#with a bit of the Horrors sprinkled in. for spice

[r0b0t1me]

nightmares suck. luckily familys always around to help

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Writblr Summoning Circle Intro

Since I rearranged things a bit, I'll try doing a proper introduction. What's the worst that could happen?

Hello and welcome to my shrine place of power writing blog. I'm Ceph, they/them, and despite the ghostly username I am, in fact, a regular human adult with a job, college homework, skin, blood, etc. Video games, houseplants, and buying books faster than I read them are just a few of my hobbies.

I write different flavors of fantasy mostly, with sprinkles of horror and romance/spice thrown in for pizzazz. If you're interested in...

Vampires, werecreatures, necromancers, merfolk, and/or passive-aggressive poltergeists

Resourceful protagonists in terrible peril who sometimes make choices that change things forever, for better or worse

Lovers becoming enemies becoming forced allies and maybe more in some cases

Themes of solidarity, the myriad facets of love, and people fighting for a better future

Slow burns

Worldbuilding that I definitely don't make up on the fly

Mortals becoming deities and vice versa

Telepathic monsters that could devour your soul -OR- become your best friend

Liminal spaces like roadside diners at 3 a.m

...you might find my WIPs tolerable. Possibly even fun.

Follow my sideblogs @dysthanasia-series and/or @the-primrose-path-story to get notifications for new chapters and other neat story-related stuff. Check out @coven-archives to see what I'm reblogging from fellow writers. Or just ask to be put on a taglist for a WIP you're interested in. You can also read for free on Patreon and AO3.

I welcome asks, prompts, writblr events (Worldbuilding Wednesday, etc.), and any interactions that lead to transmutating Internet strangers into friends. Do tell me about your characters and lore. I want to devour know all of it. Yes, even the obscure facts that never really make it into the story despite hours of research poured into them. Especially those.

That's pretty much it. Feel free to reblog or like this post or invite me into an object you own at the stroke of midnight if you want me to give a follow.

Below the cut you'll find a list of WIPs and links to read them which will increase my power every time you click one. Content advisories are at the top of each work and chapter.

Apophenia

Old rough draft version here

Genre(s): Urban/Paranormal fantasy, vampires, post-apocalyptic, whump-ish

Status: Redraft in progress

Mermaids don't exist. Every agent of the Coven, the organization that researches and governs the supernatural community, knows that. Accepting a classified assignment to investigate sightings along the Broken Coast is just an easy paycheck as far as Isaac Soto is concerned (not to mention another way to avoid dealing with his trauma and relationship issues).

A chance meeting with a charming stranger in a roadside diner changes not only the course of Isaac's assignment but the trajectory of his life. A life now in danger of being cut short unless he figures out how to escape the bloodborn who takes him hostage, a necromancer out to kill both of them, and the corruption at the heart of the organization he thought he believed in.

Phagophobia

Genre(s): Urban/Paranormal fantasy, vampires, post-apocalyptic, whump-ish

Status: Redraft in progress

Living isn't always a mercy, but Isaac Soto will take what he can get. Storm season makes fleeing from the Broken Coast and the bloodborn he met there difficult. Said bloodborn somehow knowing his every move makes it nigh impossible. Hiding in one of the few western cities to survive the break, Isaac makes a stand, a deal, and ultimately a decision that will shape the rest of his life.

The Primrose Path

Genre(s): High fantasy, romance/erotica

Status: Rough draft in progress

When his village is taken captive by an enemy nation, Illuminator Ân's priority is to make sure his people survive to fight another day. Faced with everything he's stood against as a priest of Cyanos, god of light and life, Ân prays for the strength to overcome and do what he must. It's not long before he receives signs that his petitions have been heard. Just not by the deity he serves.

Beyond & Between

Genre(s): High fantasy, portal fantasy, whump

Status: Occasional, out-of-order updates

Sail beyond where the seas turn red, until the sky is filled with unfamiliar stars, to the lands between realities. Magic and the power to leave one's old life behind awaits for those brave enough to seek it.

Beyond & Between is a collection of stories set in the strange places settled by ancient people, deities, and creatures from Earth who fell through the cracks.

Whumptober 2022

Each prompt followed by the story series it's set in and the MC. Content guidelines at the start of each story.

[sussoro]

tag people you want to know better

i got tagged by @lusavors — thank you so much, bb! 🩷

last song: 'hold me like a grudge' by fall out boy — this song (and, consequently, the album where you can find it) was released almost one year ago but i am still obsessing over it to this day;

currently watching: 'yellowjackets' (season 2, episode 1) — this is, by no means, a show for the weak of heart. i love the psychological horror vibes with the tiniest bit of supernatural sprinkled in between *chef's kiss*;

three ships: to spice things up a little bit, i'm gonna answer with a ship from a tv show, a videogame and an interactive fiction — kate & anthony ('bridgerton'), chloe & max ('life is strange'), indigo & seven ('infamous');

favourite colour: black (*adding choirs of 'like your soul!' in the background*);

currently consuming: red fruit tea;

place of birth: italy;

current location: once again... *drum rolls* italy!;

first ship: probably one from some animated series that i used to watch when i was a kid (maybe sailor moon & tuxedo mask?) but, since i don't really remember, i'll go with either seth & summer ('the o.c.') or jess & rory ('gilmore girls');

relationship status: single;

last movie: 'red, white & royal blue' — i watched this on a plane back home from new york and... well. no spoilers, but imagine watching that sex scene (if you know, you know) surrounded by strangers, lol;

currently working on: writing once again every single choice/detail about my original characters (+ face claims, names and last names that i'd really like to use) — to cut a long story short, last week i deleted my note app (where i generally store all these types of info) by mistake and, with no backup of sorts, i lost everything in the ether *insert very sad noises here*;

tagging: @griffin-wood, @narrativefoiltrope, @mvalentine, @thedeadthree, @kdelarenta, @leondaltons, @sohmiya, @rubyreverie — please, feel free to ignore this 😌

[finniestoncrane]

First of all, congrats for the 1,5k followers! I love your account! It's the main reason I'm checking Tumblr now and then and it really encouraging me to get to writing on Tumblr myself, though I'm still building up the confidence to do it 👉👈🥺

Jumping on the Vill-inn bandwagon, I'd love a blind date please!

I'm a 21 year-old ace Frenchie (afab, but I go by they/them in english) who wants to study cybersecurityI'm a big Sherlock Holmes nerd and usually I love murder mysteries and lovecraftian horror as an aestheticI want to get into witchcraft as well, for now I'm trying to learn tarot but I'd love to get more into itAlso a big videogames player, these days I do A LOT of Dead by Daylight (I'm trying to get into horror but I'm a bit of a scaredy cat) I'm a former gifted kid, so lots of people pleasing and a lack of self-confidence here, and a sprinkle of social anxiety to spice it up lol

And, once more, félicitations! You deserve it!

💜 blind date 💜 the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: oh god anon that's the nicest thing ;-; definitely share your writing with me if you feel comfortable i'd love to read it ;-; 💚

"Oh, hi. You're finally here. Welcome to the Vill-Inn. I'll show you to your table. If you could... either eat quick and get out of here or be the designated spokesperson for your table, that would be great. We're already sick of your date. Have a nice time..."

That's not really giving you a huge vote of confidence in how well this evening will go, but as you approach your date, you recognise him instantly. He doesn't need an introduction, but he offers you one anyone.

"Hello, Edward Nygma, you're welcome, by the way."

You can push aside the arrogance, The Riddler is as infamous as they come, so you can see why he might have developed an ego. he settles down quite quickly, also, which makes starting the evening a bit smoother than the introductions were.

When you actually get a chance to get a word in, you reveal your interest in cyber security.

"This isn't supposed to be a job interview... but I'm going to keep you in mind for a 'project' I have coming up."

Edward is quick to tell you he enjoys testing the limits of cyber security, or rather pushing them to it. It's like solving a puzzle. A mystery, where the solution is behind codes and passwords.

"I'm the Holmes, you could be my Watson?"

He grins wide when you laugh at his joke, mentioning your interest in Sherlock Holmes, as well as horror and the occult. These are subjects Edward isn't well-versed in, so he spends the next hour grilling you intensely, taking in as much knowledge as you can give him and thanking you profusely for giving him ever more information.

Once he's prattled on about his own love for video games off of your own admission about how much you enjoy them, he decides it's probably only polite to ask you a bit more about yourself, to get a feel for your personality, though he is desperate to talk about himself more.

When he learns how much you have in common though, he feels satiated in his desire for companionship. You're someone who might just get him. He too, struggled in childhood with his intelligence and the pressure placed on him because of it. Though, he's gone the opposite route. He prefers to disappoint people, and he's got, if he can admit it himself, possibly too much self-confidence. But he can always hope that some of that rubs off on you... if you're willing to spend more time with him, that is.

"Which of course you do! Who wouldn't?"

You can almost hear the wait staff rolling your eyes, but you're surprisingly only finding yourself falling for him more with each ridiculous statement he makes.

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Since I was gone so long I thought I might do a little reintroduction 🧠

Hey people I love! 🫀

My name is Colson but you can call me Col or Jinx. I was on here originally as Jinx before my Tumblr disappeared but for about two years I've been back and mostly used Col. I'm great with either 🌹

I'm a trans man, he/they 🏳️‍⚧️

I'm mostly a Yungblud and Machine Gun Kelly fan page, I do fics, updates, and pic edits but I do a little bit of everything with a lot of my life sprinkled in, sometimes including my health problems (I'm open about all of it if you ever have questions) I actually love questions and asks as long as people are nice 🖤

Just thought I'd introduce myself in case any of my mutuals are new. This is somewhat of an 18+ blog, at least leaning that way but all I mean by that is sometimes subjects are a little mature. Thank you for stopping by and I hope you enjoy! Stay a while if you want just please be respectful. I don't tolerate any racism or hate against the LGBTQIA+ or mental or physical health hate. I'm sure I'm missing something but you get the idea I'm sure. I love you all and I'm here if you need me!

