#he thought butcher was just because of the dismemberment

[deadliestpieceontheboard]

What if Nathan was actually a cannibal. Hanibal style. That was Neil's dinner for the first 10 years of his life. Would that be fucked up or what?

#it wasn't mentioned in the books because neil didn't know #he thought butcher was just because of the dismemberment #poor him #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #tfc #neil josten #nathan wesninski #cannibalism #in case that's a tw

[very-grownup]

Book 56, 2023

Let's talk "Stars of Chaos", which is the first priest novel I've read. My experience with her otherwise is watching WORD OF HONOR which I understand to be an adaptation of her unlicensed "Faraway Wanderers". But I know she's prolific in multiple genres and also even censored WORD OF HONOR had some wild levels of gore and violence and leads with huge murder counts. Which gave me high hopes for "Stars of Chaos" and boy did the first volume exceed expectations in all it's (what the kids would call) problematic glory.

I don't know how to describe the setting because I know enough nerds who are sticklers about steampunk (and nerds who are burnt out on steampunk as an aesthetic) [if you do not know a nerd who, etc.] to refrain from throwing it around, so: cultivation with power armour. Cusp of industrialization cultivation fantasy? I'm down. Please add magic-fuel powered mech suits to the tools for skull crushing and dismemberment; priest and I clearly speak a similar literary language.

"Stars of Chaos" is the story of sort-of-orphan Chang Geng and the secret of his birth which is not as magical fairytale destiny as your orphaned fantasy protagonist usually gets. There's the taste of manipulation and state propaganda to it and Chang Geng, even at his starting age of 14ish, is rightfully cynical. It's about power plays between emperors and spares and the erosion of peace between countries after the original architects of that peace have fallen.

And it's also about Chang Geng realizing he wants to bang his godfather.

I'd say "it's complicated" because it is but not in an excusing it kind of way. Almost in a relief kind of way because sometimes you want things to be messy and not clear cut with easy answers.

If it's a tap-out point for someone it's a tap-out and not one I'm interested in discussing.

I /am/ interested in discussing two things that feel very new in my reading of these Chinese webnovels: disability and fatness. Two things that authors from every culture bring their own baggage to that are still pretty ugly, regardless of where they're from.

Chang Geng's godfather is disabled, partially deaf and blind. Except he isn't, he's been faking it. Except he IS, he's just using drugs of decreasing efficacy to keep all but his oldest friend and confidant from knowing that without the drugs he's almost completely deaf and blind. How do I feel about this? I have no idea and it feels preemptive to make a call when we're only at the beginning of the novel (unclear how many volumes "Stars of Chaos" is; Seven Seas, the publisher, has volume 3 slated for release next May and nothing beyond that at this time and maybe it would be a nice thing to include the number of books a series is going to have because it's not like these are unfinished works). It's just. Interesting. It's an interesting choice in how the character sees himself and how the people around him relate to him and interpret his actions and words. I can see how this interesting starting point could go in a very unpalpable direction and I can see how it could be used as a tool for a microscale understanding of the world's relation to disability and technology. priest has already shown some interest in more thoughtful exploration of the effects of industrialization than some authors straddling the technofantasy niche, so I'm hoping it's the latter.

To the second point, Chang Geng has a sort-of childhood friend, sort-of sidekick in Ge Pangxiao, a butcher's son who attaches himself to Chang Geng's hero's journey. Ge Pangxiao is fat. He's a fatty little fat fat porker chubby boy hungry little round plump fat did I mention fat because he's fat. But he's also clever and resourceful and resilient and a character with interests and motivations eager to follow Chang Geng both because of loyalty but also because he sees a path to his own dreams via attaching himself to Chang Geng. He's a likeable character who isn't a comedy punching bag or the bearer of various moral failings because he's fat. But man, do not doubt that he is a chubster. Like a danmei Bobby Hill.

I really liked the first volume and I'm put out that I won't get the second until 2024. Sometimes it's really good to read something messy and also a man bites out another man's throat and eats it and a tiger mauls a clown.

#2023 books #stars of chaos #priest

[dragynkeep]

Top 5 worst male characters and Top 5 worst female characters in RWBY, and brief reasons why?

This is the type of ask that’s gonna get me shit but I have known no hubris in my life so let’s go. These won’t be in the case of being intentionally bad, I’m doing more on personal taste and the quality of their writing. 

Worst Male Characters

1. Adam Taurus

Obviously, Adam is at the top of the list for me. His storyline was butchered from a story of racism and vigilantism to a story about domestic abuse, his brand was cheap shock value with very little substance, he stopped being threatening after the Fall of Beacon and instead became a whiny little bitch, and his voice acting is just bad.

He sounds like he’s gonna call me a slur on Xbox Live.

2. Jacques Schnee

Yeah, the abusive rich man who runs slave mines is bad, but that’s not the main reason he’s on this list. I could accept a character like that if the writers made him good, but they didn’t. Jacques wasn’t intimidating at all. He wasn’t smart at all. The man who conned his father in law and wife into giving him complete control of the most powerful company in Remnant is not the same man we get in the actual show.

He’s whiny, cowardly, and a useless villain who’s entire downfall was treated like a poorly made joke, and now only serves as comic relief in the Jailbirds scenes in V8. 

3. Hazel Rainart

Same issues with Jacques and Adam, but less egregious. Hazel was actually a pretty interesting villain in his earlier volumes, and even after his blunder at the Batlle of Haven, he went back to being kinda good in V6 with his protective behaviour towards Emerald. And then V8 came around and I grew to hate how stupid his reasons for joining Salem were, and the fact that he just beat the shit outta Oscar while whining about his dead sister.

Bro, Idgaf about someone I never met while you’re maiming a 15 year old boy because you wanna be mad at the guy in his head. 

4. Qrow Branwen

It’s the same case with Hazel. I actually liked Qrow up until V6, and even then I cared enough to try and see where his alcoholism arc went since it’s a serious issue that affects not only my family, but my people. I started to dislike him after he punched Oscar and kept being horrible to the boy, all without apologising in the end, but v7 and 8 made me really hate him. 

I don’t care for his edgy attitude, and I don’t care that he got his self-help book boyfriend murdered by a crackhead. Add onto CRWBY butchering a serious topic about alcoholism with him, and he’s just sank right down writing sense.

5. Ghira Belladonna

I never liked Ghira. I think the others are higher than him on this list just on the virtue that I liked them, or the idea of them, and the writing just pulled them down so much.

But I never had that problem with Ghira, so the disappointment doesn’t sting as bad. He’s just an unnecessary character that cheapens Blake since she’s now a princess, a useless father who somehow couldn’t get his own 12 year old daughter back even thought she didn’t even bother to change her own name, and then featured live on a tournament channel that the whole world saw. He was a useless leader, his ideology was stupid and almost got him and others killed, and he was so ungrateful towards Adam for saving his stupid furry ass that I completely sided with Sienna calling him the fuck out.

At least he’s not on my screen anymore, but I know that won’t last forever and I gotta look at his dumb face again.

Worst Female Characters

1. Cinder Fall

God, she is the worst villain and character in this show. She’s so flat, her stans are annoying as fuck, her voice leaves a lot to be desired, and the fact that there’s hardly anything to her for seven years makes it even worse now that we finally got a backstory for her, and it’s one we ALL GUESSED.

Who would’ve thought she’d be a Cinderella who killed her abusive family, I am shooketh. 

2. Blake Belladonna

Blake was my favourite girl in RWBY and I’m mad at CRWBY for what they’ve done to her.

It says a lot that a girl still affected by the abuse and trauma of fighting in a terrorist organisation has more personality and backbone than one who’s supposedly broken free of her traumatic past and moved forward. Blake now is spineless, flat, boring ass cardboard cutout of what she once was, who would rather let her human friends defend her from racists than call them out herself like she did to Weiss in Volume 1. 

She’s spoiled, priviledged, annoying, and Arryn has such a flat voice on top of being a gross ass person that I get annoyed every time she speaks. She’s no longer an oppressed minority fighting for the rights of her people, she’s a princess who would rather go to a club with people she didn’t even like than a rally against the man who caused so much suffering to her people. Even her talk with Nora about not letting yourself be taken over by who you’re with romantically is hypocritical, since that’s exactly what’s happened to her since she’s been paired up with Yang.

She couldn’t even have the spotlight of fighting her own VILLAIN, Yang was the one who broke Adam’s Aura and had the big triumphant moment of throwing his sword in the river while she was too busy fucking rock climbing. 

3. Yang Xiao Long

Yang was my second favourite girl in RWBY and I’m mad at CRWBY for what they’ve done to her.

Yang wasn’t super developed in the earlier volumes. Honestly, I didn’t think much until her talk with Blake about Raven in Burning The Candle, and her dismemberment leading her towards depression and PTSD. Come Volume 4, I was alright with the portrayal of her recovery. I don’t think they gave enough time between her trying on the arm and then being good enough to leave, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t bad. 

What was bad was everything after. Yang became a hypocritical, moody bitch who would drag everyone for their bad decisions while ignoring her own. Her PTSD, something VERY personal to me, was ruined and up and vanished by V7 since she’s now killed the man who gave her the disorder so obviously it’s cured! She is always on Ozpin’s case for the birds shit, and then keeping secrets, but then goes and does the exact same thing while giving little resistance to others doing it because they’re family.

Even her argument with Ruby in V8 was tame as fuck. She blamed Ruby for things not going well while ignoring that it was her own dumbass decisions that contributed to it. Ruby didn’t tell Yang to go and spill the beans to Robyn, her stupid cat girlfriend did that, and Yang went along with it while being unrepentant later on when Ironwood was RIGHTFULLY pissed about it.

Add onto v8 then having her worry about how BLAKE thought about her, rather than RUBY, and I just hate her. This ain’t Yang, I want Yang back. 

4. Nora Valkyrie

Nora is just a flat character. Her voice is annoyingly high pitched and screechy, her jokes aren’t funny, and all the things I loved that she got in v4 was later dropped entirely. She had such good moments in V4 that actually made me appreciate her more, and then she just became another hypocrite in v7 who wanted to yell at Ironwood while refusing to look at her own flaws.

On top of her kissing Ren when he was clearly not in the mood to talk, and it made me hate her. It’s not a cute ship moment, it’s a creepy disrespect of someone’s personal space. If it was the other way around, no one would think it was cute.

