  

As a campaigner he helped to achieve abolition of the death penalty and of the censorship of the theatre by that doltish establishment figure, the Lord Chamberlain. The cases he took as a barrister, defending Last Exit to Brooklyn, Oz, The Little Red School Book and finally Inside Linda Lovelace are credited with abolishing censorship of the written word (although the iconic Page Three semi nude model appeared in the Sun shortly after his victory in the Oz appeal).

It is interesting to consider how his insights, expressed in his plays and books, influenced progressive law reform. Rumpole of the Bailey had a particular impact on the reception by juries of police evidence. It came at a time - the late 70s - when the Vaudeville routine of the police "verbal" was still in vogue. Hardened villains, immediately on their arrest, would always say "It's a fair cop, guv" or "You've got me this banged to rights this time" or make other incriminating remarks. At least, police would tell this to juries as they read from their concocted notes. Juries would believe them, having been led by television fare like BBC tv series, Dixon of Dock Green.

Rumpole of the Bailey presented a different picture. It showed how bent or overzealous police could secure convictions by forensic trickery. Many lawyers who laboured in the criminal courts often in very unsexy settings credited the series with the new willingness of juries to acquit in such cases. In due course the law was changed and all police interviews had to be tape recorded or video taped.

Rumpole can also be credited with helping to change the culture of the bar. Mortimer was always amused at the prejudice against criminal law amongst the legal establishment - as one senior judge had put it, "the Old Bailey is hardly the SW3 of the legal profession". Lawyers who practised in crime were looked down on and students who showed any interest in human rights (then called civil liberties) were warned that they might ruin their career. Rumpole helped the public – and the bar – to understand that the need to protect the liberty of the subject is the main justification for the profession, and certainly for its independence.

Photo: John Mortimer, the creator of Rumpole of the Bailey book series, poses with Leo McKern who made Rumpole a cultural icon.

[daphenines]

everything is going to be okay (OMORI)

by daphenines

NOTE: i have no idea how uploading fanfiction on this website goes so if anyone can tell me how, please let me know :')

link to this fic on ao3

TRIGGER WARNING: DEPICTIONS OF SUICIDE

He remembers so much yet too little all at once.

He remembers sitting under the blazing sun in summer, hiding under an umbrella, watching as his friends laughed together. He wasn’t talkative, but that didn’t seem to matter to them. They would drag him out from where he sat, and force him to join in. He doesn’t remember specific memories, only a vague feeling of warmth, slightly fuzzy at the edges.

Most of their memories were captured in photographs. He remembers looking at them, remembers running his fingers down the smooth face of the polaroid pictures. He saw his face in the photos, a faint smile on his lips. He traced the edges of his face, every joy-softened angle. He remembers what his friend had said as he placed a flower crown upon his head. The boy frowned slightly at the sound of a camera clicking. Photos are our window to the past. In a couple of years, you’ll be grateful I took these.

As he stared at them, he wasn’t sure how he felt.

He remembers listening to his friend read to him, eyes as big as saucers, hanging off his every word. His friend was one of those people who could get anyone to listen, despite his soft voice and shy demeanor. He remembers shuffling closer, as if the words themselves were pulling him in. He doesn’t remember the story, only a blurred happiness, a faint disconnect. The boy rarely smiled, but he’s smiling in this photo.

He remembers his friend watching him and his sister practise for their recital. He remembers how they weaved together notes on a page into a discordant harmony. It was their first practise, and their notes were slightly off. He remembers his friend applauding as they finished, despite the music sounding terrible, smiling wide enough to split his face. 

His finger traces the outline of his sister in the polaroid picture, sitting next to him on a piano stool that was probably far too small for the both of them. In his lap is a violin. It’s new and the wood is shiny. The boy is smiling in this photo, too.

There are photos of a tree. The boy skims over them. He doesn’t remember much, but he remembers that tree.

A rush of feelings comes with those photos. He remembers his friend’s hand, clammy with sweat and tears, clutching onto his. He remembers how his friend rubbed soothing circles into his back as he threw his dinner up into the toilet, how he held the boy as he collapsed to the floor. Most of his memories come in brief, vague flashes. This one seems to last forever, though, the sensations stretching on. He remembers, vividly, the words of reassurance his friend murmured to him in his backyard, under the moon. Let’s make some new memories together, okay?