-Col the Jinx 💕

🖤 Masterlist 🖤

Yes Daddy Verse/Saga of Smut

Dom x Colson

Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly

I Think I'm Okay (prequel)

5 Times Col Came in His Pants and 1 Time He Finally Made Dom Do It

Drown Out The Demons

Romcom Bullshit

Much Better Workout

Sex and Candy

Claimed in Ink and Cum

Sweet as Sin

Yes Daddy

Spoiled Princess

What Daddy Likes

Like I Love You

Reverse Cowgirl Barbie

Sex on a Stick

Baby Boy

Pure No Longer

Sext Edits

Adventures in Toyland

Full on Sex Symbol

They Felt Eternal

Their Natural State

Ride or Die

Sin on Stilettos and a Cotton Candy Soul

Crimson Coated Candy

Piss Drenched Devil

Chocolate Kisses and Golden Showers

It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding

Sin in Snow White Taffeta and Latex

Freshly Fucked and Beautifully Filthy Manhandled Marionette of a Bride

Watercolor Wet Dream Come to Life

Drifting Deep in Hopefully Wet Dreamland

Flesh to Flesh

Five Times is a flashback series in the Yes Daddy Verse, it is set between the prequel and the first chapter- Yes Daddy. I placed it all in order 🖤

Adventures in Toyland is a follow up series to the Yes Daddy Verse, I'll still list them all in order and may add to any sections at any time. Let me know if you have ideas! 🖤

It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding is a follow up series to the Yes Daddy Verse happening after Adventures in Toyland, they're all listed in order and you guessed it, the boys finally get married! 🖤

-Omegaverse AU-

Gunpowder and Watermelon

Autocorrected Anxiety Attacks and Messy Sexts

Pachyderms and Pointed Teeth

Knocked Up Knockouts and Cheesy Puns

A Little Less Sparkle, A Little More Reality

The Overwhelming Significance of Surprisingly Small Jellybeans

The Folly of Fracturing Sharp China and Soft Hearts

Fear and Lusting in London Flats

The Inevitability of Egos Clashing and Vicious Tongue Lashings

Of Sugar and Spice and Virgin Tight Asses

A Rebel's Yell and a Gangster's Paradise

Candy Hearts and Paper Cut Families

Photogenic Admissions and Confessional Panic Attacks

Little Shop of (W)horrors in a Pastel Hell

The Inescapable Moment of Truth and the Consequences of Open Black Hearts

Milk Chocolate Cherry Kisses and Birthday Wishes

Working Out the Kinks Under Hot Lights and Wanting Stares

The Taming of a Wild Boy

The Dynamics of a Bright Future and How to Reach It

Pride and Phenomenal Passion

Stereotypes and Salt in the Wound

What to Expect from an Expecting Omega

Patched Up Cuts and Mixed Up Blood

Alpha, Omega, a Nuisance, a Rebel

Lost Boy in Toyland

Starry Eyed and Punch Drunk

Mirrored Reflections and Babes from Outer Space

Believing in Love Songs and Tall Tales

Go Down Just Like Holy Mary

Piss Kinks, Morning Drinks, and Brand New Nicknames

Animated Arguments and Matching Love Languages

Screaming and Dreaming for the Future

Son of Rage and Love

Son of a Bitch and Edgar Allan Poe

Couch Confessions and Heavy Petting

Early Spawning and Other Lessons (Family Don't End With Blood)

One Flew Over the Klepto's Nest

Old Magic and Animal Aptitude

Strawberries and Cinnamon Toast

Your Body is a Wonderland

Born With Horns

In the Midst of Mild Madness

What's in a Name?

Spare the Rod Spoil the Alpha

To Cut or Not to Cut

Our Blood Got Mixed Up So I Guess We Belong to Each Other

Feels Like the Very First Time

Headboards and Scratched Tats

Best Alarm Clock

The Beasts Inside Disguised as Beauty

Popsicles and Pink Cheeks

The omegaverse AU is separate from the Yes Daddy Verse. The boys are still themselves but in an ABO world. Alpha Col and Omega Dom

-The Viking and the Fae- (an AU)

Where the Sea and Land Kiss

A Chieftain's Vow

Under the Thrall

The Long Sword's Hilt

Taste Like the Sea

Inga Knows Best

Feast Fit for a King

How the Waves Dance

The Forest Meets the Sea

The Soulmate Stalemate

The Taste of Truth and Tall Tales

The Wave Cresting

The Wave That Drowns

The Red Sea and the Viking Who Conquered It

Seal With a Kiss

A Broken Past and a Sea of Tears

The Siren's Tease and the Secrets Spilled

War and Pieces of Each Other

The Storm that Rocks the Waves

The Hush Between

Viking/Selkie AU. Separate from other fics but still Dom and Colson

[avacynthia]

he can't send a swablu to deliver this valentine / he has to act prior to the date in order to assure it's shipped & arrives on the desired day. thankfully his calculations are accurate, and on the coveted day cynthia receives a small box with a label of declaration to send food across regional borders. it's only when she opens that she'll find carefully wrapped & prepared for shipping, hand-made peppermint bark. while the bottom of each piece is solid white chocolate, there's swirl in the layer atop, dark chocolate accenting the sprinkles of crushed peppermint candies. the center almost appears gooey when broken under the right light; grusha's managed to insert a thin layer of fudge betwixt white chocolate bark layers. there's even a small hint of paprika in some bites, an accent to the mint & chocolate flavors both in the treat, and in-turn an unexpected bite. attached is a note: "seeing you reminded me of a tabloid i'd skimmed which indicated you loved the flavors of mint and chocolate together. i enjoyed your visit. i would like it if we were able to meet up again, sooner rather than later... if it's all the same to you. grusha." perhaps glaseado's hermit is not nearly so cold as their disposition leads others to believe.

"For me...?"

Cynthia can't help but feel a flutter in her chest as her personal assistant places a tidy package on her desk, the parcel already opened and delicately rewrapped again ("I screened the contents multiple times, but you should still be careful! Food doesn't travel well!")

Heeding her assistant's words, Cynthia does feel a bit nervous as her fingers carefully work the gift-ribbons loose, wondering what on earth this could be. Food? Hm.

The champion is used to sending out Valentine's presents (extravagantly so), not receiving them. And when she opens Grusha's thoughtful gift, her apprehension immediately dissipates, eyes widening with recognition and excitement. To her PA's horror, Cynthia digs right in, crunching into a slab of chocolatey goodness.

For a moment, she sees stars. Visions of paradise. The peppermint bark is that good, refreshing and sweet, with just a hint of lingering spice within the aftertaste. Cynthia comes back to reality to see her assistant peering at her sternly, hands planted on hips.

"Mm," Sinnoh's shining example grunts with her mouth full, pushing the box forward. "...Want some?"

She's greeted with perhaps the largest eye roll in human history, the beleaguered assistant sighing as she sweeps out of Cynthia's office. The champion smiles, plucking Grusha's note from the parcel. More for me, then.

"Never pegged you for a tabloid-browsing type, Leader Nomura..." she murmurs to herself, smiling as she peers out the frosted window. Somewhere, regions away atop a lonely mountain, Grusha waits. And Cynthia does want to see them again, if only to give thanks (and tease them about their reading habits.) She'd have to check her schedule--which was stiflingly busy, as always.

Cynthia sighs, pausing before an easy submission, popping another delicious shard of peppermint-chocolate into her mouth.

Why the hell not? She's earned this, at least.

[skeleton-in-a-hoodie]

Me whilst planning The Whole Being Dead Thing: And just a sprinkling of body horror.

Me, actually writing it: Hmm, just a little bit more *lid falls off the body horror spice bottle and most of it falls into the pan* ... I'm sure he'll be fine

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

@allvalley100

Prompt: Spice

Pairing: Hawkmetri

***

Demetri wails in horror as his mother dumps marjoram into the bowl with reckless abandon, humming while spooning it into the beef and lamb mixture.

“Mom! It called for one teaspoon, and that was at least one and a half!”

“In Greece, we measure ingredients with our hearts, not our anal little brains.” She reprimands him in a thick accent. “You want you and Eli’s anniversary dinner to taste like shit?”

“I don’t.”

“Then get the oregano.”

He reluctantly brings her the bottle, whimpering as she sprinkles well above the rim of the teaspoon measure and chucks it all in.

***

This goes with a headcanon I mentioned in this chapter of the gay little road trip fic!!! Basically I think Demetri would be really anal and exact about ingredient amounts in his cooking because of his logical, math-y brain, and he gets very frustrated with people who cook in a more freeform way XD Using a tiny bit more than the stated ingredient amount??? The HORROR! That will ruin the entire thing, how dare you!!!

[3wisellamas]

Deltarune Halloween Prompts Day 30: Treats

---

Sure, Halloween was for treats, but this year K_K wanted to do something extra-special. It'd been a lot of work, visiting everyone in town, learning their preferences, and putting together so many wildly different combinations of ingredients and flavors, but the months' worth of effort had finally paid off!

Stepping back, they admired their cupcake creations. For Seam, their favorite shopkeeper, purple-iced dark chocolate sprinkled with shards of sugar, and dusted with powdered cinnamon. The cinnamon had gone to great use in Malius' as well, with cinnamon glaze over red cake and a cinnamon cream center.

For Swatch, a two-tone vanilla and chocolate cupcake, with even the icing split down the middle, and for Clover a three-way split with bonus raspberry flavor, a culinary achievement K_K was especially proud of!