5. Robyn Hill

Similar to Ghira’s reasons, I never liked Robyn, so she’s low down on the list compared to the others since at one point I loved the others (Minus Cinder but she’s just so bad that she’s #1).

Robyn isn’t a good freedom fighter. She runs in without thinking about things and then proceeds to deny any responsibility of her actions. She won’t accept that maybe her agreeing with the same serial killer that nearly killed her and Fiona, on top of succeeding in murdering some of her supporters and Forest, and starting a fight with Clover in an enclosed space wasn’t a good idea. 

Add onto the fact that she’s really just incompetent. She steals supplies from Ironwood to fix the wall and help Mantle, but after time we see that nothing has been done. 

Christina Vee is wasted on her honestly.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwde #answered #luke.txt #Anonymous

[katarina-elaine]

I’ve been busy with Adult Things and didn’t know it was up yet...so of course, when I saw this message, I nearly sprayed hot tea all over my computer screen as I scrambled to go look! Since we weren’t told too much about Alastor in the pilot episode of the show, I knew that the comic would likely tell us a lot more about his personality, as the other comic did an excellent job of sort of slowing things down and zooming in to focus on Angel Dust’s character. This made me VERY excited about the Alastor comic...and I am far from disappointed.   @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife​, you probably weren’t looking for a lengthy ramble about the comic, but friend, thAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE GONNA GET!! (I’ll be nice to everyone who doesn’t care about my thoughts by putting this under a read more, I went completely friggin’ feral over m’boi, my eyes have been blessed)

I adore the detail of the first three pages. I also find it hilarious that Alastor is legit just vibin’, and everyone else is dodging out of the way like “N O P E”. Even the worker at the cafe is just like “why tf did this walking nightmare on speed have to visit on my shift?!” There are no words to describe the way I felt upon seeing Alastor just sitting at the table reading a newspaper, I made the most embarrassing noise b/c I am soft!! I just really want Good Things for our best boi?!

The bit with the birds was...something. I thought it was precious that Alastor shared with them, but later on I just sort of narrowed my eyes at him, b/c it’s totally possible that he knew what would happen and couldn’t resist a bit of violent entertainment. One could also argue that he hoped they’d just share the egg, as he does walk out shortly after the one bird decides to wreck ALL the things (RIP that poor employee’s peaceful morning). However, I wouldn’t put it past Alastor to stir things up and then just walk away. He didn’t even close the hell hole he made in the pilot when he crushed Sir Pentious, so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I need to know what’s up with the roses. Does every flower that manages to grow in hell instantly wilt? Does Alastor just have that effect on people flowers? Did he make it wilt, and if so, why? Is Alastor just having a hecken exasperating morning b/c it’s hell and disappointment and agitation will always be in the forecast? I also wheezed with laughter when the other sinners literally noped away in the middle of Alastor saying hello. Poor boi cannot get an uninterrupted introduction to save his life! ~That must get rather lonely~ 8) On the other hand, he seems to be very well-known and accepted in the cannibal colony! It’s good to know he has friends...and fangirls. That group is an entire MOOD! I would totally fight the lucky lady who caught Alastor’s hat. I find it slightly tragic that we didn’t see him wearing that hat though, because I will always need to see him wearing a hat that adjusts for his antlers and ears (they are ears, I will never believe otherwise). The person playing sax on the street is so beautiful?? I cry?? Also, bless Alastor for tossing the guy a coin. “All hat and no cattle!” Alastor. Sweetheart. Darling. Baby boi. *cries for a long time b/c he’s such a dork and I flippin’ adore him* Also, Alastor cursing was oddly amusing? All Vox did was be a showoff, but Alastor friggin mutters to himself for what looks like at least a few city blocks? Like?? Calm down, sweet pea, you’re undoubtedly giving Vox exactly what he wants, and that glorified box of static didn’t even have to work for it! The panel on page eleven where we see Alastor mid-step confirms that he is one very lanky boi! I would also like to know how often he glows?? We saw him glow a few times in the pilot, but it doesn’t seem like the light is always there. Maybe the glow is involuntary and is connected to his emotions, such as being overly agitated/excited? Of course, it could just be another intimidation tactic (mission accomplished on that last one, babe, you can stop being a firefly now). Also, I am hecken annoyed on Alastor’s behalf, hE JUST WANTED TO GET SOME FOOD AND NEARLY GOT ATTACKED INSTEAD?? HE LITERALLY DID NOT DO ANYTHING WRONG?! I know it’s hell, and to be fair, I would probably prefer to be armed against someone who was notorious for being *gestures toward Alastor entering hell and forcing people to take notice of his badassery* Like That, but it’s not exactly good business, now IS IT?! “I want fresh meat, not bubble gum!” Okay, listen...I love this man. A lot. This line? Perfection. Alastor both amused me and gave a perfect description of so many disappointing cuts of meat I’ve had to practically dissect before consuming. 11/10 would trust Alastor to do my shopping. I was NOT expecting Alastor to be so polite?? Even after the butcher clearly makes a move to attack Alastor when his back is turned, Alastor basically just gives a passive-aggressive (and probably very static-filled) warning, lets the incident slide, and thanks the guy for his service?! He even held the door open for the lil sheep bab, I cry!! Too bad the sheep is likely terrified of him now. On that note...the last panel on page fifteen. I am LIVING for that panel. Say what you will, but with consent, I would definitely still smooch the murdeer while he looked like that. It also shows that, contrary to what I had originally thought, Alastor’s ultimate spooky look isn’t just a slightly elongated (and antlered) version of how he looks while crushing Pentious. Apparently his eyes and mouth turn into oozing black voids of death! *cackles* I am so very glad the comic came out before I wrote certain scenes for my fanfics...and I hope Alastor enjoys his meal! >8) This does make me wonder whether complete dismemberment (such as being torn/blown to pieces or having your body squashed) truly kills sinners, as I wouldn’t think this would be all that difficult to accomplish or even all that rare. For example, the guy in the pilot who snatched the drugs from Angel likely got smeared into paste by that falling debris. Is he double-dead now, or will his body veeeery slowly regenerate? If it’s that easy to truly die in hell, why would heavenly weapons be such a big deal? Is it just that they can kill someone with less effort? We really need a list of ways that sinners can permanently die or at least a brief explanation of the rules, it’s one of the few things that’s seriously bugging me!  I’m gonna be rereading this comic for ages, especially since we get so many lovely shots of Alastor. Do I technically have the time to do so amidst work and grad school? No! Am I going to do it anyway? Yes!

#I'm dying here y'all #glorious content of m'boi #my eyes have been BLESSED #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor comic

[kaaras-adaar-a]

He did not know when the world would end, when the Dread Wolf would raise his head again, so in those quiet moments in between chaos and the unknown, he wanted to love.

Characters: Kaaras Adaar, The Iron Bull Post-Trespasser Warning: Contains adult themes, profanity

The air was like ice to his skin, frost puffing from his nostrils with every breath as the sun had barely risen. He could even feel his lips sting as he licked them with a warm tongue, tasting the sharpness of frost. He could smell it, too. The scent of home. Ferelden. It was hard to describe what the cold air tasted and smelled like. And no, it wasn’t the scent of dog, like everyone claimed. Sure, Fereldans certainly liked their hounds, especially their mabari war hounds, but mabari were not something one saw on a regular basis. They were special hounds, bred for war. The only dogs that would be seen here were common hunting hounds or retrievers. And right now, there wasn’t a single one in sight, not that one could see far considering the thick fog that crossed the fields and hills.

The sharp chill caused Kaaras’ arm to ache, where the anchor had once been. He was still getting used to it, even though it had been months since he’d seen Solas, since he’d been in Halamshiral… since he’d been the Inquisitor. 

The thought made him feel hollow on the inside, like a large part of himself was missing. He’d allowed the last few years to consume him, his title, his purpose Now, without it… it was difficult to lead a normal life once more.

Oh, there was nothing normal about Kaaras Adaar. He’d been a war hero, he’d been the man to stop Corypheus and his demon army, and the world would never forget his tale. But it still felt so strange to be away from it all. The companions, even if they were never truly too far away from him. He could always trust Leliana knowing of his whereabouts, Cassandra close in tow. Cullen had also returned to Ferelden, so it was easy enough to catch up with him. The rest, letters were common enough between them, and it wasn’t like Kaaras could ever take his ‘uniform’ off. How could he when Thedas still needed him? They might not know it, but something much bigger was coming, and when the time came, the Inquisition would be there--he would be there.  

Kaaras knew, even before the Exalted Council, that he could never abandon the Inquisition, that he could never abandon Thedas. So let the public think that they had disbanded, let them believe that they had put away their swords, but they were still working hard, putting together a force to fight when the time would come. After all, it was not in his nature to simply give up.

He had given the Inquisition his all. He had served Thedas, helped those in need. He couldn’t abandon that now, not when he knew that they would need them again. The choice to disband had been one of the hardest things in his life, and yet… he knew it was right. He knew that Ferelden had a point. So be the hero while they needed him to be, and put the sword down when the time was right. They had served their purpose, they had defeated Corypheus and restored order. Let them remember the Inquisition for the good deeds that they had done, not for the corruption and power that would soon devour it if they allowed Solas and his people to infiltrate. It was the safest thing to do, but the right thing to do by everyone else as well. His companions, his soldiers, they had paid their price. He could not take them from their lives anymore, their families and friends. 

Resting his hand against the wooden railing of the balcony, his fingers brushed at the icicles that had formed. Snow was yet to come, but it would be here soon; he could feel it in the air. A few more weeks, perhaps, and the entirety of all he could see across the fields would be covered in white, and the poor, little tavern that they were in would be having it rough. Not many tourists or traders came this way for holidays. A few stray travellers maybe, such as themselves, but that would be all. Such was the life of Fereldans. A hardy bunch, but often struggling to make a living. 

Kaaras was used to it. His whole life, he’d had to work hard, harder than most considering his grey skin and horns. People never much liked to give him a chance, and they either stared at him in fear or awe. Sometimes it was both. He’d made it this far, though, and he’d heard just about every insult that could be thrown in his direction. After a while, his skin grew thicker, but it didn’t take much to know that he was soft beneath it all. 