He feels as everything falls apart, leaving shattered pieces in his wake. He feels as his friend picks those pieces up, and hands them back to him, unafraid of cutting his palms on the sharp edges. He feels the comfort of his friend’s warmth next to him that night. The bed was barely big enough for the two of them. He remembers how cramped it had been, and he remembers not caring. It had been so hot with the two of them under the covers, but the boy didn’t care.

Everything is going to be okay. 

Promise me that we’ll always be there for each other.

He remembers the feeling of rope chafing against his palms, an inescapable phantom, the dark shadow that seems to loom over his head. He doesn’t give it a name, he doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to. But one comes to him anyway: guilt.

The dark black hair that looked like spilled ink around his sister’s body. The white flowers that surrounded her coffin. She looked like she was sleeping. She looked at peace. His friend had been there for the funeral, blue eyes wide, staring into the casket. The boy could read the expression on his face clear as day. He remembers wearing the same one.

This is my fault. This is my fault.

The boy and his friend were there when they buried her. He remembers the sound of dirt raining down on her coffin. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t remember how.

This is my fault. I’m sorry. 

His friend had seemed so calm when it had happened, but his façade fell apart once she was buried. The boy wanted to hold him, wanted to reassure him the way his friend had done for him, but he couldn’t. This was his fault. His friend surely knew that. 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

He remembers how the days alone in his room turned into weeks, then months. His friend had tried to contact him but, despite his best efforts, the boy remained locked inside his room.

His friend had knocked on his door everyday for those first months, pleading with him to come out, to just talk to him. He doesn’t remember his friend’s exact words, but he remembers three. 

I miss you.

After he didn’t respond to that, the knocks stopped, until all that was left was his door, and the relentless ringing of static in his ears. 

He doesn’t remember much from when he saw his friend again, only infinitesimal flashes that were as clear as they were brief.

He remembers unhooking the makeshift noose from around his friend’s neck, his fingers skirting over his friend’s torn and bloody wrist, searching for a pulse that is long gone. He remembers running his thumbs over the dark purple bruises decorating his friend’s throat, pushing down on them, as if the pain would wake him up. The boy cards his hands through his friend’s hair. It feels brittle under his fingertips. He takes one of his friend’s hands into his, threading his fingers through his friend’s stiff ones. His palms are sticky with blood.

This is my fault. I’m sorry. I love you. 

The boy’s head drops with a thud next to his friend’s. The wooden floorboards beneath his forehead are so, so cold. Everything is so cold. His lips move by his friend’s ear, his voice a low whisper. The boy barely hears his own words over the ever-present thrum of white noise in his ears. Everything is going to be okay. Promise me everything is going to be okay.

[attollogame]

sysba/character of choice and number uhhh 14

Spillways by Ghost hohoHO. Anyway I don't indulge enough into the full extent of the various punishments Sysba gets to casually face, being exiled and all, so!

Malaise comes upon them in the form of a rotten peach. The overly sweet and pungent aroma causes their lip to curl in disgust as they look down at it, at the way its fuzz-covered body warps, and its brown innards ooze carelessly onto the table it was tossed to. A clicking sound fills the room as they bite down on their thumbnail—a habit of frustration that their vanity rarely allows them to indulge in—while looking between the fruit and the darkness outside.

They rushed home in a concerning fashion when they pulled the fruit out of the drawer, and they know that they'll need to make up excuses to Elijah when they finally leave their home, when they finally drop the wards and unlatch the locks they've build to hide themselves away.

Peaches represent immortality and fertility in mythology; they don't need to look too far to know who would be responsible for placing a rotting one, a warning of an impending end, in their vicinity.

Is it not enough to have killed It once? Do they really need to repeat the action every single time It rears Its head once more? As if getting exiled to live among humans wasn't enough of a punishment, they need to relive that every so often?

Truly, their fellow Primordial's have a warped sense of humour.

Terrible, is it not?

The voice is indiscernible in its nature as its words drift unconcerned from across the table. Sysba bites down harder at its tone, snarling at the cracking sound that comes from breaking to the nails core. Looking up would be a pointless endeavour; they know precisely what's seated across from them. A perfect shadow replica of themself—save for the eyes, which would be a cold and unforgiving orange light.