Queen's preferences were...peculiar, something every citizen of Cyber World knew well, and so for her he'd gotten a little creative, with green-dyed yellow cake and spicy corn chip crumbles mixed into the icing. Lancer also proved to have similar tastes to his "girldad," and so K_K instead made him a blueberry muffin with a pit of salsa hidden inside, as well as a second for himself to see if that combination was actually as horrible as it sounded. Thankfully his father proved to be a little more reasonable, and for him K_K prepared just a plain white cake made with almond flour, with cashew bits sprinkled over the icing.

For Prince Ralsei, a vanilla-iced chocolate cupcake, fitting his strangely upside-down nature, with extra sprinkles. And K_K hadn't forgotten the Lightners either, with a cherry-filled cupcake for Susie that even had blood-red icing, and chocolate-iced chocolate cake with chocolate cream in the middle, chocolate sprinkles on top, and dusted with chocolate cookie bits for Kris. Shockingly, Rouxls seemed to like chocolate almost as much as the human, which K_K got to have a little fun with, making the icing resemble dirt for a few sour gummy worms to reside in.

Finally, there were a couple more that Kris requested for friends of theirs that K_K had never met, but they could get a sense from how they spoke about them: one devil's food with more sprinkles than they'd ever used on a single cupcake before, the other a simple lemon cake with a couple of coins stuck into the icing, for some reason.

But the most special of all were the two K_K made for Sweet and Cap'n. Sweet got a warm vanilla cake with pumpkin spice icing and a little caramel drizzled on top, while Cap'n's was chocolate and strawberry icing, with a little of the fruit baked inside and one slice they'd saved to adorn the very top. Those two stood out among all the rest that K_K had prepared for Castle Town as masterpieces, ones that they couldn't wait to show off!

"You READ MY FUCKING POETRY??!" Oh, there they were already! Smiling, K_K turned to see Sweet running into the kitchen, ready to show them their cupcake at last, but they seemed to be in quite a hurry for some reason.

To K_K's horror, in his rush Sweet suddenly tripped over his own feet, going flying face-first right into the counter...and into the two cupcakes K_K had made for him and Cap'n.

"SWEET COME BACK HERE--Oh. Oh no." Cap'n stopped in his tracks, taking in the scene, with Sweet wiping off the caramel and icing and strawberries from his speaker, dazed, and K_K standing there, silent, tears in their eyes. "Hey, uh...those weren't nothin' important, right? It looks like you got plenty of others!"

K_K just ran from the room, wailing, and Cap'n's soul sunk.

[flybi91]

Some domestic Jonathan headcanons for fall

I think I left it vague enough to imagine any version of him you’d like, I know not everyone likes this version but I just have a VERY big soft spot for Cillian Murphy’s take

Jonathan has a savings jar and around fall you two go to bath and body works and lush so you can stock up on stuff to last the year

You go in the beginning so you don’t miss out on anything but when they start putting fall things on sale you go and buy whatever else you can

You do something similar with food, when they put fall themed snacks on sale around end of fall/beginning of winter you buy a bunch of pumpkin spice stuff and Halloween themed snacks

What can you say? cupcakes just taste better when the sprinkles are shaped like bats, spiders, and tombstones

You two have a closet specifically for autumnal soaps, candles, etc

He has a black cat that follows him like a shadow whenever he’s home

He lives near a forest near the outskirts of the city

A few years ago he found a sick little kitten near his house.....well more like a little cabin with heat, water, and electricity

He (unfortunately) found it’s mother

He assumed Selina lost it but she always took very good care of the cats in Gotham

He took it to her for advice on what’s wrong

Everyone in Gotham knows if something’s wrong with your cat you go to Selina first

You’re surprised when his crows take a liking to you

You’re shocked that the cat doesn’t try and hurt them

While Jonathan likes straight up thriller/horror movies he’ll still watch some fun Halloween movies with you that you’re nostalgic for

He has an old tube t.v. from the late 90′s-early 00′s that still works

He offered to get a newer t.v. for you but you love it

He’s surprised when he actually likes some of them and you’re surprised when you learned he never watched a Tim Burton movie

“Are you serious?! YOU of all people have NEVER watched a Tim Burton film?!”

He loves all of them but he’s soft for Hocus Pocus and Beetlejuice because he knows you’ve been watching them since you were a literal toddler and he knows how much they mean to you

Besides, Sarah Sanderson reminds him a little of Harley

You two spent literal days making a list of what movies you were gonna watch on what days

Jonathan took the time to actually make a chart for how long each movie was

You spend time while he’s at work organizing the VHS and DVDs on the shelf for fall

He gets jealous when you’re watching re-animator and let it slip that you had a crush on Herbert when you were younger

“Babe, I wouldn’t cheat, and that’s not even counting the fact that it’s physically impossible for me to cheat on you with a movie character“

He asks who else, you sigh and admit Egon from Ghostbusters, Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors, and Adam from Beetlejuice

He gets quiet and blushes a bit when he realizes they’re all nerdy, gangly, characters with glasses

You’ve told him multiple times but he still can’t fully comprehend how he got a girlfriend because of the qualities that kids made fun of him for

Wants to watch the first horror movie you’re ever experienced with you

His eyebrow goes up when you pull out Bride of Chucky

When he’s off from work you two apples and pumpkins and spend the evening carving pumpkins

You realize you two ended up taking more than you could ever need

While he’s at work on Monday you decide to make treats for you and your friends, caramel and candy apples, pies, cakes, etc

You look up how to grow pumpkins and apple trees and decide to give it a try

You give any leftovers to the crows

You text Jonathan a picture you took of a squirrel sleeping in a pumpkin

Sitting in the living room, Jonathan cuddled up on a plushy recliner, wearing a sweater with a blanket draped over him

stacks of books on the coffee table with the cat sitting on top of them like she owns them, a couple books on the side table

Some fall scented candle burning away

You’re sitting in a recliner across form him, you picked up some craft supplies and some new things to try out

You decided to knit a new winter set for Jonathan, he always went through them so fast, you wanted to blame it on batman fighting him but in all honesty the chemicals he worked with probably did something to the wool

Sitting in bed cuddling him while he reads a bit before bed

He always re-reads Carrie around this time of year

When he felt safe enough to open up to you, you were shocked by how similar his situation was

Can go out to cause chaos on Halloween as long as he gets back at the end of the night

“I don’t care what you have to do as long as you’re back when I wake up“

[fracktastic]

My Cabin that you Didn’t Build

An excerpt from the prequel to TSFN - or, proof that not everything I write is an angst-and-horror-fest.  There’s only a very little bit of angst this time. Seriously. I present Laura and Bill’s “Date night - or is it? They’re not sure, either” on New Caprica --- She glances over her shoulder at him. “You sure you wanna try this? I haven’t cooked for anyone in a while,” she says as she opens the precious can of ration beans she’d managed to scrounge up. She strains the seasoned liquid into a rinsed-out jelly jar to save - it’ll thicken up a soup nicely tomorrow and salt has become a precious commodity.  “Cooking? I thought we were having a salad,” he says with a chuckle. She mixes the beans in with what she suspects will be the last of the season’s edible greens. Winter seems determined to come early on New Caprica.  She smiles to herself as she sprinkles the salad with oil and vinegar, “Mnazaleh’s in the oven,” she replies, referring to the scrap-metal apparatus one of Bill’s deck gang had dropped off, “it’ll be out in another minute.” The Libran dish should be filling the tent with it’s pungent aroma, but the right spices are hard to come by these days, so she can only hope it tastes like something. She doesn’t tell him that she’s been saving meat ration tickets for two weeks in anticipation of his visit - she doesn’t want him to worry about her down here.  “You know, I never imagined you cooking before this,” he says, watching her at the small scrap-metal stove he’d arranged for her. “You never struck me as the type.”  She hums in agreement, “I can cook,” she explains, “I just don’t. Well... Didn’t. Not the last fifteen years or so, anyhow.” “Not enough time as ed. sec.?” he asks, trying out the abbreviation he’d heard her use a few times in passing. She shrugs and turns toward him, tilting her head for a moment as she decides whether or not to explain. She’d grown up cooking and taken it up again as she’d cared for her mother - at least until diloxin and radiation had destroyed her sense of taste. There hadn’t been much point in continuing once every attempt was pushed aside after being deemed bland or metallic, or just plain funny tasting.  “I... uh…” she starts, but changes tack mid sentence, “something like that, yes.” She turns her back and busies herself plating the salad. “Thank your deck crew again for me,” she says as she withdraws the pan of layered meat and vegetables from the oven, “I’d be freezing already without this stove.” “They were happy to do it,” he says with a smile and rises from his seat, “need a hand with anything?” He approaches and gently places a hand on the small of her back as she sets down the hot pan.  “Light the candle?” she suggests as she brings the plates to the trunk that’s serving as a makeshift table. She had bartered a good pair of socks for it. She still isn’t completely sure what they’re doing here, but it’s the second time since Founder’s Day that he’s come down to visit her and she’d like to think that means something. 

[thero0ks]

Would You Want to Start Tonight? <Erwin Smith NSFW!>

Forgive us Commander for we have sinned.

NSFW! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!

Erwin wants to start a family. Erwin and the reader decide to get started.

Erwin is the king of dirty talk, and you can't convince me otherwise. Tried to make it a little spicey...let me know what you think.

Horror came across his face as she dumped ingredients in. A half used cookbook was thrown open, “half a teaspoon of chili powder.” He heard her scoff as she threw the spoon on the counter sprinkling the spice right from the jar. It wasn’t even a measuring spoon she’d been using. Just the smaller set of spoons they kept in the drawer. 

The only woman who could ever rattle that stoic face of his had somehow agreed to be his wife three years ago. His complete opposite, he found himself drawn to her spontaneous chaos.