The view before him was simple but beautiful. He should have been colder than he was, but this was the weather he’d grown up in, and he was far better at tolerating the cold than he’d ever been at dealing with the heat. Even now, he stood outside on the balcony in nothing but a pair of woollen socks and a gown wrapped around him, his shins victim to the cold chill. 

Suddenly, he was pulled from his thoughts as two strong hands made their way around his waist from behind. It startled him, but he was held in place as he felt Bull’s body press up against his. 

“You’d better have some pants on…” he teased, pressing himself against the thick of Bull’s chest. 

Bull laughed. Of course he had pants on, but only because it was so fucking cold out here. “Where’d the fun in that be?” The Iron Bull replied, a hand moving down Kaaras’ arm and overlapping his lover’s knuckles. “It’d be a pleasant view, to you and everyone else. Better than this damn cold.” Bull grumbled to himself then. “And I thought Orlais was cold…” 

“It is,” Kaaras chuckled, though he also looked back just to make sure Bull was actually wearing something. Thank the Maker he was. Nobody was up yet anyway--otherwise Kaaras probably would have properly dressed himself as well. He supposed being with Bull had made him a tad bit more confident, although he still didn’t like the idea of most of his skin showing on any given day. He was truly a private individual. 

Bull’s thick fingers intertwined with his own on top of the cold wood as he felt warm lips brush up against the side of his neck, just behind his ear. It tickled and had his cheeks warming, a tingle going all through his body. It didn’t take much to get him going, but he adored Bull’s affections when he was wanting to give it. 

“I can still smell the oils from last night's bath on you. How is it that you always smell so damn good, Kadan?” Another hand moved over Kaaras’ shoulder and down beneath what remained of his mangled arm, wrapping around the front to pull the former Inquisitor into an embrace of sorts. Bull had gotten used to waking in a bed beside the other qunari now, and some mornings still caught him by surprise. Pleasant surprise of course. This had never been a life he thought he could lead--a real romantic relationship, one he had found love with. One he could feel so devoted to outside of the Qun. Now… now, the man in his arms was his life, the one he fought for and beside. There were still days where Bull felt himself a monster, a savage with no control, especially ever since he had been stated Tal’Vashoth, but there was one constant in his life, and that was Kaaras. He was what kept him grounded, just as much as Bull was for Kaaras when he needed support and someone to keep his feet steady. 

The blush on Kaaras’ cheeks only lingered, a coy smile spreading across thin lips. Even after the last few years, Bull still made him blush as if it were his first time. Turning over his shoulder, he gently pressed his head against Bull’s before he planted a soft peck onto his lips in response. 

“I do it just to rile you up,” he jested, though gasped when Bull pressed himself up against him and pinned him to the balcony. If his blush had been coy before, it was certainly flustered now, long ears flicking downward. He would have caught himself with both hands before, but instead, the limb twitched, like it was going to, but nothing came of it and he was a little lopsided because of it. 

It made him feel uneasy, the lack of control. Not because of Bull--it had nothing to do with his lover--but because he’d always been such an independent person. Now he felt… hopeless at times. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like asking for help (although that was true, too), it was more the fact that Kaaras hated to feel like he was burdening others.

It had taken a long time for Kaaras to come to terms with his dismemberment. The mental and physical struggles had been hard to overcome, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be entirely over it. If it weren’t for Bull’s reassurance (being disabled himself), and Dagna’s hard efforts into making him a prosthetic, he wasn’t sure how far he’d come from it all. Kaaras knew what it was like to be in a dark place from his adolescence, and he pushed himself to never fall back into that darkness. Maker, it had been hard. Without the strength of his lover, he may have fallen. 

Mostly, Kaaras missed being able to hold Bull, to feel him in the palm of his hand, to brush his fingers against his skin or… something else. Clearly Bull noticed the reaction, because the next thing he felt was a strong hand gently moving across the muscle on his arm, just above where his elbow was. 

“Hey, you know you’re perfect the way you are, yeah?” 

Kaaras turned around so he could face Bull now, a saddened smile across his eyes. “I know you say that…”

“Yeah, I do.” He lifted Kaaras’ hand and pressed the man’s knuckles to his lips. Bull also knew that him saying it wouldn’t bring Kaaras’ limb back, nor would it make him feel like he was perfect or complete. Words didn’t always make everything better, hell, sometimes they made shit worse. But Bull was here to let Kaaras know that he wasn’t worthless because he’d been butchered by some ancient bastard. He supposed he could have been angrier, Solas could have killed his lover. Then he’d be everything the Qun taught him he’d be: a savage monster, ready to kill. Alas, he’d not been with Solas those last few moments before he disappeared, but something told the warrior that Solas was on a mission to destroy himself. And if he didn’t, he’d be there to do it for him.  

“And I mean it when I say it.” Bull’s other hand moved to cup the stubble-covered cheek, a thumb brushing over the scar on the mage’s bottom lip. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, Kadan. The bravest, and kindest.” Hell, he was willing to forgive Solas when he knew he’d never have that kind of strength, let alone kindness. 

“Sexiest, too…”

Kaaras breathed a laugh at that. “I think the cold’s gotten to you.”

Bull smirked. “I’m feeling pretty hot actually, if you get my drift.” The warrior wiggled his brows, the patch that usually covered his marred eye back inside, having been discarded somewhere last night. That was a future issue he’d deal with. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on the beautiful man that stood before him, wrapped in a tedious gown that should be stripped off immediately so he could devour every inch of him from head to toe. 

“Why don’t we get out of this cold before my nipples snap off, and before you get frostbite on your tootsies.” 

Kaaras looked down. “I was smart enough to wear socks,” he pointed out, raising a brow as he eyed Bull’s shirtlessness. It was no one's fault but Bull’s that he was cold. Bull grumbled in response, which only made him respond with  an amused look.

“Well, we could stand out here all morning and argue who’s more dressed than the other, and how damn cold it is, or we could go inside and lay by a warm fire. I’m pretty sure I know which one I’d rather do.” 

Kaaras chuckled, his hand moving to Bull’s and holding it. “Alright, alright,” he smiled, jutting his chin in the direction of the door. Bull happily opened it and stepped back inside, Kaaras following. The difference between inside and out was stark. Even if the fire that had been going last night was nothing but embers now, the temperature was still much warmer.

He felt Bull’s hand leave his as he picked up a few logs and put them in, stoking the fire to restart. Despite being around magic for so long, Bull still didn’t rely on it. Nor did Kaaras, if he were honest. He had always been taught to never rely solely on his magical abilities. If he was stuck in a sticky situation, one which would get him into trouble, or one with magebane, then it would not bode well for him to rely upon his talents as a mage. Even as a skilled mage, Kaaras had always used it only when he needed to--aside from his training and meditation. It was no surprise that Bull stoked the fire without asking for his assistance, and Kaaras hardly took any kind of offence. 

Moving to the bed, he took a seat at the edge, fingers brushing thick furs. The tavern was no fancy palace or estate that he may have been used to spending his last few years in. In fact, this was far more like the years before being Inquisitor. It was humble, cosy and if Kaaras were honest, comfortable. This was his core being. There was little more Fereldan one could get than feeling the furs on the beds, the fire bouncing off old, wooden walls. All he needed was a slice of cheese and a warm cuppa.

His eyes watched as Bull awakened the fire, just watching as his lover moved, the flicker of light off thick muscle as the sun began to rise above the treeline outside now. Strong, mentally and physically, but surprisingly soft Bull was. He might never admit it, but he was far more romantic than he gave himself credit for. It had been a large risk for him to accept Bull’s company that one evening over three years ago. He had been terrified, terrified of getting hurt, of making some kind of a mistake, but Bull had proven to be one of the most caring and compassionate people he’d ever known. He was hardly the monster that he made himself out to be, the thing. He was a person just like anyone else, and so much more than that. 

“There. That’s better.” Bull stood back up as the fire roared back to life from the fresh kindling and logs. As he stood, he cracked his back and stretched his arms before he turned to see Kaaras on the bed. 

“You okay, Kadan?”

Ruby eyes looked up to catch Bull’s eye. “Hm? Yes, I’m…” Kaaras hummed through his nostrils and shook his head. “Never better, really. I’ve got a warm fire before me, a comfortable bed and most importantly, you as my company.” He outstretched his arm, beckoning for Bull to come and lay down with him. To spend the morning together before they were back on the road. Moments like this had felt rare when he was the Inquisitor, a calm moment he could share with his lover. Now, whilst he could, he wanted to take every chance he could with Bull. To never miss an opportunity, a moment to love and cherish him. He did not know when the world would end, when the Dread Wolf would raise his head again, so in those quiet moments in between chaos and the unknown, he wanted to love.

It took mere seconds for Bull to be on the bed beside him, laying down facing one another. Bull propped himself up onto his elbow so his horn wouldn’t scratch at the head of the bed, or kink his neck too much. 

A large hand moved to cup Kaaras’ cheek, Bull looking between each of those deep, red eyes. “You helped me find my purpose without the Qun, Kadan. I’ll help you find yours without the Inquisition.”

Kaaras’ eyes lowered for a moment, watching Bull’s lips so he didn’t have to look him in the eye, until Bull’s hand moved and propped his chin up so he had no choice. He wanted to say that that had been different, but it hadn’t, had it. They had both lost a part of themselves. For Bull, it had been so much more. He’d lost his home, his culture, his identity--even if he’d been living as a Tal’Vashoth for years. The reality of no longer being welcome, no longer having those contacts to a place called home? Kaaras only felt part of that, but the Inquisition had become a home, a family to him. Perhaps that made him a weak leader, too compassionate and comfortable. But he missed it all, and would continue to do so for a very long time.

Awkwardly, he shuffled himself so that his hand could take Bull’s. He should have attached his prosthetic, but he wanted to be warmer before he did that. The cold made his arm ache and the skin was stiff. 

“I believe you.” He meant what he said. His hand moved lower, tracing down the cord around Bull’s neck to feel the smoothness of the dragon tooth necklace that hung between his thick bosoms. “No matter how far apart, we’ll always be together.” 

“Damn straight.” Bull pressed a kiss against the man’s lips, pulling him closer and tangling their legs. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that shit, but he sure as hell believed in Kaaras Adaar.