There is only one party to blame in all of this.

"Spare me the dramatics," they finally spit back, dropping their hand down to the table as they examine the fruit. It's decayed more in the few minutes since it was tossed aside. They attribute that to the presence across from them. "Would it be so much for you to simply remain dead?"

For that to happen, you would need to die as well. An unfortunate consequence of your creation. It lets out a sound that can be interpreted as a sigh. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you will be alone once more.

"You aren't even the true version of yourself. You're merely an after image—a lingering impression—that was created based on sparse documents and word of mouth." They stretch their pale hand out to pick up the peach, grimacing at the way the brown juice slowly slides its way down their arm, before sighing in exasperation. "Six thousand years of this—you would think they'd realize that this isn't the correct road to redemption."

They can hear the disgust in Its voice before It speaks. Do not tell me you yearn for their forgiveness?

"Forgiveness? Goodness, Father, if I wanted that, I would have prostrated myself at their feet when everything was first discovered."

They bring the peach close to their lips as they peer over at the figure across the way. True to their prediction, Its a perfect shadow mirror of themself—save for the eyes—but they can still see evidence of Its true nature beneath the guise. The way the shadows seem to rise off of Its body in tendrils, or how the space around It seems significantly darker than anywhere else in the room; their lips curl into a perfectly practised grin at the sight of it all.

Its eyes narrow as though privy to their thoughts, which they already know It is. An unfortunate side effect of the consumption; they were born from Its body, and when they consumed It, that part was reabsorbed to create... well, the current Sysba.

Then finish this before they send their dogs to your home, It hisses, darkening the room further. Sysba rolls their eyes at the mention of the dogs—Abraxas and Florence—before bringing the peach to their lips and sinking their teeth into its grotesque exterior. When the juice fills their mouth and slides down their throat in a burning trail of old power and poison, and the world begins to blur between a memory and a reality, they can't help but laugh a bit at the absurdity of it all.

If this is the Primordial's version of soul-searching, then it's a shame to have it wasted on someone disinclined to redeem themself. Then again, they suppose a family reunion never hurt anyone before.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

I was listening to this one podcaster. And she said that she hated how Episode 8 was. She’s read all the books btw. She liked the rest of the season but not the last episode. She said that Mal going off on his own and Alina staying at the palace with Nikolai was something they would never do because they’d never abandon each other. I thought to myself—its something that they never did in the books yes but not something that they would never do. In fact, in the books, Mal leaves Alina—a lot. He’s terrible towards her…A LOT. Anyway, that’s a whole other can of worms. Then the podcaster said that Alina deciding to stay is something she’d never do. Again, I feel like they need to realize that what they mean is something she never DID in the books vs something she would never do. Finally, they were leaning heavily into the idea that Alina having the shadow powers is because the darkling is in her. They were saying that she’d never smirk like that from getting those powers. First, did they not watch the show or even read the books properly, there are peeks and instances, especially in the show, where Alina does get seduced by the darkness (literally and figuratively), where she wants power, where she gets this euphoric look on her face from the power! So I don’t think it’s fair to say that the reason she got those shadow powers and reacted the way she did has to be because of the darkling and because Alina would never do that. I think the show, if anything, was trying to show the complete opposite, that she did lean into the power because she always had an inclination for it anyway. Even in the books!

Idk, there were some things as a book reader, that I didn’t like in the show but I think some people are missing the point of an adaptation and all the baggage and restrictions AND liberties that come with it. I think that ending was brilliant

PS. I have to agree with the podcaster about how the dresses Alina, Genya and Zoya were wearing just was not it. Especially Zoya’s. Jessie in that crown though—as Ben said, she looks gorgeous and looks right in a crown.

A lot of the time when someone says that a character would never do that, what they actually mean is I don't like the way things have turned out and so instead of admitting that I don't like that things didn't go my way I am going to project my feelings onto this character and claim that it was ooc for them to do this.