He leaned against the wall watching her dance around the kitchen to music that was at a volume one would expect from a teenager, rather than a full grown woman. After receiving a content look from their dog she’d swooped in her arms to dance with, he couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips. When she finally noticed his presence she placed the dog back on the floor who already looked eager for more of her attention. 

The warmth that came from her smile was drawing him to her. “Erwin, you’re home early.” On tiptoes to give him a kiss he felt her hands on his tie pulling him closer to her lips. The kiss was short and sweet, and he found himself following close behind her as she turned her attention back to the stove. Her hips fit in his palms as he rested his chin on her head. Liquid eyes observing the ingredients. His mind trailed back to the set of measuring spoons his mother had gifted her, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who didn’t fully understand the wild being in his hands. Somehow her dishes always turned out better than the recipes, and he quickly learned to not question her. 

“How was work?” She inquired, and this was his typical que to unload. He sighed, getting all his work troubles off his mind. She never understood his passion for work, but she supported him regardless. Different things made people tick, and Erwin’s was always work. “Mike thinks we can win the case, but it’ll be a gamble.” He concluded with a sigh. 

Pouring him a brandy she handed him the glass before gesturing to the table before bringing the plates over. “How was work for you?” He inquired as she poured a glass of wine.

“Ugh, don’t make me think of that place.” She groaned. 

“That good?” He couldn’t stop the smile at her dramatics.

She took a seat offering him a smile in return. “It was fine, I’d just rather not be there.” She said simply, taking a sip of her wine. 

“You know you don’t have to work, I make more than enough money.” He stated, eyeing her as she bit her lip.

“What else would I do? Besides, if I quit my mother would feel inclined to start asking about grandchildren.” 

Erwin’s eyes flickered up, watching her push her food around. “Would that be such a bad thing?” 

Surprised eyes observed him, “are you hinting at something?” 

Erwin shrugged, “we have been married for three years, I’ve settled into my career, we’ve bought a house...isn’t it the next logical step?” 

Erwin was always the planner. Everything had an order, and his life seemed to be stepping stones, every step marking a new achievement in his life. He’d always managed to stay on the straight and narrow. Perfect grades, perfect school, perfect job, and the perfect house. 

Y/N felt like he was always achieving the impossible. Whenever she created plans they tended to blow up in her face. Looking back at all of the choices she made there never was a mistake, life just decided to blow her completely off course, and she always found herself playing catch-up. Erwin being drawn to her like a magnet seemed like dumb luck. How did a mess like her fit into his perfectly tailored life?

“I know you’re worried you’ll be like your father, but I know you.” Erwin said softly, “you would be the perfect mother.” Those baby blue eyes of his didn’t hold a hint of doubt. He knew how to charm people with a simple gaze, he also knew how to use them to solidify a point. 

Y/N rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, “you didn’t know me before…” The statement died on her lips as she gripped her fork. 

Erwin’s eyes softened, “you’re right, because you aren’t that person anymore.” His voice was soft, and Y/N knew her resolve was crumbling. He knew the art of negotiating, that’s why he was so good at his job. He reached for her hand, stroking it gently with his thumb, “you take care of everyone, and you don’t see how perfect you are.” 

Glistening eyes snapped up at him, “you put everyone first, and can overthink yourself into oblivion.” He mused, his eyes were honest and full of adoration. “You always seem to know what’s truly important, whereas I tend to have a one track mind.” He said, running his fingers through his hair. He never was good at admitting his own shortcomings, he had a tendency to hold himself to an impossible standard. 

“Okay.” 

Erwin’s head snapped up, “okay? As in you want this?” 

Y/N nodded, “yes Erwin. I want this.” She said softly, and she soon found herself engulfed in his arms. 

Erwin was the catalyst that always drove her forward. Perhaps the reason her plans never worked out, was because that wasn’t what fate had in mind. Erwin seemed to always find the right timing on these things. He’d been the one to mention buying a house, and she’d initially agreed, because she thought it would make him happy, but as he pressed his lips against her’s she realized that she wouldn’t have had the courage to take the next step if he hadn’t already paved the way.  

Erwin cradled her face, and the excitement that flashed in his eyes brought a smile to her face. “Would you want to start tonight?” 

Y/N nodded, and found herself being lifted into his arms and carried up the stairs. Kisses being peppered down her neck. 

Her back made contact with the covers as Erwin hovered over her, capturing her lips with his. Running his tongue across her bottom lip she allowed him to deepen the kiss. She could taste Pinot Grigio on his tongue. Warm hands slid up her neck to entangle in her hair. Pulling away his eyes were clouded with lust, as he took in her disheveled appearance.

“Strip.” He ordered.

Loosening his tie with his free hand he watched her undress. Grabbing her wrists he slipped the silky material around her wrists before pulling tight. She let out a small squeak at the pressure, and saw the feral look in his eye. Running his hands up her body making sure to take his time whenever her body shuddered at his touch. 

Lifting her onto the bed his lips traveled down her naked flesh. Pushing her arms above her head so her breasts were on display. “You’re perfect.” He breathed, soft eyes flickering over the plains of her body. She was soft in all the right places, and he drank her body in like a man starved. 

His fingers ran over her breasts, causing her to arch into his touch. Desperate for more. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth. A needy moan escaped her lips at the sensation, rolling her other nipple with his thumb it sent fire straight to her core. He continued his ministrations until she was squirming under him desperate for any friction between her legs. 

“Tell me what you want.” Erwin said, nipping her breast. 

“I want you between my thighs.” She begged, her wrists pulling at the restraints. 

Erwin pulled away, and she let out a small whine from the loss of contact. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his hands unbuttoning his shirt. Leaning forward to get a better view of his exposed skin, she licked her lips eager to see more of him. 

The man was sculpted like a Greek god. His muscles moved under his skin as he finished stripping his shirt.

Settling between her knees he ran his hands under her thighs. Gripping her thighs he tugged her to the edge of the bed. Glistening eyes gazed up from between her legs as he slowly kissed up her inner thighs.

Settling on her mound he placed a small kitten lick, causing her legs to flex with a sharp inhale of breath. A knowing smirk crossed his lips as he drew a finger down her slit. “Mmm already this wet?” Slipping a finger inside he started to work her until he slipped a second in. Heady eyes watched her squirm as he rubbed tight circles on her g-spot. Holding her in place he dipped his head to suck on her bundle of nerves. 

Thighs clamped around his head as she begged for him to continue. Promising she was so close to the edge. Feeling her pulsing around his fingers he drug out her orgasm until her juices ran down his face. She was panting when her thighs finally released him.

Shoving his fingers in her mouth she eagerly sucked, “am I going to feel those pretty lips on my cock?” Retracting his fingers for her to answer his thumb played with her bottom lip as his wet fingers gripped her chin. 

“Yes.” She whimpered, and he paused giving her a stern look. “Yes what?” 

“Yes sir,” she said leaning into his touch, eager to please.

“Good girl.” He mused, reaching for the tie, releasing the silk binding. He settled against the headboard as she climbed over him eagerly. Trailing her lips down his body, leaving soft nips eager to watch his body shutter. Settling between his thighs her eyes flickered up to see one arm propped behind his head, and piercing eyes watching her every move. His muscles shifted as he grew impatient of her staring, but predatory eyes dared her to keep looking, eager to punish her for teasing. Tentatively she sucked a hickey above his dick, and felt a large hand bury itself in her hair. 

Drawing her tongue up his cock she popped the tip in her mouth swirling her tongue. An exasperated moan escaped his lip, and Y/N loved how eager he was. Erwin ever the gentleman just gripped her hair allowing her to tease his length as she slowly bobbed her head. When she finally took him deep, she peered up at him to see his head thrown back, holding back from shoving himself deeper down her throat. It wasn’t until she started sucking with the bottom of her throat that Erwin’s grip on her hair tightened, and he couldn’t stop the “fuck.” that escaped his lips. Releasing him with a pop he stroked her face, dazed at how quickly she had brought him to the edge. 

Crawling up the mattress to settle between his thighs, he ran his fingers down her body. “You’re just asking to be fucked.” 

“Hands and knees.” He ordered pressing her face into the mattress. Running his dick  through her folds he felt her hips wiggle against him eager to feel him inside her. “Look at you cock starved.” 

“Please Erwin.” Y/N begged, gripping the sheets.

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me, please.” 

In one stroke he filled her. Her sharp intake of breath made his brain want to short circuit. “Fuck you’re tight.” He growled, feeling her grip him. Bringing his hand down on her ass she pushed into him, trying to pull him deeper. “That’s for teasing me earlier.” He said, gripping her delicate skin rubbing any sting it left into pleasure. He hadn’t planned on starting slow tonight, and by the way she was meeting his thrust she hadn’t either. The brutal pace he set had her mewling into the mattress as her hands gripped the sheets desperate for anything to ground her. 

Reaching between her legs he started rubbing quick circles on her clit. “I know you’re close baby, cum for me.” He murmured in her ear. Her breathing had progressively gotten shallower the closer she was to the edge. As soon as she heard those words a damn broke and her second orgasm washed through her. “Fuck you’re taking me so good.” He praised, and she felt his blond hair tickle her back as he leaned over her, the pleasure being too much as her orgasm pulsed around his cock. With a few more strokes he found his own release, cumming inside her. 

Pulling out he pulled her in close. “You did so good.” He hummed, kissing her temple. 

Soft eyes gazed up at him, “I love you.” She said softly, bringing a smile to his face.

He would never tire from hearing those words from her mouth. “I love you too.” He said, pulling her in for a kiss. 

“Let me run a bath.” He said softly, but she grabbed his arm before he could slip away. 

“Stay.” It came out as a content whisper. “For just a little longer.”

Erwin nodded, pulling her onto his chest. Stroking her hair as she traced shapes on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. The prospect of a family warming his heart. 