#Adaar #Iron Bull #the iron bull #Kadan #Captain to Captain #Adaaribull #Post trespasser #My fics #my art #// I'd been sitting on this one for months but thanks to some inspo from Tas I finally decided to work on it today #// Just a quiet post trespasser moment between Kaaras and Bull :3

[prince-everhard]

Prince’s Whumptober 2020 masterpost

Gonna have links, titles, summaries, and all that jazz under a readmore because i decided to really push myself and do all 31 prompts separately. Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged my work; your support means the world to me and makes me want to keep writing! 

multiparters here have been listed in chronological order rather than posting order for ease of reading. 

FAHC

No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

Title: another duck joins the flock Fandom: FAHC Character(s): Geoff, Michael Rating: T Warning(s): blood, handcuffs Wordcount: 728 Summary: Or how the Fakes gained their most famous muscle. [tidied up/expanded this never-to-be-posted fahc wip for whumptober]

Naruto

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

Title: and the worst part of waiting is the anticipation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Team 7 Rating: T Warning(s): blood, vomit Wordcount: 951 Summary: Team Seven gets captured. [part of the whumptober au]

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

Title: A Teaching Moment Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 498 Summary: Kabuto makes her an offer she can’t refuse. [part of the whumptober au]

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

Title: Graduation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto, Rating: T+? Warning(s): blood Wordcount: 835 Summary: Kabuto has one more test before Sakura can be considered a true medic-nin. [part of the whumptober au]

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

Title: Arboreal Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura Rating: T Warning(s): needles Wordcount: 803 Summary: It was only a matter of time before Sakura found something that could help her escape. [part of the whumptober au]

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

Title: no good deed goes unpunished Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Naruto, Teuchi, Kyuubi Rating: T Warning(s): violence against children Wordcount: 972 Summary: Something goes wrong on his seventh birthday. Naruto might never be the same again.

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

Title: Degradation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Kakashi, Sakura, Naruto Rating: T Warning(s): dismemberment ment Wordcount: 187 Summary: Kakashi knows that power comes with a price.

Dragon Age

No 6. PLEASE…. “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

Title: Like Dogs Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Tabris, Shianni, Soris, Nelaros Rating: M Warning(s): implied/offscreen rape, violence against women, blood Wordcount: 1640 Summary: It was supposed to be a good thing, getting married. It wasn’t. [this is really just a love letter to the origin that fucking shooketh me]

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

Title: all’s fair but war is not without casualties Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Cousland, Alistair; ex-Alistair/Warden Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 695 Summary: Ten years after the Blight ends, Elissa Cousland runs into someone she never thought she’d see again. It, uh, doesn’t go quite as planned. [mostly canon compliant; Loghain is spared and becomes a warden]

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

Title: Duty Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Cousland, Eleanor, Bryce Rating: T Warning(s): blood, betrayal, last stand Wordcount: 633 Summary: Even without interference, history marches on. A what-if scenario if Duncan wasn’t there to recruit the Cousland. [part of iron & ash]

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

Title: To Ostagar Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Cousland Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 545 Summary: Jasmine is determined to get vengeance for her family. [part of iron & ash]

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

Title: Consequences Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Surana Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 368 Summary: Surana helps her best friend escape the Circle, and the consequences are more than she bargained for.

No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

Title: Corrupted Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Mahariel, Duncan Rating: Gen Warning(s): none Wordcount: 192 Summary: It’s a long journey from the Brecilian Forest to Ostagar for someone with blight sickness.

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Title: Big Sister Instinct Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Hawke, Unnamed Templars Rating: T Warning(s): torture, violence against women Wordcount: 325 Summary: Marian Hawke would rather die than betray her family. She might even just get the chance to do it.

Mass Effect

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

Title: never forget to bury your regret (before it buries you) Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Male Shepard, Human OC Rating: T Warning(s): cave-in, blood, character death Wordcount: 450 Summary: Survival training goes south in the ICT.

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Title: First Contact Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Turian OC, Human OC Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, broken bones, vomit, vehicular crash Wordcount: 1150 Summary: Decimus isn’t ready to die, but he’s especially not ready to die on a stupid scouting mission to a stupid alien colony. [set during the First Contact War; probably not canon-compliant but idgaf]

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

Title: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (and what does makes you scarred forever) Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Edi, Tali’Zorah, Garrus Vakarian Rating: T Warning(s): panic attack, open space Wordcount: 662 Summary: Shepard isn’t afraid of getting spaced. No, really. [a closer look at the geth dreadnought mission]

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

Title: Torfan Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Major Kyle Rating: T Warning(s): blood, guns, drugging Wordcount: 589 Summary: How the Butcher came to be.

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

Title: Rest Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Shepard, Anderson; referenced Shepard/Vega Rating: T Warning(s): blood, character death Wordcount: 1018 Summary: A father-daughter moment after they open the arms of the Citadel. [part of Alder]

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Title: they found you on the floor Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): alcohol, vomit, underage drinking Wordcount: 348 Summary: Like mother like daughter; Shepard deals with her trauma after Mindoir. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

Title: there’s easier ways to die Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Ashley Williams Rating: T Warning(s): DTs, vomit mention Wordcount: 368 Summary: Shepard takes a stand against her own demons. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

Title: you crawled up on your cross Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Jacob Taylor Rating: T Warning(s): alcohol Wordcount: 645 Summary: Shepard gets a morale boost from a crewmate. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Title: Cornered Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): broken bones Wordcount: 1281 Summary: Garrus gets into some trouble. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

Title: Ancient History Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Garrus Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, death, self-destructive/suicidal actions Wordcount: 1223 Summary: Jane is an enigma and Garrus just wants to figure her out. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

Title: After Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, death Wordcount: 440 Summary: Jane comes for Garrus after the gangs’ assault. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Title: Debt Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s)/Pairing(s): Garrus, Female Shepard, Mordin; mutual pining Shakarian Rating: T Warning(s): painkillers Wordcount: 590 Summary: After the gangs’ assault, Garrus overhears something. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

Undertale

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

Title: Drowning Fandom: Undertale Character(s): Toriel, Asgore Rating: T Warning(s): character death, child death Wordcount: 156 Summary: Asriel brought Chara home one last time.

[replacing no. 27] Alt 7. Found Family

Title: The Door Fandom: Undertale Character(s): Frisk, Papyrus, Sans Rating: Gen Warning(s): none Wordcount: 357 Summary: Just a little look at what could be a meeting with Gaster

Red vs Blue

No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

Title: Being a twin is a Hard Thing Fandom: Red vs Blue Character(s): South Dakota Rating: T Warning(s): psychological trauma Wordcount: 281 Summary: In the days before Wash finds them, South gets… introspective. [canon compliant? taken from a wip I was never going to finish so I fleshed it out for whumptober instead]

Original Fiction

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

Title: please leave a message Rating: T Warning(s): blood Wordcount: 537 Summary: A detective’s work is never done. Antonia deals with the news that her most famous case’s subject is on the run again. [original fiction]

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Title: Secondary Location Rating: Gen? Warning(s): kidnapping Wordcount: 143 Summary: Antonia wakes up on the wrong side of the city. [original fiction]

#whumptober2020 #prince fic #masterpost #long post #holy shit y'all i did it

[nyeusigrube-haven]

Inbox of Diana Smoke: Thanksgiving Drabble

12 pm: Rosemary

Rosemary Marinitch ran her "to-do" list through her mind as she looked around the sprawling kitchen of the Briar Patch farm. Butcher-block counters were piled high with sweet potatoes, beets, carrots, mushrooms, cranberries, and assorted other fruits, vegetables and tubers.

The venison mince pie was almost ready to come out of the oven; the dessert pies and the bread pudding had all been done for hours. The sweets-and-beets could share the oven with the turkeys, Casper and Nixon... both named by Mare's youngest brother, Jay, who had apparently been in a whimsical mood that spring and was now hiding somewhere in the back yard in order to avoid any semblance of "helping." Now headless, plucked and brined, Casper and Nixon were patiently awaiting their apple-pecan cornbread stuffing.

The acorn squash, stuffed mushrooms and au gratin potatoes were all done, ready to be put in the oven and re-warmed shortly before serving...

She paused to take a deep breath.

Since Mare had taken over cooking from her father, Thanksgiving had always been a wonderfully frantic day. Including several local family friends, they normally had about a dozen people, but this year the number would be higher. Most of the Vida family had accepted her invitation, shocking her to the core, and some of them had asked whether it was all right to bring guests. Even her cousin Nathan had promised to show up.

On the other hand, Mare knew all her guests well enough to know that a good half-dozen of them were at risk of cancelling at the last minute.

The doorbell rang.

She took a deep breath and braced herself.

4:00 pm: Sarah Vida

Sarah woke, groggy, at four in the afternoon. Christine was gently shaking her shoulder, and reminding her, "Sarah, you asked me to get you up. It's Thanksgiving."

The reminder probably wouldn't have been sufficient motivation if she hadn't known that the family had pushed Thanksgiving dinner to five in deference to their newly-vampiric niece's solar challenges. In previous years, they had eaten at about one in the afternoon, an hour Sarah suspected she wouldn't comfortably see for quite a while.

People kept saying things like, We'll see. It's different for everyone, when she asked how long it would take her to adjust so she could be awake during the day, but she had figured out that they meant, No one really gets over it, but if you're powerful enough, you can endure.

"Thanks," she said to Christine, as she rolled out of bed and shook out her hair. Being undead had a few- only a few- unexpected advantages. Vampires didn't sweat, or secret oils, or shed skin cells, or perform any other messy mortal processes. This made showers unnecessary unless one spilled something on oneself, or wanted to bathe purely for the comfort value. It also greatly lessened travel time. All that combined, and meant that Sarah had time to get dressed, feed, and make it to dinner in time.

With her feet still bare, she padded downstairs to see who else was around.

She found Nikolas in the dining room, but it wasn't Kristopher seated at the rarely-used formal table with him.

By this point, Sarah was getting used to seeing individuals whose faces she had memorized from pictures in the Vida's collection of targets. She tried to avoid staring, and was almost always able to avoid saying the first thing that came to her mind. Sometimes she chose to be tactful, and just backed away slowly.

In this case, she spoke the instant she thought. "What the fu-"

"Sarah," Nikolas said, rising with enough of a guilty start that she was sure he knew exactly why she was upset. "I'm sorry, our meeting ran late."

"Sarah Vida," the other vampire said, standing with a smile and an offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm-"

"I know who you are." There wasn't a cell in her body that wanted to shake that hand, so she ignored it until it lowered. She had spent a month learning to play nice with other vampires, but there were lines. This was a line.