As you said there were plenty of instances in the books and the show where Alina showed that she liked power and was curious about the cut. In the books she nearly slices Sergei in half with the cut before redirecting it at the ceiling, she then asked the fabrikators who repaired the ceiling to make sure there was still a mark left as scars can be useful reminders, she wanted the grisha to have some fear towards her so that they would think twice before defying or betraying her. In 1x02 when Aleks was talking about the cut Alina looked intrigued and looked down at her own hand like she was wondering what it would be like to use it herself. When she got the sea whip amplifier she looked euphoric as the power was pouring out of her. She also looked pleased when she was practising the cut at the spinning wheel with Nadia and Tamar and she destroyed the practise dummy and put a crack in the wall. So its not new for Alina to react to her powers, especially when her powers are destructive, with joy or pleasure.

I also them saying her using the cut and looking pleased must be because of the darkling does make me glad that they cut that scene where Aleks gives Alina his powers and instead made it a consequence of her using merzost because this shows that antis would have used it as an excuse to blame Aleks for it.

As you said at the end of day this is an adaption of the books, everything isn't going to be the same, they are going to change things and go where they want to go creatively, they are not trying to make an exact copy of the books and honestly thank god for that. I am with you the ending was brilliant.

[manilovetumblerusernames]

WASSUP ITS 3 AM N INSOMNIAS A BITCHHH. So in an effort to cure it ive written a fic. If u can call it that. Its more like a character study? Idk i jus wanted to write abt sad boi mic :( . Apologies if this is terrible, im super out of practise with writing and this is my first ever fic also im not doing any proofreading on this i wrote this all in one shot so i hope this isnt incoherent garbage. good luck!

The life of Yamada Hizashi was full of misfortune. In fact, the first tragedy of his life occured right as he entered the world. His cries as he exited his mother’s womb were so loud he had deafened everyone in the room and injured several other innocent bystanders in the area.

Objectively, Yamada knew he couldn’t control it. He was literally a newborn who didn’t even know what a quirk was. Yet that doesn’t stop him from asking himself “why didn’t you just stay quiet?” whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. If he had stayed quiet that day, he probably wouldn’t have been sent to an orphanage. Maybe his parents would have loved him, destructive, hazardous quirk and all.

The second misfortune was his inability to connect with his peers. He was popular, but popularity wasn’t the same as having actual, genuine friends who he could connect with, who he could talk to about anything and everything, who could sit with him in comfortable silence as they simply soaked in each others company, who he could share his deepest darkest secrets and confide his fears and insecurities to. Alas, he would only be known as the class clown. The one people could laugh at. The sunshine to brighten people’s day. It was lonely, being the sun.

Things seemed to change, however, when he entered UA. A tall, larger than life, cloud came by to greet the sun hello and they got on like a house on fire. The rest was history. The two were inseparable. Oboro and Yamada simply getting along like they had known each other since childhood. Yamada wished that was true.

After the sports festival, the sun and cloud duo would meet a shadow. The shadow refused to talk with them, telling them to leave him alone. But they persisted. Eventually Aizawa relented, slowly but surely letting the two drag him into their shenanigans. Finally, the trio was complete.

If people thought Aizawa’s calm, rational, slightly apathetic demeanour would balance out the chaos that was Oboro and Yamada, they were sorely mistaken. The three of them would somehow find themselves in all sorts of ridiculousness that they themselves conjured up. Whether it was getting caught up in a cloudy whirlwind (made by a Yamada-Oboro quirk tag team gone wrong) , a classic food fight (Aizawa started it) or even adopting a stray cat caught in the rain, the three of them went through it all together.

It all came crashing down when The Accident happened. Yamada could still hear his own voice shouting back at him. His own, destructive, hazardous voice. The very same voice that helped bring a building down on his best friend. It rang in the back of his head, like a horrible tinnitus that wouldn’t go away. As he made his way back to his room, his voice morphed, words slowly taking shape, telling him it was his fault that his best friend was sent home in a body bag instead of cheerily running down the pedestrian path. His voice once again ruined his life, making his world crumble around him just like the building had crumbled and fell onto his friend. He couldn’t sleep that night, not daring to close his eyes after he saw the devastated look on Aizawa’s face when he realised his friend was gone. When he realised his cloudy friend’s voice he heard wasn’t real. Yamada wondered what expression Aizawa would make when he inevitably concluded that Yamada was Oboros murderer.