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 159: 2x18, 13x19

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

April 19, 2022

2x18: Hollywood Babylon

Written by: Ben Edlund

Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

Original air date: April 19, 2007

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean discover that a group of ghosts are attempting to shut down production of a movie that they feel is mocking them.

Features:

The biggest soundstage in the world, Dean’s crush on Matt Damon, an interfering producer, Dean as a PA, summoning a ghost to do your dirty work, an ancient motorola phone camera, the world’s most determined B-List horror movie.

My Thoughts:

This is just a fun little episode where Dean does a silly little job. Also, it’s maybe the happiest we’ll ever see him except for 10 minutes in the middle of Tombstone?

People have been talking on Tumblr for years about how Dean would be fixed if he could just quit hunting to go be competent in a job where he gets to be part of a team, and this is why. He could literally quit hunting and con himself into a very successful career in film production. It’s really fun to see him being such a nerd and so unreservedly enthusiastic, and I love how it’s carried all the way through to Mint Condition in season 14. 

A fun way to be sad is to think about how we just watched a season 10 episode where Dean said he’d never been to the beach. They were IN LA and he wanted to go to a beach and had to work and then he never got another chance to go to a beach. Also, do NOT think about A Complete Kingdom.

I like Tara, it’s rare that a female character in a monster of the week episode isn’t a complete stereotype. They could have made her a classic starlet that was a real bitch but instead she’s just a normal lady doing her job even if she doesn’t like it that much. The polaroids are cute, too. 

The best part about watching this episode is that Dean has already been all over the news for theoretically robbing a bank and he still hooked up with a movie star on set. Icon.  

Notable Lines:

“You know nothing of your cultural heritage, do you?”

“What's a P.A.?” “ I think they're kind of like slaves.”

“You know, I thought you hated being a P.A.” “I don't know. It's not so bad. I kind of feel like part of the team, you know?”

“You know, maybe the spirits are trying to shut down the movie 'cause they think it sucks.”

“You are one hell of a P.A.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.6

IMdB Rating: 8.5

13x19: Funeralia

Written by: Steve Yockey

Directed by: Nina Lopez-Corrado

Original air date: April 19, 2018

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean must stop Rowena, who is on a deadly mission. Meanwhile, Castiel looks to heaven to recruit angels for an impending invasion but is shocked by not only what he finds, but who.

Features:

Rowena’s powerful sense of the dramatic, Jessica the baby monitor-Reaper, Reaper assassinations, the machinery of Death, Death’s notebooks, Naomi’s return, Big Pharma as the real monsters, Rowena confronting Death.

My Thoughts:

This isn’t my favourite Yockey episode, but even still it’s got lots of good stuff in it. Tons of Samwena straight-bait, A little sprinkling of Billiewena for spice. Cas being called handsome. 

The A plot and the B plot line up really nicely in this episode with the thematic understanding that we can’t control everything and we can’t win every time. 

I have a theory that Yockey’s Dean is happier than a lot of other writers. Even when he’s drinking (flirting) in the kitchen with Cas and the world is gone to shit, he’s a bit lighter. I like seeing that in his interactions with Cas. 

I really like Rowena the more she shifts to the good guys’ team (which is rare, come to think of it - I usually think it ruins a villain to turn good). The alley scene fucks extremely hard. She gets a lot of space to have her emotions explored and I love the mutual misery between her and Sam when they learn about her fate. 

In terms of fate, this is a nice gentle way to start setting God up as the ultimate villain - they didn’t tear up the script at the end of season 5 like they’ve always been told. Chuck has brought fate back.

I love Yockey making all of the angel death (and genocide) matter, in a way it should have since season 7 but was overlooked. I like Naomi too, so it’s fun to see her back around. All of the Heaven stuff does make me wish that the finale had been about abolishing afterlives and allowing souls to return to the universe. 

Notable Lines:

“Ah, the handsome angel is there, isn’t he? Hello tweety pie.”

“ you stole my memories, and you threatened to "tear me apart," and you made me repeatedly act out Dean Winchester’s murder, and you killed many, many people.” “Those were simpler times.”

“There are a grand total of nine angels in Heaven, present company included,”

“Sometimes life is unfair, and sometimes we lose things. And sometimes we make mistakes. And some of these things can never be fixed, no matter how powerful you become. Some things just are, and everyone has to live with that.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.2

IMdB Rating: 8.2

In Conclusion: We are just over a month away from the end of Stacked. The light at the end of the tunnel. 

<< Previous Day  |  Next Day >>

[winterhawk-olympic-bang]

Emotive Writing

Guest Poster: @thepartyresponsible​

Emotive writing is about making people Feel Things. People use this all the time to sell you stuff, but we’re out here giving emotions away for free. Here are a few tips and tricks I’ve found to make people feel the most emotions.

Word choice:

This is the most straightforward part of emotive writing. Your word choices add an extra layer of complexity to your message. You aren’t just telling readers what happened; you’re signaling to them how they should feel. Most writers do this unconsciously, but being deliberate can make it especially effective.

Here’s a non-emotive, just-the-facts sentence: The soldier lifted his weapon and turned toward the enemy.

Here’s the same sentence reworked to make you care a bit more: The exhausted soldier raised his broken shield and faced the invading army.

The actions here are fundamentally the same, but exhausted and broken invoke sympathy while invading skews negative.

The words you choose are sign posts for the reader. They indicate how to interpret the story and help your readers orient themselves and form expectations. Subtly building expectation is important because, while surprise can be effective, shock is generally numbing and confusion tends to be irritating, so word choice helps you frame things and guide your reader along.

One of the keys here is to attempt some subtlety. If every sentence about your protagonist reads like an ad campaign (effervescent, brilliant, impervious) and every sentence about your antagonist reads like a political diatribe (cruel, spineless, malicious), you’re probably overusing your sign posts. People want to know who to root for, but too much emotive language can make them feel manipulated.

Think of word choice like adding spices to food. If you put oats in boiling water, you’re making oatmeal, and the spices you use won’t change that. But if you throw in some honey and cinnamon, I know we’re headed somewhere wholesome. If you sprinkle in little discordant notes of garlic powder and cayenne, what we’re cooking is a tragedy. And if you upend an entire bottle of cinnamon, a quarter cup of nutmeg, and toss in seventeen whole cloves, I am not staying for breakfast.

Narrative distance:

Narrative or psychic distance is the space between the reader and the character, usually navigated by the intermediary figure of the narrator. Your narrator can be an omniscient figure that knows the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of every character in the world. Or your narrator could be sitting on the shoulder of your main character, close enough to hear their thoughts and know their story but not so close that they speak with the character’s voice. Or your narrator could be your character.

If you want to ramp up emotion, you usually want a narrator who is very close to one character (or, alternatively, to separate characters in turn). But you don’t have to stay at one distance for the whole story, and, just like word choice, shifts in narrative distance can be helpful indicators to your reader about the story and the characters.

A sudden, dramatic shift in narrative distance is quite jarring, like a sudden zoom-in during a movie. It can be effective, but it’ll lose its punch if it’s overused. Generally, if you want to shift narrative distance, you should build to it slowly. Here’s an example of shifting from a distant third person to a closer third person:

They wake the Soldier because the archer is missing. He has a habit of slipping his lead, disappearing post-mission. The chase grew tedious years ago, but the Soldier runs it just the same. He’ll do as he’s told. But it bothers him, when he lets it. The why.

Why does he do this? the Soldier wonders, when he shouldn’t, when it isn’t his place. Where is he going? he thinks, when he can’t stop himself. Who is he running to? But he tries to think nothing at all.

Another trick of narrative distance is to suddenly pull back to show a character who’s been compromised, shocked, or deeply hurt by something. Imagine spending a long time in a close Bucky perspective, hearing his thoughts, and then being abruptly walloped across the face with: The machine went quiet, and the Soldier opened his eyes. Zooming out can emphasize what’s been lost. Because you aren’t just taking the soul of Bucky Barnes right out of him, you’re also taking that closeness away from the reader. You’re silencing the voice they’ve been listening to.

Whether you zoom in or out during highly emotional moments depends on what you’re trying to accomplish and also on who’s involved.  Some characters have loud, messy emotions that will get louder when they’re hurt. Some characters will freeze over and push a narrator further away. You can use narrative distance to show a character slowly opening up or suddenly slamming a door. But you need the reader to have a solid understanding of the character in order to follow what the shift means, which leads to the next component.

Know your characters:

So, here’s the thing. You gotta Velveteen Rabbit this. Every character is Tinker Bell. If you stop believing, they die.

If you want people to care about these characters, you have to treat them like living, breathing, fully feeling people. They have favorite colors. They have phobias. They have Friday night plans and blisters from new shoes and sesame seeds stuck in their teeth. They have superstitions and secrets. You don’t need to know all of these facts, but you should try to give the impression that someone could know them. The more real your characters are, the more we’re going to care about them.

Since this is fanfiction, you start with a receptive audience. Your readers are fond of these characters. Figure out why. Figure out which parts of the character you can relate to and dig in until you feel like you can understand the parts of them you can’t relate to.

Try to collect things that make you feel close to that character. I always have music playing when I’m writing, so I make playlists for characters and playlists for stories. If I feel like I’m losing a character, I’ll go back to their playlist. But you could also use Pinterest boards, reread favorite fics or comics, rewatch movies or fanvids, or spend an unreasonable amount of time researching bows and tactical knives. Whatever works!

Also, remember, your characters don’t know what story they’re in. They don’t know it’s going to end well (or terribly). Maintain that tension, because that’s where the emotions are. When you watch a good horror movie, you’re not really scared of the monster. You’re scared for the characters, because they don’t know if they’re going to survive.

Emotions come from the characters. That’s why it’s still sad that Tony Stark dies, no matter how many times you watch it happen. Tony Stark was brave and flawed and usually right and often sarcastic, and it hurts to watch him die because that’s a full, unique human we’re losing. We know him well enough to know he’s choosing to sacrifice himself and why he made that choice and who will mourn him.