"Excuse us," Nikolas said to his guest, before stepping forward, catching Sarah by the arm, and guiding her to the next room. It wouldn't give them privacy- vampiric hearing was too good. He just wanted to get them out of each other's sights.

"I have been nice to Kendra," Sarah hissed, "and I have been polite to Kaleo. I love you and Kristopher despite what I know of your history, which you have to admit cuts pretty damn close to home. But if you try to convince me to dissemble and shake the hand of one of Midnight's trainers, by the goddess I will do it with a blade in my hand and I don't care what you say about consequences."

Jaguar stepped into the doorway, but wisely chose not to acknowledge Sarah before saying to Nikolas, "I left the documentation on the table. Good luck."

He disappeared. At Sarah's glare, Nikolas said, "He's changed, Sarah."

"I. Don't. Care," she bit out. "He worked for an empire that tried to make my entire species extinct, Nikolas. For centuries, he deliberately tortured and enslaved innocent humans... not to mention shapeshifters and witches whenever he could get them. If he's changed, great. Maybe he can keep walking the Earth. But I will not associate with one of Midnight's power-players. I can't."

She recognized the expression on his face, which meant he was trying to decide between handling her to avoid an argument, or going with tough-love.

She decided first. Nikolas couldn't back out of this argument, but she didn't have time for it now.

"I'm going to feed, then head over to the Briar Patch. I'll see you and Kristopher later tonight."

"Should-"

"Later," she snapped, interrupting him before he could shove his foot further into his mouth.

4:08 pm: Kyla Cobriana-Vida

"Vemke'tasa," Kyla swore, as she raced for the showers. She had overslept. If she didn't seriously hustle, she was going to be late for the first family holiday she had ever been invited to... and it wasn't easy to hustle here.

She had to climb over three other people to get out of the sleeping area and into the common room. It wasn't that they were all normally nocturnal, but they had been up all night working on a particularly tricky intre'marl with Stefan, and then a few hours more partying. They had all crashed sometime around eight in the morning.

Good judgment? Maybe not. Worth it? She hoped so.

Most serpiente didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, so her nest-mates were going about their daily routines like always, which meant the showers were busy at this time of day.

As long as she didn't try to claim a crown, something she had no desire to do, the serpiente didn't care that she wasn't legitimate. The vast majority of serpents weren't. That meant she got all the advantages of cobra blood without any of the responsibilities, which meant people got out of the way and let her duck under one of the shower heads without objecting.

Normally, there was some fooling around here- you couldn't have a communal shower without people playing tricks like hiding each other's clothes- which meant Kyla didn't keep her street clothes in the dressing room. Buck naked except for a towel wrapped around her long black hair, she went back to her cohorts' den. They had been warned about how important this day was to her, and threatened with skinning and dismemberment if they dared do anything that could mess it up.

When she got there, they were all awake. Stefan had her street clothes laid out for her, and Alicia was readying a hair-dryer and clips. Luke was blinking sleep from his eyes, but greeted her with an encouraging smile.

They didn't understand, but that didn't matter. They wanted to help.

The thought brought tears to her eyes- followed immediately by rolling nausea.

I can't do this, she thought.

"Sit down, girl," Alicia commanded, as Kyla froze in the doorway, fighting panic. "We'll get you all primped to go have a fancy dinner with your mother's folks. Just remember, no matter what, you're one of us. You're beautiful, you're talented, you're proud. Got it?"

4:28 pm: Michael Arun

It took Michael Arun quite a while to remember where he was when he woke up.

Patchy carpet under him. Thin blanket half over him. Knife digging into his side- just the handle, thankfully, since it was still sheathed at his waist. No bruises, though he'd had those before going to bed, too.

He was in a slightly run-down motel. He was on the floor because Rant and Rave, two crow shapeshifter sisters whose real names were never uttered, had taken the bed and this rat-trap didn't have a cot or even a couch.

It did have a television, on which he vaguely remembered watching a ten-hour marathon of Supernatural. He was pretty sure there had been a drinking game associated with it, but in the glaring light of day sneaking around the edges of the closed curtains, he couldn't remember what rules they had been following or even what they had been drinking.

He put his head back down.

It had been a good party, anyway, celebrating the conclusion of a multi-day hunt in which they had been stalking a nest of vamps that had managed to make themselves the feudal lords of this tiny town. Vamps were gone now, and the town of wherever-they-were was marginally safer. Michael couldn't wait to see what SingleEarth told the terrified populace.

On second thought, yes he could.

He didn't know what day of the week it was, never mind the date. He considered checking his phone, but if he turned it on he knew he would probably have messages, and he didn't feel like answering any more distress calls yet. He wasn't even sure if it was November or December.

December would be better. November had been the month from hell.

Putting his head back down on a makeshift pillow made of a rolled-up sweatshirt, he closed his eyes again. Another eight hours of sleep seemed like a good idea.

4:30 pm: Nathan Marinitch

Won't be able to make it to dinner this year. Love you all. Happy Thanksgiving. Don't reply.

Nathan Marinitch sent the text to his cousin Mare, and then deleted any evidence of sending it and tucked the ultra-slim phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

A bird fluttered to his side, sharing images of the local landscape. The American kestrel Nathan was honored to have as a companion could see vivid colors that had no words in human language. It refrained from perching on Nathan's shoulder because its talons had a tendency to leave noticeable marks in his suit jackets. He couldn't afford that at the moment.

By the time he approached the stronghold, he knew the exact location of every guard, every gun, every hostage, every door and window and bolt-hold.

He cast Kestrel back into the air. Her fierce cry was silent, purely mental, so it would not draw attention. Nathan focused his power, seeking out threads of energy from every living creature around him.

He checked his watch. He had twenty-seven minutes.

4:39 pm: Zachary Vida

In the past, Zachary had always followed Dominique's lead when it came to holidays, which meant that like her he had put the hunt first. Thanksgiving usually meant camping out with a container of Chinese food and a few other hunters while they discussed the upcoming season.

Some people loved the holidays. Some people dreaded them. Hunters knew that the days between Halloween and Valentine's Day tended to be bloody. Few vampires celebrated the birth of Christ or the triumph of the Maccabees, but they enjoyed revelry and over-indulgence just as much as any human.

This year, Olivia had convinced him to take a break and relax for the holiday- though she had not convinced him to join her and her friends. Instead, he had accepted an invitation to the Briar Patch, the Marinitch family home. The invitation had been extended every year for as long as he could remember; sometimes he had remembered to decline, but just as often he had forgotten. He almost hadn't had the courage to say yes this time.

When he had, though, Rosemary Marinitch hadn't even paused. She had continued the phone conversation as if he had been a figure at their Thanksgiving table every year of her life.

Now he was in the car with Diana Smoke, another witch he had rarely given the time of day previously. Rosemary had arranged for Diana to give him a ride; conspiratorially, she had explained to Zachary, "I know Diana. If she isn't responsible for someone else, she'll get pulled into work and won't get to the house before Christmas." He wondered if she had told Diana the exact same thing. I know Zachary. If he has to drive himself, he'll chicken out half-way here.

She would have been right.

It made for an awkward car ride, however. Their occasional attempts at small-talk failed. Zachary's life might have taken a strange turn a while back, but he still didn't have a lot in common with the woman considered the heart and soul of SingleEarth.

Well, no, there was the fact that they were both trying to hold together the shattered wreckage of everything they had ever cared about. If they had wanted to, they could probably have had a lengthy conversation about that.

It was a long, silent drive.

4:44 pm: Jeremy Francisco

Oh, to be a fly on the wall... and feel like, at any moment, the swatter might come down.

Jeremy Francisco stepped into the Briar Patch feeling like he was on the verge of explosion, or implosion, or something along those lines. He had certainly never been happier not to be a witch, since he knew perfectly well what such powers could do when combined with high emotions.

With his brother's hissing voice still lingering in his mind, he was certainly experiencing high emotions. "It's all about you, isn't it? It always has to be all about Jeremy!"

He had wanted to reply, "Yes, Dave, my wedding is all about me," but he knew better.

SingleEarth had pamphlets titled things like, How do I tell my family? He could vividly recall reading one specific piece of advice, echoed by numerous others: Telling your family about the paranormal probably means challenging a deep-seated world-view. Even in the best of circumstances, you may face anxiety and denial, which can come out as anger.

We advise against announcing your status to a group. Talk to your family members one-on-one, so you can appeal to their reason and offer the support they need to cope with new and often frightening information. Save big holidays for announcements of weddings, graduations and promotions. Announcing that humans are not alone and you are now a shapeshifter at the Christmas dinner table is more likely to make people remember "the year you ruined Christmas" than it is to inspire good will and tolerance.

Jeremy had followed half of that advice.

He had pulled his brother aside an hour or so before the Thanksgiving turkey was due to be served. They hadn't been as close since high school, since they had followed different paths, but at least Dave wasn't a vampire hunter. If Jeremy could win him over, he would be an ally.

It didn't work that way.

"I've proposed and she said yes," went very well.

"There's something I need to tell you..." didn't go quite as well.

Jeremy left before dinner, with Dave's parting shot- "I'll tell Mom you had some kind of emergency at that stupid clinic where you work"- echoing in his ears.

He tried to shake off the strain of the confrontation as he pulled onto the dirt driveway of the Marinitch family home, a large ranch set at the edge of several acres of farmland that had long ago mostly gone fallow. Some had been reclaimed by neighboring woods, and other parts had been deliberately filled with native plants. Only one acre was still cultivated, with a combination of herbs, fruits and vegetables.

4:45 pm: Jay Marinitch

From three acres away, Jay could hear his sister Mare fuming. At this distance, he should have been able to tune her out, but she would have known and that would have made her even angrier.

Nathan had just bailed at the last minute... again. Caryn, who was supposed to be helping Mare cook, was as nervous as a fly on a griddle because Jeremy hadn't arrived yet or called to say how late he would be. Zachary and Diana were supposedly on their way, though Zachary's voice had sounded strained when he had called Mare to say they had hit some traffic. Sarah should be there any moment.

Should he wander in and offer assistance?

Or would that just frustrate her more?

He wasn't much help with-

JAY! I know you're hiding out there!

Strictly speaking, Mare was not telepathic, but she had always had a unique way of communicating clearly within her own family.