When they returned to school, Yamada clung to Aizawa, refusing to leave his side. He said it was to make sure his friend was alright, but it was more selfish than that. Yamada was afraid. He was afraid that Aizawa would leave, turn his back on him and shut him out, like a blackout curtain. So, Yamada did everything he could to make Aizawa see that he was still okay, that he wasn’t broken, that he was still every bit of the friend he used to be and that he wasn’t plagued by ghostly voices and haunting images whenever the silence grew. Yamada pulled out all the stops, he cracked jokes, fooled around more than usual, tried to include Aizawa in every conversation, watched over him as Aizawa ran himself ragged training after hours.

But it was too much. He’d overcompensated. He was once again too much for people to handle. Yamada could only stand and watch, graduation hat heavy on his head like a crown of sorrow, as he watched his only friend disappear into a sea of people. Now that the cloud was gone, the sun, no longer covered, shone too brightly, and the shadow was chased away, melting into the darkness, never quite touching the light.

[crescentmoonteas]

How are Sumire and Haru linked to Madarame linked in this AU? Unless… *Flashbacks to Yusuke wanting to paint Ann nude* …Oh no.

haha no no you're okay!!! there is NO nude painting in the AU. we are all safe from 1. nude painting 2. maid Kawakami and 3. Studly Guy(TM)

Madarame is the first palace boss in the AU and he works at Shujin as an art teacher (he claims he works there and runs the art program for free as "charity work" while it's more like he's out there to keep Kobayakawa and Shujin under the AF's thumb while Kamoshida is king of Kosei lol) so naturally, Yusuke, who attends Shujin in the AU, is his star pupil.

Sumi's linked to him because she and Yusuke were friends in middle school! Yusuke was seen as the 'weird kid' while Sumi lived in her sister's shadow, so the two of them got on swimmingly. Yusuke would use Sumi as a model while she practised gymnastics and Sumi loved the fact that Yusuke didn't mind if her landing wasn't perfect etc etc

so seeing as Yusuke is a year older than Sumi he obviously went to high school before her and Madarame started trying to isolate Yusuke so he could more easily manipulate him, resulting in Madarame being like "oh Sumi was only using your talent so she could get famous. you don't need human friends Yusuke. you just need this brush also I need fifty copies of the Mona Lisa by Thursday, go go go" and forbade Yusuke from seeing her

(for bonus angst points: their friendship fills the trope of 'friend moves away/goes to new school and promises not to forget about them - subsequently forgets about them' 🙃)

as for Haru - I imagine it follows the same 'threat of expulsion' plot except Madarame finds out Yusuke is hanging out not just with Sumi but with THE NEW DELINQUENT STUDENT GASP SHOCK HORROR and when Yusuke stands up to him/calls him out on his terrible behaviour and forgery/discovers the truth behind the Sayuri, Madarame is like "oh, Yusuke, I thought you were better than this. guess you're all being expelled in 2 weeks or whatever. now everyone take a brush, I need thirty copies of American Gothic by 2pm"

[picapicamagpie]

Reference Details

Long, boring text post dump of character profile for Cadence under the cut. No spoilers. Just to use as a commission reference. Plus a lil trivia about her/head canons for birds in Sing to begin:

Loves lily flowers

Sleeps with a billion stuffed toys

Thinks popcorn counts as a vegetable

Can’t cook. At all

Favourite music is jazz, and favourite dance style is ballet

Once a year she moults her feathers (gradually, not all at once), and she hates it but then uses the feathers for costume accessories. She is super irritable during this time

Cartoon Anatomy: The feathers that make her fingers are more like actual fingers - she never moults them and can feel things with them. Sing universe birds have teeth (see: the cranes in the Sing 2 audition), and beaks are more flexible to move like lips

The evolution of animals in the Sing universe has lead to some more standardised body types (see: Mason the walrus), so Cadence’s biology is more like a mammal’s than an IRL bird’s

Because of her close work with Klaus, he is one of the only choreographers who can choreograph dances that incorporate flight

Hates being mistaken for a penguin

General

Name: Cadence Nickname: Cady Age: 30+ years Gender: Female (cis) Place of Birth: Redshore City outskirts Species: Eurasian Magpie Occupation: Actress with speciality in dancing and singing, mainly does theatre Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Relationship Status: In a relationship with Klaus Kickenklober