Know your characters, and let them be messy and weird and wrong and hopeful and cantankerous and unique. Fear is relatable, flaws are relatable, and awkward, ungainly, stubborn progress is relatable. Just remember what it is that makes their progress their progress because, if you can swap Dominic Toretto in for Ted Lasso and have the exact same story, you’ve probably lost your characters.

Plan your emotional trajectory:

Okay, time to get a bit technical. This is for people who like to plan. For those terrifying, godlike writers who just sit down and write, this might not be helpful. For my fellow planners:

There’s a theory (which you can get a general overview about here or, if you’re very into data, right here) that there are six core emotional trajectories in narratives:

1)      Rags to riches (rise)

2)      Riches to rags (fall)

3)      Man in a hole (fall then rise)

4)      Icarus (rise then fall)

5)      Cinderella (rise then fall then rise)

6)      Oedipus (fall then rise then fall)

Since rise and fall can mean different things, I find it helpful to combine these building blocks with emotional axes, which you can find some examples of here.

So, basically, for my winterhawk baseball au Got a Heart in Me, I Swear, I planned to follow the “man in a hole” trajectory (fall then rise) along the anxiety-confidence emotional axis with some bleedover from the humiliation-pride axis. Which basically means Clint started comfortable enough, nosedived deep into anxiety and humiliation, and then slowly built his way to confidence over the rest of the fic.

If the listed axes don’t appeal to you, you can very easily create your own. Just think of an emotion, identify what links it to its inverse, and then list the related emotions between the two opposites. Disgust and adoration are opposites, but they’re linked by attention, right? You can’t ignore something you find disgusting or adorable. So, here’s an example emotional axis you could follow: Disgust – Resentment – Obsession – Fascination – Reverence – Adoration. Enemies to lovers, anyone?

Emotional axes help provide a natural framework for your character’s emotional trajectory. They can be subtle; you don’t have to start on one end of the spectrum and go all the way to the other. A story that moves just a step or two on an emotional axis can be incredibly compelling. That small progress from discomfort to hope can hit really hard if the progress feels fought-for and earned and real.

Tips for writing emotions:

·         Get physical: If you want to show an emotion instead of telling it, describe its impacts on the body. Most characters won’t think I’m embarrassed. They’ll feel a drop in their stomach like someone cut the elevator cables and a hot stinging in their face like they’ve been slapped by some disappointed version of themselves. The more visceral your descriptions, the more the reader will feel them. If you want your reader to feast on feelings, you have to set the table.

·         Dramatic zoom: When something very intense happens, shift the narrative distance. In or out is fine, but a sudden, dramatic event should result in a sudden, dramatic change in focus. Characters might hyperfocus on their physical bodies (the mechanics of breathing, the ringing in their ears, the mad animal urge toward flight) or they might be kicked so far out of their own heads that they feel like they’re dreaming or watching the scene play out from overhead. This distance is useful for two reasons: it feels real, and it allows readers to absorb the situation in pieces, without being overwhelmed by it.

·         Unreliable narrator: Some emotions can be so charged that people don’t want to own them, like grief, shame, jealousy, rage, lust, and guilt. Characters might unconsciously misrepresent these to themselves as something else. A grieving mother might insist she’s tired. A rehabilitated assassin who’s fallen in love with an absolute dork might tell himself he’s just tracking a target. Everyone knows what it’s like to lie to themselves, so this makes characters relatable. And, also, everyone likes being in on a secret, so, sometimes, this is just fun.

·         Face the monsters: We’re often conditioned not to dwell on unpleasant things, which is part of why it can be powerful to examine them in stories. From small things like inglorious emotional states (envy, cowardice, resentment) to character flaws (recklessness, withdrawal, arrogance) to personal tragedies (loss, betrayal, abandonment), the negative parts of human emotional life pack quite a punch. Acknowledge them. Not only are they relatable experiences, but redemption and recovery arcs are some of the most compelling stories we have.

[bloodmoonrites]

Galathea, do you like sweet or sour food more? What about spicy or bitter food? The tastes in general.

"What I enjoy..." Galatea looks down in contemplation, struggling to form his own opinion. He plays with a stray strand of hair, rocks a bit from side to side. "Savory foods, I suppose? Bourguignons, Hot pots and the likes."

He nods, “I find the image amusing. A witch, stirring his pot, sprinkling some herbs over the mixture. But it’s no magic potion, no. It’s a stew!” Galatea chuckles, a small smile forming on his face. That soft moment of happiness is short lived though, “Well, it becomes a great deal less amusing when you can’t tell which pot contains horrors and which doesn’t. These things are tricksters, disguising as stews to enter your body isn’t above their means.”  Vague and terrifying! Isn’t that peachy “I enjoy spicy food too, though...” He sighs, “I’m not allowed to cook anything spicy. Brother and Father can’t really handle spice, you see. I only use small, kind of shriveled up peppers, so the spice shouldn’t be too much of a problem...” 

[xyliane]

wild blue yonder

summary: killua had plenty of better ideas for how to spend his eighteenth birthday. a cake a mile high, a day on the town with alluka, maybe even some peace and quiet for once. instead, he’s doing what all zoldycks do: assassination, murder, the works, all at the ass end of the ocean, all because it will tilt the scales of trade just enough in their favor to make a move. he doesn’t have to worry about a blood curse, no matter what his sister says.

notes: think of this less like a fic and more a...preview? I’ve written about 10,000 words of this off and on over the last year or so, and I would love to write more, but [gestures at the world] [pokes at the smoldering remnants of my dissertation]. yeah. so, as special thanks to @trashsketch and @thehuntyhunties, here’s a first draft of the first bit of cursed prince (which, knowing me, will get a wholesale rewrite of the first section at least cuz lol worldbuilding). T (blood and killua’s mouth), pre-killugon; ft: mito, the zoldycks, ikalgo, and did I mention the blood. 4900 words. (title is not the final title, but swiped hastily from the third track of “the horror and the wild”)

notes pt 2: @trashsketch DREW THIS FOR THIS AU aaaaaaa

---

Alluka’s eyes turn black over dinner three weeks before Killua’s eighteenth birthday, and he has to shove half a bread roll into his mouth to avoid making any noise. If he’s lucky, no one else will notice. If Alluka’s lucky, Nanika won’t say anything, will stare at Killua for a few minutes before slipping back into the recesses of his sister’s mind. If they’re both lucky, they can return to their meals and continue ignoring whatever Mom and Illumi are discussing about the southern trade routes, in tones just barely not argumentative. If Killua’s lucky, he won’t have to kill anyone in the next month.

Of course, the Zoldyck family has never owed its success to luck. They have skill, and intelligence, and a massive fortune. They have a town full of merchants and spies at the base of Kukuroo Mountain, centuries of debts of money and life tying the people to the family. They have, Silva Zoldyck is fond of noting, family. And family is paramount.

Even more than that, though, they have Nanika. They have information, dropped right into their minds. All it costs is a bit of death, the risk of death or curse or worse if they don’t do what she suggests. Just that, and Killua’s little sister.

The family thinks it’s worth the price, so they have to deal with it for now. Killua’s his father’s successor to their mountains of gold and death. He’ll change it. He’s promised Alluka.

“Mom, look,” Milluki says. Killua swallows a curse.

A smile stretches across Kikyo Zoldyck’s face, as full of empty pleasure as the black visor stretched over her eyes. “Well. This is convenient.” She turns to Illumi. “Shall we see what to do about our mercantile issues in the South Sea?”

Illumi frowns. “If you must,” he says, and looks expectantly at Killua. “Kil? Take care of it.”

“Alluka’s not an it. And it’s not my turn.”

Mom sighs melodramatically. “Kil,” she says. 

“Mom,” he says in the exact same tone.

Father, who’s spent most of dinner silent, snorts a chuckle. When Killua turns to him, he gets a firm nod, bright glimmer in his pale blue eyes. “Go on, Kil,” he says, voice rumbling. “Ask after the block in trade. Best do it now, before the thing in your sibling chooses otherwise.”

Killua nods once, and turns to his sister. She is still staring at him—Nanika is still staring, black eyes blank and a strange little smile on her face. 

“Nanika,” he says, voice steady. 

Her smile widens. Killua, she says, her voice an echo between his ears. No one else hears. I love Killua.

I love you too, he thinks back, and hopes that she can hear. “Nanika, how do we open up trade in the South Seas to benefit the Kingdom of Padokea?”

“And the Zoldycks,” Milluki says, a sneer in his voice.

“We are Padokea,” Mom says, and sneers right back. 

Nevertheless, Killua grits his teeth and adds, “And the Zoldyck family.”

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe she’ll give them a corporation, or an abandoned island full of pirates. Pirates would be fun. Or maybe nothing will happen, and Killua will be able to turn eighteen without being halfway across the world burying a sword into someone’s back. He can take Alluka to town, sneak her out the back while the butlers aren’t looking. It’ll only be for a day, and he’ll be with her. 

Nanika opens Alluka’s mouth.

Dammit, is all Killua manages to think, before the vision slams into him.

        red 

    is all he gets at first, and he thinks that maybe this time, he won’t be the center of this vision. Maybe Milluki will get one and have to get off the mountain for the first time all year. Maybe even Illumi will stop hovering, conspicuously leaving profiles of eligible bachelorettes for Mom to coo over and Killua to ignore. But the table turns red and Killua sees

                red ocean

    red hair green (brown) eyes

                red lips

            red stains on pale  skin

red flower in black (white) hair

red scars on dark stars  

                red waters overflowing

                           red death under red sails

        red blood

    red

red red

    red red red red red reD RED

The vision releases him, and Killua barely manages to catch himself before he pitches face-first into the soup. Even after the fact, his senses are swimming in blood, enough that he can practically taste it. One of these days, he’s going to learn how to live with it. The rest of his family does.