Wincing, and wishing he'd had the sense to be out of range, Jay trudged through knee- and waist-high brush and grasses before traveling carefully between rows of actual tended plants and then slipping discretely inside. A glance at the clock he passed revealed it to be 4:49 pm.

"How can I help?" he asked, as he found his sister frantically trying to remain calm as she attempted to add final touches to four different dishes in the vast kitchen.

"You're not dressed," she snapped.

He glanced down. Shirt. Pants. Even shoes. Seemed sufficient. Mare's glare made it clear that this was not acceptable for Thanksgiving, however, so he wordlessly retreated to his room.

"Your cat is sleeping on your clothes," his brother, Vireo, remarked as they passed on the stairs. "Mare left one of those sticky tape rolls in the guest bathroom. Use it before you come back down. And brush your hair!"

And here Jay had been so proud of his forethought in setting out his Thanksgiving clothes ahead of time, to make sure he had all the pieces and they all still fit.

Jerk, he thought to the Canadian lynx, who was indeed curled up on top of Jay's amber-green dress shirt and tie. Both items had been picked out and personally approved by Mare, which meant he couldn't switch them for something else even if he'd had anything else.

Cat's faces were not made for grinning, but Lynx pulled it off somehow anyway.

I'm going to get some turkey, Lynx announced, as he jumped up and rubbed against Jay on his way out the door.

Jay heard the cars and other ruckus downstairs as he dressed and diligently de-furred himself, but there was no way to prepare for this confrontation. He had to force himself to walk downstairs, where he stepped into a fog of anxiety, frustration, and fury concealed behind strained but smiling faces.

Across the room, Vireo met his gaze with his own apologetic one. Why hadn't Jay taken Michael up on his invitation to go hunting this week, instead?

5:45 pm: Rosemary Marinitch

Vidas were nothing if not prompt, but other guests straggled in late, as if five in the evening was an absurdly early hour to have a Thanksgiving dinner. Finally, though, all of them were gathered around the tables... including Jay's Canadian lynx, who had insisted on having his own chair at the table.

Two large mice, having been granted a reprieve by Nathan's last-minute cancellation and Kestrel's resultant absence, were now enjoying a feast of carrot greens, apples and cranberries before they were due to be released back into the wild... unless Lynx got bored of turkey before he was as stuffed as Casper. Mare's bond, a female Hanoverian, was keeping company with her father's greyhound; both were happy to avoid the stressed-out crowds of people, and to indulge in their Thanksgiving gifts. Vireo's fox was delightedly pigging out on a mouse-berry pie that Mare had assembled and set out on a mat for the fox, who had no intention of placing himself in a chair. Two barn-cats, though not bonded to any particular witch, had nevertheless also been invited and were happily sharing in scraps.

In deference to the sensibilities of both the people and the poultry, none of the turkeys had been invited.

Except Casper and Nixon, of course.

Mare had given up on socializing with the other people as soon as everyone had been introduced to each other and dinner had been served. Vireo did the work of engaging people in conversation, breaking the ice and the tension both, until Jay finally stopped looking like he was going to faint and actually started to eat.

Now that everyone was talking, occasionally laughing, and smiling in a way that didn't need to be faked, Rosemary's job was done.

At least until the dishes needed to be washed.

#nyeusigrube #tdos #the den of shadows #post-ajg #sarah vida #nikolas ravena #sarah #nikolas #jaguar #rosemary marinitch #jay marinitch #jay #michael arun #diana smoke #Vireo Marinitch #Kyla cobriana vida #zachary vida #zachary #clips/scenes #inbox of diana smoke

[the-gemini-cores]

Penance

Make sure to read Theo’s fic first, as this takes place not long after. 

Thank you so much to both her and @parttwoactuallywrites for inspiring me to write my first fic and also reading it over to give me awesome pointers. You’re each wonderful humans - I owe it to you.

~~

She was stationary in the doorway, partly out of view, looking from his sweating face to the butcher's knife hovering unsteadily over his forearm. He winced as shock molded her expression.

A few moments passed, but for all he knew it could have been a few eternities. Her eyes had turned questioning, pleading, yet so, so cold. They growled at him, screaming curses, while the rest of her guard seemed cautious. She was observing him.

He shrank under her gaze. He couldn't move, couldn't resume his work here, couldn't even consider standing and explaining himself. She'd frozen him where he sat, hunched over a desk against the opposite wall, a single light reflecting his weapon of choice but leaving most of the room appropriately dark. Through the few meters of cold gloom between them she shot that devastating, familiar look. It was how she'd regarded him for the past few days, though now it felt strong enough to turn him aflame.

He was unstable. He was an idiot. He had hurt her. 

The assertions built in his brain, transferred from her glare. He couldn't fling them out even if he wanted to, and he didn't want to, because they were the truth and they validated his choice and they would carry him through it and -

"Don't." 

It was a command. He stared at her, and she continued. 

"If you do it, I'll never forgive you."

Her voice was threatening, but desperation clawed at its edges. The sound was so unlike her, so his fault, he felt like he'd been slapped. He wished she hadn't come here. He never wanted her to find him like this, didn't think it possible she'd look for him and, if she did, that it would be with such remarkably bad timing. He thought he could do it quickly. Face her only after it was finished.

But here she was, much too soon, and there was no escaping the hint of betrayal that lined her tone.

She took a step forward and his body cringed. Without really meaning to, he braced himself, raising the blade higher. The glint of steel waved as he reacted. She stopped at once, looking torn, and a fresh bout of guilt streaked his senses.

Could he really do this? Especially with her standing there, watching? This was supposed to be for her, to set things right, to make things even. To show he was sorry.

She tried again, more slowly now, like she was handling a wild animal. Having few moves left and overwhelmed with uncertainty, he couldn't do much else than stay still this time, until a glimpse of red entered his vision. She'd come close enough that the bandage near her shoulder was revealed. It was soaked even now. Stained with her. 

Nausea washed over him, churning his stomach. Knowing what the once-white cloth covered and how it had gotten there, he felt like he'd been impaled through the ribs. A torrent of sights and sounds came rushing back. So much chaos, too little uproar. She'd been gushing blood. She'd been entirely unresponsive.

She'd been dying.

And no matter what she might have said after, he knew he was to blame. He had been the one in trouble. She had come to his aid. She had kept him safe, and she had paid for it dearly. The mantra constantly played, only getting louder as the days passed, to the point where it was eating him alive.

She hid what was left of her arm back behind the door. For a brief, gut-wrenching second, there was fear in her face, strikingly open, like she'd just made a terrible mistake.

He didn't see it that way. The view of her dismemberment was just what he needed - a critical, necessary reminder. It shook him, spoke to him, with a surety he’d lacked. The stump was concealed again, but its image remained, clear as if it had been painted on his glasses. It clouded his thoughts completely. He was looking in her direction, but he couldn't see her face anymore through the red, and her visage went unacknowledged.

To make her feel understood. To protect her from falling further into solitude. To selfishly keep himself from going mad.

He would do anything.

Such a short while ago, there hadn't seemed to have been much other option. The noise in his head had reached unbearable. He'd grabbed the knife without thought. He'd shut himself away, sat down, tried to breathe. He'd held his face, looked blankly at a speck of dust on the table. He was a bloody coward for hesitating. For being frightened of the aftermath, of her reaction, and holy God of the pain.

As his lungs stopped struggling he'd noticed the flow of air on his wrists, his own panting on his palms, and immediately thrust one hand away like it was infected. He didn't want any sensation from it. Neither the shaky piece of meat and flesh nor the dead appendage it extended from felt like a part of him anymore, but a growth. It was insulting. And it had to go.

That hadn't changed. He had decided, and he wasn't going to back out. She'd caught him, yes, but it didn't matter. She couldn't stop him. Not if he quit stalling and just got on with it.

He blinked away the red. It disappeared more easily than normal. He could see her face again, but instead of studying it, he chose to look away. Whatever he'd read there, it wouldn't help.

He turned back to the table before him, a long limb resting submissively on the surface. A couple of small gasps...

He'd have to be quick. Forceful. He couldn't afford to make a mistake and not tear all the way through.

"Wheatley..."

He barely deciphered the word. The tone, though, was still resonating in his ears. In sync with that wretched mantra.

He looked at his elbow. Strange how clean it was, as it was moments from becoming an incredible mess. There was a sliver of vague surprise as he noticed that the thought didn’t make him anxious anymore. He felt quite calm, in fact. 

All he could think about was getting this over with. Walking away successful. Sharing another scar with her. She'd be angry, and upset, but it'd be okay.

His right arm - the one he could still feel - had been holding the blade for a while. It was quivering from strain and he lowered it to the table. A short rest, one last respite, and he'd summon enough strength to do the deed. He thought this to himself, for it was fact in his mind, but then a noise made him pause. 

A slight exhalation of breath from somewhere by the door. He felt cruel an instant later. From his head, a crazed voice despaired that he might've just given her the wrong impression.

Moron.

As if to correct himself, he drew the weapon back up with fervor. Everything beyond the vignette of his vision was fog.

He took aim across the lines of his own upturned joint, expecting to feel empty, but somehow ... he actually found a semblance of comfort.

Peace. Resolution. It was there, waiting.

Because he was doing this for her - for both of them. The conviction was so relieving it nearly dazed him.

It would hurt, definitely, but that meant nothing. 

His hand no longer shook.

Her running steps fell on deaf ears -

"WHEATLEY!"

- and the knife came down.

~~

Part 2 here

#c's posts #chelley #portal 2 #chell #wheatley #apocalypse au #fics- one shots

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

kidnap my heart (ransom my soul)

Based off @homemadesterekpie​’s post   (also on ao3)

Getting kidnapped was never fun. But it was something that Derek had eventually gotten used to.

No matter how perfect his memory, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to count how many times he had gotten kidnapped. It was just a part of his life as an alpha.

He had been kidnapped by hunters and werewolf poachers who either wanted to torture him for information on the rest of the pack or force him into his full shift so they could skin him alive for his pelt. Then there were the hunters that just wanted to terrorize him for the fun of it.

He had been kidnapped by other werewolves, other alphas who wanted to usurp him and take over the highly sought after territory that had belonged to his family since before time was a concept. There had even been one alpha who had kidnapped him in a bid to get him to mate her daughter.