Appearance

Body Build: Curvy Height: 3′10″ (Approx. same as Nooshy without her ears?) Weight: 55lbs (hollow bird bones!) Feather colour: Black, white, iridescent blue and green on wings and tail Hair style: Shoulder length feathers that curl upwards Hair colour: Black with white tips Eye colour: Blue Distinguishing Features: Two large tail feathers make a heart shape, has white pattern on torso that mimics an “hourglass” figure, extra fluffy down feathers where her feathers become her leg scales Casual Clothing: Thigh-high black boots, dark jeans, leather jacket with lots of zips (fall/winter), simple light blue dress (spring/summer) Accessories: Blue eye shadow, blue opal necklace on silver chain, sometimes has a white lily in her “hair” feathers

Likes/Dislikes

Likes: Singing, dancing, acting, jewellery, precious stones, flowers, fine dining, the beach, hot days, being the centre of attention, night time, star gazing, soft toys, snow, jazz and classical music Dislikes: Most public spaces (especially public pools), costume jewellery/coloured glass stones, seeing others be more talented/successful than her, people with poor work ethic, bright/gaudy colours, the stereotypes of magpies

Hobbies

Dancing, singing, collecting precious stones, fashion, practising for work, gardening, socialising

Personality Strengths/Flaws

Strengths: Incredibly determined and hard-working, she has a great work ethic and will work however hard she needs to get what she wants. She’s very socially intelligent and good at reading the emotions of those around her and predicting how people might react. She’s adaptable to any situation. Once attached to someone, she is very loyal and loving. She is very affectionate and will shower her loved ones with compliments and cuddles. She has a dry sense of humour. She appears very confident and sophisticated and holds herself with elegance.

Flaws: Will often manipulate others into getting what she wants. She has(had?) no moral compass and is not afraid to instigate events to then use to blackmail someone into getting her way. She is very stubborn and once she has her mind set on something, almost nothing will stop her going after it. She can be vain, and some might see her as snobby. She has a lot of past trauma that she deals with very unhealthily, and actually has terrible self-esteem, with her drive to succeed based on feeling like she’s never good enough. Total drama queen and will make a big damn deal out of nothing. She’s very sensitive to the opinions of those around her.

Skills/Abilities

Singing: Cadence is an amazing singer with a variety of styles thanks to birds having a syrinx.

Dancing: Trained with Klaus, Cadence is also a talented dancer.

Acting: Cadence is an actress who mainly does theatre dramas. She also uses her acting skills in her personal life to advance her career and reputation among others.

Flight: Cadence can fly, and often uses this in her performances to make them more impressive.

History

Cadence was born just outside Redshore City, in a poorer area. She had a regular childhood, although she was bullied a lot by the other children for being a magpie. Magpies have a very bad reputation, with lots of stereotypes and superstitions involving murder, thieves, and being bad luck/omens. The other children often wouldn’t let her play with them. As a young girl, she would look at the glamour of Redshore City and dream about being its princess, where everyone loved her and everyone wanted to be her friend. She developed a rather unhealthy obsession with living like a fairy tale princess, as princesses had everything she didn’t. As she grew up, she knew the best way to get this admiration was to go into the entertainment industry. She worked hard to improve her acting and singing and became a small-time theatre actress. Eventually she worked her way to the top. It was during her career that she met Klaus. At first they didn’t get on, but eventually they realised they were similar: two animals, often made fun of because of how they look, who were hard working and determined to become the best in their respective careers regardless. Each respected how the other maintained their elegance and sophistication despite their situations. This respect grew into more romantic feelings, though Cadence ignored it at first. Cadence subconciously didn’t believe she deserved love, and this manifested as a desire for a perfect “happily ever after”, causing her to deny her feelings for Klaus for a long time.

Relationships

Family: Dennis (father), Alto (younger brother), unnamed mother Love interest: Klaus Kickenklober Friends: Klaus, Buster, Julie, Johnny, Gunter, Memphis (co-star)

Neutral: Ash, Calloway, Alfonso, Porsha, Rosita, Meena, Miss Crawly, Darius, Nooshy Dislikes: Serena, Zephyr, Jimmy Crystal, Elle

Cadence wishes she was friends with Nooshy, as she had a lot of respect and secret jealousy for people who can just be themselves as honestly as her. Unfortunately she’s a bit too fussy for Nooshy so they are just neutral.

*italics = another oc