“Kil, where are you going?” Illumi asks.

So much for his birthday plans. “Where do you think,” he says. 

“Kil,” Mom says again, and he rolls his eyes.

“The ass end of the ocean, I think,” Killua says, and ignores his mother’s affronted gasp as he starts in on the rest of his dinner. It tastes chalky under the blood. “I’ve got a month to kill the queen of Whale Island.”

“Isn’t that the place with the magic storms and the cursed pirates?” Milluki says.

“You can’t use magic to control storms, idiot,” Kalluto mutters, just loud enough for Killua to hear.

“The cost?” Illumi asks.

Killua shrugs. “Blood curse. Nothing new.”

Nanika always exchanges her information for curses. Illumi and Kalluto have messed up before and come back with numb limbs or empty eyes, consequences for having failed within the time limit. But those curses are simpler things. Killua gets the blood curse, every single time.

He loves his sister, and he’s grown to love Nanika, in her own way. But he doesn’t need the extra pressure.

Father claps a hand on Killua’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kil. We will celebrate your birthday when you get home from the ass end of the ocean.”

Mom makes a scandalized noise and Killua smiles, pride radiating out from where Father’s hand rests against his shoulder. It makes him stand taller, almost as tall as Illumi. Never as tall as Silva Zoldyck. No one is that tall.

Behind him, Alluka stirs listlessly, blue eyes foggy. Once Father’s grip lifts from him, Killua reaches over to grab her hand, squeezing in whatever comfort he can. She tries to smile back. No one else notices. “Be careful, Brother,” she mutters. “Blood stains.”

————————————

It takes the better part of three weeks to get to Whale Island. Killua could have taken a cabin in one of the spice merchant’s galleon and been there in half a month. But that would be easy. Zoldycks do their job well, and well doesn’t mean easy. The first ship out of Dentora was only a week, but from there it was a schooner to a sailboat to three days on a blasted fishing dinghy for the last few islands. The sailors had laughed at him when he’d said where he was going. At least the food’s been good, because he’s going to turn eighteen out here in the gods-forgotten nowhere. He’d hate to come home and tell Alluka there had been nothing good out here.

For all that they’re in the middle of nowhere, the Whale Island port is almost impressive. If a place could be valued solely on the number of colors, Whale Island would be the richest port on earth. The ships alone are every shade imaginable, the height of summer trade filling each dock to overflowing. Purple sails from Kakin, greens and yellows from Lukso, the ostentatiously huge gilded galleons out of Yorknew. Even austere blacks and whites from Padokea, sticking out of the rainbow forest like snow-blistered icebergs. It makes him feel like home, almost. He’ll catch one of them off the island as soon as he’s done. Father will make sure they’re fairly compensated for leaving ahead of schedule. And sprinkled throughout are the collection of Whale Island’s mercantile armada, with no set color or design other than a bright circle of orange-gold, open at one end.

The port itself bustles with life, as diverse as the ships in harbor. It lacks the size or height of trade centers on the mainland, or even other islands like Balsa’s landmass-spanning city. But it makes up for it in smells, and shapes, and the honest smiles on merchants’ faces even as they fleece their customers for every extra cent. Out here, there’s no option but the port. They smile at Killua all the same.

Killua’s assassinations usually take a little more finesse—a Zoldyck is a threat, and he’s dyed his hair more than once to vanish into a crowd. But here, Killua’s pale skin and travel-stained dark clothing doesn’t even stick out, so long as he keeps his white hair tucked under a thin hood. No one even looks twice at the sword on his hip or the knives weighing down his boots, not with how everyone else seems to be armed. It’s almost relaxing. He can drift into the forest, kill the queen, and drift back out again, catching a ship out of port before anyone is the wiser. 

Maybe this is a pirate nest, and no one thought to tell Killua…?

“Hey, traveler! You come in recently?”

Killua turns and is blasted in the face with the smell of fried fish. Behind a grill covered in pans and fish, a short round man with reddish skin and beady eyes waggles his thick eyebrows, a shock of black beneath a bald head. As he does, his arms dart back and forth between tasks, juggling fire and vegetables and pots as though he has extra arms. It’s kind of hilarious, and Killua doesn’t restrain a laugh.

The man grins back, obviously pleased. “Yeah, not exactly the easiest, getting all the way out here,” he says. “Sit down, look over the grill, tell me what you want.”

“That’s okay, I don’t—” Killua starts to protest, when another man reaches around the cook and drops an assortment of things off the grill and onto a plate. Well, a young man, not much older than Killua, with thick black hair woven back into a single braid trailing halfway down his back. Freckled brown skin is clearly visible beneath an open green vest woven through with gold thread. It would look almost princely, if it weren’t covered in oil and fish guts, and worn almost to the point of being transparent. 

The young man hands the plate to Killua with a conspiratorial light in his bright brown eyes. “You should eat,” he says, and his voice is tinged with Whale Island’s rich accent—thick vowels, rolling syllables. It’s musical, in a way Killua wouldn’t have expected.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the man pushes the plate more insistently at him. Killua shakes his head. He doesn’t want to stay any longer than he has to. He can’t get too close. “I’m not—”

“It’s on the house.”

“It is not!” the chef says, and thwaps the young man across the back of his head with a stack of napkins. “I have a business to run, and the shipping season don’t last all year.”

“Sorry, Ikalgo,” the young man says, an apologetic grin on his face. It doesn’t stop the chef’s rant, loud enough that it attracts the attention of the bread maker next door, who begins to cackle in amusement. The young man does his best to weather the shouting, only occasionally interjecting that he’s been working here for only a few days, that he’ll pay the difference, he promises. But when he catches Killua’s eye, he winks, as though this is all some great game and no one else has caught on yet.

Killua feels his cheeks heat up. Rather than worry about that, he shoves a skewer of fish into his mouth, and then he forgets about the rest because blessed gods that’s good. There’s spice in here he’s never even smelled before, mixed with something sweet that makes it even hotter than it should be.

The chef’s winding down by the time Killua’s finished, his assistant as apologetic as ever. They both notice Killua’s empty plate at the same time. The chef even seems impressed. “This ain’t your first time on the Islands, eh?”

Killua shrugs rather than answer. No wonder Mom is so invested in taking control of this route, if the spices pack this much of a punch. The investors in Padokea are probably salivating at the possibility of owning even a fraction of the trade. “The food’s really good,” he says instead, and the chef lights up.

“Ikalgo’s got the best seafood on Whale Island,” the young man says. “How long are you here for? Palm’s got great pastries, and she’s right next door.”

If the pastries are even close to as good as the fish, Killua might be convinced to stay here forever. But he can’t. This is why Illumi always tells him to never talk to anyone, not more than he needs to. It’s too easy to fall into conversation, to get attached. When his only job is to destroy the lodestone of a city, or a kingdom, or an island, he can’t afford any distractions. Not even cute boys offering him pastries with big brown eyes. 

The assistant seems to sense Killua’s hesitation, and his grin dims a little. But before either of them can say anything else, the chef yanks on his thick black braid and snaps, “You still have another three hours here!”

“But Ikalgo—”

“After last time, you owe me!”

“Even Palm didn’t ask,” the young man whines.

“Palm didn’t lose her entire storefront to a flashflood.”

Killua can’t stick around. He grabs his bag, heavy with travel supplies, and turns to face the edges of the market. The trail leads up and away into the jungle. Theoretically, the queen’s mansion should be somewhere up there. But where…

Well, maybe it can’t hurt to ask one more question.

“Do you know who might know where the queen of Whale Island lives?” he asks, not expecting commoners to know the answer. 

But the chef and his assistant shrug. “Ask anyone,” the young man says. “Anyone knows.”

“Anyone from the Island knows,” Ikalgo clarifies. “Her house is up at the end of the path, bout forty-five minutes into the jungle. Can’t miss it.”

Killua blinks. “Can anyone…go?”

The young man shrugs again. “Sure. If you wait a bit, I can—”

“What part of three hours do you not understand?”

“But he—”

“I’ll be fine,” Killua says, and nods politely. The chef and his assistant wave goodbye, and go back to bickering. Out of the corner of his eye, Killua can see the chef getting back to food prep, even as the young man grabs plates and napkins for other customers. He should feel bad that this is all going to ruin. Not immediately, sure. But without a ruler, most places fall apart. And if it falls apart, even for a little while, it’s long enough for Padokeans to set up shop, to reclaim the trade routes and caches of power that they want.

Maybe Whale Island will do okay in the end. Or maybe not. It’s not Killua’s problem.

Too bad, though. The food was good.

The queen’s house is indeed right up the road. Killua makes it within sight of the low walls outside the complex before ducking into the trees, not willing to risk a frontal assault on his own. As friendly as the Islanders seem to be, especially the assistant, the amount of armed fighters and sailors could be a problem. Once Killua finds a good rock, too heavy for a normal person to lift, he swaps his traveling clothes for proper Zoldyck gear: black trousers, an armored black jacket, silver-grey gloves. His sword is sheathed against his hip, and his boot knives are supplemented by another blade at the small of his back. He stashes all of his earrings but one, a sapphire stud Alluka had given him for his sixteenth birthday. She’d said it was for luck. But Zoldycks don’t have luck.

Killua keeps it anyways. Maybe he’ll be lucky this time.

Killua wants to finish this quick and quiet, on the small chance that the young man from the fish grill gets off work and comes up the path. By the time the chaos sets, he should be on the ship and halfway out to sea. Even the fastest ships won’t be able to catch him.