He had been kidnapped by fairies and pixies that reveled in the idea that they could overtake Hale territory in the name of the fae folk. It had been a useless endeavor but they had persisted nonetheless.

He had been kidnapped by witches who had wanted to use his blood for old sorts of dark magic. And he had been kidnapped by other darachs who sought to harness his alpha spark for themselves.

There had been countless other creatures that had kidnapped him — vampires, sirens, dragons, even a kelpie — but he had always escaped. With a few scrapes and bruises that would quickly heal, but he escaped all the same.

It was different with hunters.

With hunters, he genuinely had to worry about whether or not they would actually kill him. While other creatures might hesitate at killing, or even just seriously harming, an alpha werewolf who was so connected to the land he could practically predict when the leaves would start to change, hunters had no such qualms.

All they wanted to do was inflict as much pain and agony and traumatizing torment as possible. Until he was begging them for death, begging them to just put him out of his misery.

And they would. In a rare show of mercy, they would kill him. But it wouldn't be quick or painless. No, hunters were never that kind.

They would draw the death out. However they could.

Werewolves could still die of dehydration. It just took a little longer. And the hunters wouldn't mind waiting.

Mistletoe extract was much more than an essential oil used for homeopathic treatments. When injected into a werewolf's bloodstream it acted like a poison, a slow one that felt like fire coursing through veins like a deadly flood.

Knives dipped in mountain ash wine could be used for dismemberment. That way no limbs would heal, nothing would grow back.

It was both fascinating and horrifying how creative hunters could be when scheming up new ways to torture and slaughter werewolves. Human cruelty would never cease to amaze him.

Not after decades of suffering at the hands of humans, of hunters. Not after he was manipulated into being an unwitting accomplice in the murder of his family.

Not after being seduced by a woman twice his age who had charmed her way into his bed and his heart with pretty smiles and sugary sweet lies. Not after being accused of his own sister's murder by humans who had no idea what he was, only who he was.

Not after the pack he had formed out of desperation and howling loneliness had been hunted down by the very same family of hunters that had taken everything from him when he was only seventeen years old. Not after his attempt at living a life with some semblance of normalcy had been shattered into pieces.

And especially not now. Not after they had dragged Stiles into it.

Apparently, Chris Argent, who Derek had been keeping an eye on despite his many assurances that he had put his days of werewolf hunting behind him, still had a few surviving family members. Family members who just so happened to be hunters.

And lo and behold, they had decided to vacation in Beacon Hills for the fall. Of course, Derek hadn't known about any of it until he had already been knocked out by a cloud of wolfsbane and dragged off to some abandoned warehouse.

Hadn't known until he had already been chained up to an electrified fence that was pumped full of enough voltage to kill a whole herd of elephants. Until he had already been viciously shocked for hours on end in hopes that he would reveal where the other members of the pack were.

Derek had never been so grateful that most of the betas had decided to attend college out of town. He had reminded himself of that every time the damn Argents turned on the generator.

He had tried to focus on thoughts of Erica's smile as she laughed at something sarcastic Boyd had said as the hunters gouged him with blades dipped in mountain ash. Had pictured Isaac's head of golden curls and Peter's rare moments of tolerability as he was doused in yellow wolfsbane that made his skin burn like it was on fire.

But the thought that got him through the worst of the torture was Stiles.

Stiles' warm brown eyes that sparkled whenever he made a particularly clever joke. Stiles' perpetually messy hair that couldn't be tamed by all the hair gel in the world.

The constellations of moles on his pale cheeks and down the column of his back. The perfect Cupid's bow of Stiles' pink lips.

The wild way he gesticulated with every inch of his body. The way he quoted Star Wars whenever humanly possible.

The colorful flurry of flannels and ironic t-shirts he always wore. The bright highlighters he gnawed on when he studied at the loft.

It was those thoughts, thoughts of Stiles, that got him through the most agonizing forms of torture. From when they ripped off his claws, one by one by one, to when they drowned him in pools of mistletoe oil.

All that he could deal with. It was nothing new, not really.

But then they crossed the line and one of those bastard Argents dragged someone else into the room. Someone who kicked and screamed and cursed and quipped despite the blood in his mouth.

Someone who earned himself a harsh punch when he bit the hand of one his captors. Someone who screeched out profanities in English, Polish, and the broken Spanish that one learns in high school.

Someone in a ripped flannel and bloody Deadpool t-shirt. Someone with a bloody split in the Cupid's bow of their lip. Someone with messy hair matted with blood.

Someone who the hunters chained to a post so they could torture him, too. So they could burn him with blow torches and break his fingers and his toes.

It went on for days. The torture. The hellish agony that had become both of their lives.

Their only peace was when the hunters got bored of dragging blades across their skin and firing rounds dangerously close to their heads just to scare them. When the hunters left for a few hours to eat and sleep and shit.

Derek tried to use those hours to sleep, to let his body focus on healing. But Stiles, poor Stiles, with the pain receptors of a human and a sore lack of supernatural healing abilities used the time to finally cry.

He tried so hard to be quiet, biting his bruised and bloody lip to keep his sobs in, but Derek could always hear him. Could always hear the desperation, the hopelessness in every hiccup, in every shaky breath.

It was only marginally better than when they actually tortured Stiles.

Because it was then that Derek would have given anything to be deaf. To not have to hear the anguished cries from the boy he loved as the hunters beat him bloody while demanding information.

It was during those moments when he raged against his constraints, when he tried to yank himself off the electrified fence and slither out of the coils of barbed wire they had curled around him. When he tried to rip his chains from the wall so he could kill every last one of the hunters.

He was nearly feral with it, the need to protect Stiles, to rush to his side and free him from any harm. It was the age-old instinct of an alpha protecting its emissary, its mate.

But the hunters didn't know that. They didn't know the stories that had been passed down from alpha to alpha, generation to generation. They didn't know about werewolves. Not really.

Sure, they knew the basics: big teeth, pointy claws, shifts influenced by the moon. And, yes, they knew how to torture and bribe and kill. But they didn't know werewolves.

They didn't know the story of the wolf that fell in love with the moon and serenaded her each and every night with a song so sorrowful the moon eventually took pity on the poor wolf and gave it the gift of walking upright. All the better to reach out to its unattainable love.

They didn't know about the bond between alphas and emissaries, of the shared touch of magic in both. Or how that magic could easily turn deadly if necessary.

And they had no clue about mates. None.

They didn't know about the madness that could overtake a wolf if their mate was threatened, if their mate was hurt. They didn't know about the righteous rage that gave Derek the extra strength to free himself from his restraints.

He had deep lacerations around his midsection, fragments of steel lodged in his gut, but the pain didn't register for a second. None of it.

Not the wolfsbane filled gunshot wound in his chest or the gash in his forehead. Not the fatigue that came with days of captivity and starvation or the lethargy from the poison coursing through his veins.

All he cared about was getting to Stiles, getting to his emissary, his mate. About decimating whatever stood in his way.

It was over in just a few seconds. For all their guns and wolfsbane and mountain ash, all of the hunters ended up the same way: piles of blood and butchered flesh strewn around the warehouse.

The coppery stench of blood hung heavy in the air but Derek couldn't smell it. He could only smell Stiles' distress, his pain.

Whining high in his throat, fueled by adrenaline, Derek had carefully scooped up Stiles in his arms. The aimless wandering through the warehouse sapped the rest of his strength.

Barely two seconds after Derek managed to lug Stiles out of the warehouse and into the cool air of the night, he collapsed. The last thing he saw was the full moon hanging overhead, a silent sentinel as he cradled Stiles to his chest.

He woke up what seemed like years later, emerging from the dark blanket of unconsciousness into the golden sunshine pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows in the loft.

He was in his bed, the downstairs one that he had been using less and less. The sheets were warm yet cold at the same time as he gradually grew more aware of his surroundings.

There was a stabbing pain in his midsection and a full body ache plagued every inch of him. He reluctantly opened his to stare up at the high ceiling, at the rafters where a pigeon had been nesting when he first moved in.

He could hear people breathing, the several distinctive heartbeat patterns informing him that his betas were around. It was a comforting sound, their heart rates calm and unhurried, assuring him that there was no present danger.

But then he realized that there was a heartbeat that was missing. The familiar jackrabbiting pound of Stiles' heartbeat was nowhere to be found.

Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, despite the vertigo, he abruptly sat up, frantically looking around for Stiles. But he couldn't find him.

"Derek?!" A vaguely familiar voice called but it was lost in the fog that was quickly clouding his rational thoughts. "Guys, he's up!"

In a moment all of his betas were by his bedside, worried expressions plastered on their faces. Even Peter looked genuinely concerned.

"Where's Stiles?!" Derek growled at them, his eyes flaring red as he continued searching the room for his missing mate. He could feel his fangs elongating, his claws lengthening as a lethal mixture of protectiveness and worry overwhelmed him.

So caught up in the whirlwind of emotion, he reached out to grab Peter by the front of his V neck. He tugged his uncle close as he snarled, "Where. Is. He?"

"He's upstairs!" Erica snapped, moving forward. She pointed a manicured, red painted nail at the spiral staircase on the other side of the loft.

Releasing Peter who reeled back with an exasperated sigh, Derek leapt from his bed, ignoring his aching limbs. The climb upstairs was agonizing but it was worth once Stiles came into view.

He was lying in Derek's bed, bandaged and draped in a warm blanket. There was an IV in his arm, pumping him full of fluids.

In a chair by the foot of the bed, the Sheriff was snoring softly. He was frowning, even in his sleep.

Stiles was awake, trailing his eyes over the wall until his gaze landed on Derek. He smiled as much as he could without jostling his broken nose, croaking, "Hey, Derek."

Derek could only whine as he slowly crossed the room to climb onto the foot of the bed. He ducked his head in apology, baring his neck.

The sight of Stiles was horrible, a reminder of how much Derek had failed him. Of course, Stiles didn't see it that way, quipping, "You should see the other guy. Well, actually you already did. Right before you ripped his throat out. It was kinda hot."

Ignoring Stiles' witty comment, Derek plopped down beside him, burying his face against the side of Stiles' chest. With a soft smile, Stiles curled his arm around Derek's shoulders, running a hand up and down the alpha's back, "It's okay, Der. I've gotcha and I'm not letting you go. Never."