He climbs up the back wall, peering into what looks like a vegetable garden behind a modest two-story building. Killua recognizes about half of the herbs—most of them are useful as poisons, and a few are normally grown in the middle of a forest. None of them have any business being behind a queen’s home. Then again, the building would barely qualify as a merchant’s house in many kingdoms, well-constructed as it is. It’s the color of the sky and thatched neatly, signs of old storms and hard winter winds in the occasional cracked paint. The back door is a solid dark wood, and the window on the second floor is open to the sky. There’s no sign of any caretakers or guards, not even footsteps. The only sound is a quiet hum of a woman’s voice, wafting gently down from the open window.

It can’t be this easy. But part of Killua doesn’t mind. At least this time, the only person he’ll have to kill is the one he has to. No lying, no backstabbing. 

And he can go home without risking a blood curse, and celebrate his birthday in peace.

He still takes his time sneaking across the garden, boots falling silently as he steps through the shadows of the house. Taking a chance that nothing in this building is locked, he carefully presses open a window on the ground floor and drops into what looks like a large kitchen. A massive slab of wood serves as a table down the center of the room, with a collection of beautifully carved chairs arranged around it. The smell of herbs permeates the whole room, sinking into the wood and floors. 

There’s still no one in sight. 

There’s still only the woman’s humming filling the air with gentle wordless noise.

It’s too easy. It has to be.

Killua draws his sword as he creeps up the stairs, following the sound of the woman’s voice. He’ll know the queen when he sees her—Nanika’s visions have a habit of sticking, permanently, or at least until the job is done. Like how he knows the humming is the queen, even though he’s never heard her voice before today. How when he peers around the corner, he knows that the queen is the woman humming over a pile of papers. Her bright orange hair is swept back from her forehead, a simple braid circling her head where a ring made of silver and onyx rests on Silva Zoldyck’s. 

The humming stops. “You can stop creeping around my house and tell me why you’re here,” the queen says without looking up from her work. “If you want to petition for the Padokean spice merchants to stay another week, you’ll need to take it up with the portmaster.”

Killua doesn’t say anything. His grip on his hilt tightens for a moment, before relaxing. 

The queen flips over the page and starts on the next. “Also, no, I am not interested in selling port space, either. Tell your king he can rent like everyone else.”

Killua takes a final step into the doorway, and lunges, his sword lightning fast.

But the queen whirls, nearly as fast as Killua, and catches his strike on a short wavy blade of her own. Her snarl sparks with furious challenge. “And if you’re here to kill me,” she says, “you’d better try harder than that.”

Killua bounces back, narrowly avoiding the sweep of her knife. The queen is unarmored, but  holds the blade at her side, other arm lifted in well-practiced defense. Rather than wait for Killua to strike again, she darts forward, bare fist blurring in a fury as she tries to strike Killua’s solar plexus. But Killua is faster, and he catches her strike on his forearm, brushing it aside. She snarls even as she stumbles back, leaving herself open for Killua to strike again. This time, when she catches his blade on her knife, she almost doesn’t make it, only barely managing to slide out from beneath Killua’s strike. But her bare foot lashes out, catching him on the knee, and he feels the joint crumple.

She scoffs. “You’re not the first person to try to assassinate me,” she says. “Tell me who sent you, and I’ll send you home.”

Killua responds by punching her in the stomach with his hilted fist. 

To the queen’s credit, she keeps her knife up, enough that she manages to slash him across his forearm. The wavy blade cuts deep and sharp right through his jacket, leaving behind a wide erratic slice. Killua ignores the pain and raises his blade.

She glares up at him furiously, bright brown eyes wide and not scared at all. They look familiar. In fact, they look like—

They look like the young man from the market.

The chef, his assistant, everyone else, is going to lose their queen. 

Don’t get attached, Illumi commands in the back of his head, and Killua shakes the hesitation out of his limbs just in time to block the queen’s jab right at his heart. He catches her wrist with his bare hand, wrenching it out of place until she can’t hold on anymore. The wavy knife goes clattering away across the floorboards, out of sight and out of reach. 

She kicks him in the side again, shit, and Killua throws her to the ground. The back of her head thuds against the wood floor, and she crumples with a pained noise, trying and failing to get back up again.

If Killua moves now, he’ll kill her. 

This time, he won’t miss. 

The queen starts to move, and Killua brings the blade down in a single brutal strike.

Blood always smells the same—metallic and warm, life draining out in flows of red. Killua hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes when he struck, but he feels the splash of blood across his face, sinking through the open slice on his sleeve and through the skin of his gloves. Messy. Father would be disappointed. It’s better if it’s quick, and clean, and no one fights back, and no one is gasping shakily on the floor—

He opens his eyes.

The queen lies at his feet, still alive. She has a hazy, almost drunken grin on her face, and her arm is still raised from where it connected with Killua’s sword, blood flowing freely from its stump. Her dismembered hand lies just out of reach. And she’s laughing.

“You should have killed me,” she says. A gust of wind blows up from the ocean, curling around her, almost as wild as her eyes. Outside, a massive storm darkens the sky, clouds near-black and crackling with energy. The air tastes of lightning, and thunder, and danger, and sudden fear jolts down Killua’s spine. 

What had Milluki said? Cursed storms and magic pirates?

Killua’s eyes widen. “What—”

“I said,” the queen says, and her voice reverberates in the stormwall. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

She lifts her hand and spits a word, and a wind like a hand bellows up the stairs and throws Killua out the window.

He lands heavily in the garden, nostrils filling with herbs, bouncing once and hitting the building’s wall. At least the ground’s soft. But he dropped his sword somewhere between the second story and the dirt, and he does not have time to look for it before the storm hits. It whirls around the sky, a cyclone of pitch-black clouds centered right over the house. If Killua didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was only on the house, dropping almost to the ground as though trapping him in the eye of a storm.

He clamors over the wall, bad knee jolting with pain and a little voice screaming at him to run, just in time for a wall of rain to come crashing down between him and the jungle.

Stepping out of the rain, as though made from stormclouds and landslides, is the young man from the seafood shop. But instead of a stack of plates, he holds a brutally sharp sabre, blade short and thick and slightly curved up from its guard.

He takes in Killua, waterlogged and covered in blood, and his bright brown eyes go wide. “You’re—” he starts, and then his expression narrows with fury. “It would have been easier if you’d tried to kill me in town.”

“Why would I do that?” Killua says. “I’m only here for the queen, not an assistant fish fry.”

The young man grins with all of his teeth, any amusement from earlier washed away by unrestrained anger. “I’m Gon Freecss,” he says. “You tried to kill my mom.”

He’s the prince. In about the stupidest response Killua could have, he tries to rub some of the queen’s blood out of his eyes. But it doesn’t budge. If anything, the rain is making it worse, seeping into his face and clothes in a bright red tattoo, making his skin crawl. 

Blood curse, Nanika had promised. It was always a blood curse.

Shit shit shit gods fucking shit. For all Killua knew, the blood was going to kill him from the inside out. 

“I don’t care about who’s next in line,” he says, and takes half a step towards the storm wall. He had to get out, had to get home, or else— 

“You should care,” the prince of Whale Island says. “Because if you’d killed me first, the storm wouldn’t have come for you.”

Killua barely has time to draw his knives before Freecss is on him.

Maybe it’s the panic worming its way out of Killua’s stomach, or the sharp pain in his knee, or the blood curse scratching at his face. Maybe it’s the resolute fury in Freecss’s eyes. Either way, the prince moves nearly as fast as Killua, hacking at the assassin with brutal short slashes. Killua manages to block all of them, barely, boots slipping in the torrential mud. The prince is good enough to make Killua work if he was in good condition, and between the rain and the blood and the knee, they’re all but equally matched. 

Killua finally blocks a blow and shoves Freecss back, the prince leaving himself open. Killua presses his advantage in height and speed by kneeing the other man in the chest. Freecss coughs out a pained curse, and he tumbles back, mud covering his skin and his long braid. Killua follows, slashing out half-blind with his knives, and he feels his blades connect as the prince bounces away. Another splash of blood, this time on a bare hand. This time, Killua feels it sink in, painting his pale skin the color of rust.

Freecss has a slash on his cheek and shoulder, Killua’s wild strike having gotten him on bare skin. The weight of the blade also caught the prince’s braid, which droops tangled and waterlogged across his brown face, half-covering his eyes. Freecss curses again, something foul, and simply slices his sword through his hair. The rest of his braid lands in the mud with a heavy thump.

The prince wipes a streak of blood off his face, not seeming to care that the wound continues to flow freely. “I’m going to kill you,” he says, voice low as thunder.

Killua has fought soldiers and mercenaries and assassins, from the weakest to the most skilled. He’s been tired, fought for hours in the snow and sleet, wherever Father has asked. He’s fought with half the bones in his hand broken, with his legs immobilized by ice. But then, he’d been ready. He’d known what to expect. He hadn’t been fighting a storm at the same time he was fighting a prince. Freecss presses ceaselessly, forcing Killua back until his foot hits the wall around the queen’s home. The prince’s home. He can’t go any further back.

The prince’s eyes glint in the storm, and he slashes the sabre across Killua’s front. 

And Killua’s leg slips out from under him.

The mud carries him stumbling out of range of the prince’s slash, but also costs him one of his knives. Killua staggers to his feet, trying in vain to rub the blood off his face. All he gets is mud, and rain, and more blood. A callous on his hand must have ripped in the fight.

Oh. And his jacket is cut open across his front. Distantly, he can feel blood dribbling down his chest, starting at the shoulder and cutting towards his side. That should hurt more than it does. Even his leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore, a dull throb beneath the rain.

He’s tired.

Freecss snarls—just like his aunt, a small part of Killua notices—and slices the sabre straight down through the air. 

Static gathers in the air, bright and sharp, and Killua realizes he’s going to die.

“Sorry, Alluka,” he says. The words are lost under the wind and rain.

Then Killua is struck by lightning.

And everything is white.