The sound Derek let out was more of a purr than anything else. Not that anyone could blame him. He had found his moon and he would be damned if anyone took that from him.

#vanessa #vanessa tag #sterek #sterek fic #violence #torture #angst #angst with a happy ending #mates #feral behavior #animalistic derek #hunters #canon divergent #post season 3 #my fic #fic

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 41)

Elsewhere in the Dreamscape, Ruby and Yang were in a copy of the former's room in Keeper's Hollow, lounging on the cushions and pillows as they talked.

<… So Weiss is getting stronger because of all that farming, training, and Valley food, right? One day, she asks us to start training her for agility, so she can past The Grinder's Boop Test. I asked her if she wanted to do some reps on the dummies, and she goes, 'No, I want you to do the test on me, but a lot slower.'>

Yang grinned.

<I go, 'Okay, I'll go get Blake! She's the best at that!' and Weiss is like, 'Why can't you do it?' I tell her I don't want to hurt her, and Weiss just goes, 'Ruby, I trust you won't hurt me if you can help it, just hit me with the absolute lightest touch you can,' and I say, 'Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you!>

Yang leaned forward. <And then what happened next?>

<I booped her on the nose. Turns out, the bones in human noses are a LOT more fragile than I thought, and I think I inherited dad's 'Finger Death Punch' skills...>

<Oh, shit! Was there blood?>

Ruby nodded. <Lots. She started screaming, so I asked her, 'Weiss, are you okay?' and she said, 'Nhow, GET PHENNY!'

<So now Blake is in charge of her agility training. She's trying to teach her how to climb and use a hookshot, too, but it's kind of hard for Weiss seeing as she can't completely balance on her toes like she does.>

<Is she getting any better at the Boop Test?>

<Nope! Blake just gets her every single time, and she's going so slow, it's so funny!>

<Man, I wish I could see that!>

Ruby nodded. <Yeah. Me too...>

Yang looked at Weiss' hammock in the corner. <You're all getting along really well with Weiss, aren't you?>

<Mhmm! It was all rough at the beginning, because she was pretty useless at everything, and she forced the Council to take her in after she faked killing herself in front of her dad.>

<Shit, if I didn't know that was you behind that mask, I would have thought it was real, Rubes! You were fucking savage with that speech, too.>

<That was Weiss' work, actually! She's really good with words. Penny's actually surprised at how quickly she's picking up on Actaeon, but that could be because Blake is helping her learn now, too.>

<Out of the goodness of her heart?>

Ruby smirked. <Nah. Weiss is slowly taking over cooking from Uncle Qrow; butchering and cutting aside, she's a lot better at it, plus she grows ingredients for all of Blake's favourite recipes.>

Yang laughed. <Should have known… she trying to make her own tofu now, so you guys don't have to hunt so much?>

<Nah. Penny says everyone but Weiss are 'obligate carnivores' and can't survive without actual animal meat. Still, her garden's REALLY useful; cheaper AND we don't have to compete with all the Makers and their assistants that snatch up the good stuff straight from the Tubes, the delivery carts, or right from the planters.

<Plus, the Watchers say that if she can seriously ramp up her production, they might start subcontracting her for supplies—healing salves, burn creams, sore-stiff ointment, that kind of stuff. She says she won't try until she gets one or two Tenders helping her, though.

<'I'm not planning to be a farmer full-time,' she said.>

<Sure seems like she's getting there whether she likes it or not...>

<I know, but she doesn't like folks pointing it out. It's taking her time to get comfortable with the idea, you know? Kind of like how dad dated your mom, had you, and well… all that stuff happened before he and my mom got together...

<… Sorry.>

Yang waved it off. <It's fine. Dad keeps telling me that short version every once in a while, ever since I said I wanted to try out dating.> In Nivian, “Don't rush into a relationship, young lady! You might just find yourself being part of a big, messed-up Life Goal!”

The two of them laughed, but not for very long.

<I miss dad...> Ruby muttered. <I mean, can I miss him, since I was just a baby when we got separated?>

<'Course you can!> Yang's face softened. <You miss Summer, too, don't you?>

Ruby nodded. <Do you think the Council will ever change their minds about us?>

Yang sighed and rolled over on her back. <Doubt that! Aside from The Shit that went down and who my parents are, all my run-ins with the human branches of law enforcement have pretty much proved their fears of me being a bad influence right—with documentation, testimonials, and holos to back it up, too!>

<What if I tell them I won't try to run away like mom did? I'm fifteen now, they can probably believe that I'll do as I say!>

Yang rolled back on her stomach. <Yeah, sorry, but she pretty much ruined all of that for everyone when she told them the same thing, then did it anyway. Besides, those Soul Eaters still roaming around?>

<We get one like once a season, yeah. We Keepers have killed most of them, or they've just gotten REALLY good at hiding. Whenever they do show up pretty much everything grinds to a halt, though...>

Yang nodded. <Man, isn't this whole thing fucked up? All the Valley's screw-ups were 1,000 years ago, and here we are, the great-times-whatever grandchildren, still paying for it. You shouldn't have to deal with shit that wasn't your fault, it's just not fair!>

<But if we all acted like that, then all of us would probably be dead by now from all the mess-ups that went unfixed, just because it wasn't your fault. Besides, can you imagine what would happen if YOU had to fix all the stuff you've broken?>

Yang winced. <Okay! You've got a point, that's enough poking holes into my rage against the system with your logic.>

<The Wise Ones save The Foolish Ones from their folly, for the Folly of Fools can doom us all,> Ruby hummed, quoting a well-known Fae saying.

<Let's talk about happier things…. Eve of the Ether is coming up! You going to that big party in Candela?>

Ruby shook her head. <Probably not. Between all the seeds, equipment, and groceries we've been buying for Weiss, we're pretty broke! Well, broke-er than usual. And it's not like we can go pull some Urochs from Weiss' old accounts...>

Yang grinned. <Well you might want to change your mind, because me and dad are going there this year!>

Ruby blinked. <Wait, what? Seriously? How?!>

<One of his old students decided to send us a thank you gift! The letter was unsigned, but those round-trip tickets to Candela are oh-so real—business class, too! Plus, I reread dad's copy of his sentence, and it precisely mentions just Fae Territory, and nothing about the human cities nearby.>

<Elder Goodwitch is going to be SO pissed when she finds out about this.>

<I know. But they can't exactly ban us from entering Candela, can they?> Yang said, waggling her eyebrows.

<We are going to get in big much trouble for this. They'll probably cut us off from ever talking through the Honey Dens ever again!>

Yang leaned in. <Will it be worth seeing your big sister in person after all these years?>

Ruby smiled. <Hell yes. Oh: can I bring the others with me?>

Yang frowned. <Are you and Princess Snowflake REALLY not--?> she made a sexy animal noise.

<We're just friends! And I think she might love it, you know, getting to be back in Candela, even if it's in costume and under an assumed identity.>

Yang nodded slowly. <Okay, but on one condition: if it turns out you can only afford just you, then she stays in the Valley, alright?>

<Deal.> Ruby paused. <Hey, do you guys have any idea who could have sent those? I mean, this is Eve of the Ether; even if you guys are flying in from Valentino, the price of admission isn't exactly cheap…>

<Nope! But come on, Rubes, this is Avalon: weirder things have happened! The series of events that led to you being born aren't exactly believable, even with the proof in front of your face...>

Ruby shrugged. <Suppose you're right!>

<You're getting worried over nothing, Rubes; not every good deed comes with an ulterior motive...>

Two weeks earlier, in the real world…

Jacques Schnee sat on the deck of his particular slice of tropical island paradise, sitting stock straight in his chair and fully dressed in a warm-weather three-piece suit, as if he were having a business meeting at sunset than being permanently “on vacation leave.”

His mind drifted back to his last board meeting, in the Schnee Power Company's own corporate headquarters.

“This is the last straw, Schnee!” Kovacs cried. “There is no recovering from this! Forget the media, the history holos will have all of our heads for this!”

“What did you want me to do, negotiate with terrorists?!” Jacques shouted back.

“Yes,” Kovacs replied flatly. “Those 'terrorists' had been sending us all a very clear message: stay out of the Valley.

“But you just couldn't let them go, could you? Never you mind the stories about the Keeper, the failure of those expeditions and all the casual break-ins to your home should have been proof enough that you were facing something far beyond your power!”

“Don't get on your high horse with me!” Jacques yelled as he rocketed up from his seat. “You all authorized the expeditions—I have the holos, the communications, and the signed documents giving me your blessings to journey into the Valley, all three trips!”

“We won't deny that, and we are all prepared to face the consequences of it,” Kovacs said. “But the crux of the matter is that you were the one who could have saved your daughter.”

Jacques gritted his teeth, fire raging in his eyes.

“The lives of all those mercenaries? No one could say they didn't know they were risking death and dismemberment. Collusion with criminal organizations? Nothing we couldn't have covered up, or turned in our favour! But the deaths of even more of your own family...?”

Kovacs sighed and shook her head. “Sekhmet? Sekhmet we recovered from. Who could have expected that killer fungus to have been feeding off the wellspring for all this time? But this, Schnee?

“I'll be damned if anyone thinks you were trying to call a bluff, that you didn't know they would actually do it.”

Jacques glared at her. “May I remind you who is CEO here?!”

“And may I remind YOU who are the Directors that put and keep you in that position?” Kovacs snarled as she stood up from her seat. “Who now have to pay dearly for your mistake?”

The air grew tense as the two stared each other down; some of the weaker-willed directors found it hard to breath, the rest were indifferent, or calmly summoning the security teams and drones in.

“Take a vacation, Jacques,” Kovacs said flatly. “If the Schnee Power Company is going to have any chance of recovering from this irreversible screw-up of yours, it would be best if you made yourself scarce, had someone else at the helm of this sunken ship.

“In fact, there's a jet waiting to take you to your new bungalow in Paradiso—all paid for by us, for we don't want to saddle you with financial concerns in your time of 'grieving...'” she spat as the security teams entered the room.

He glared at Kovacs as they escorted him out of the building, mustering all the fury and malevolence he had within him, but she paid him no mind.

Like he had taught her so many years ago, the only effort you should give to a total, unsalvageable liability was cutting them off, and no more than that.

A drink was laid on the table beside him—a Mai Tai. Jacques looked up and glared at the waitress with long hair the colour of ash, and eyes the colour of a raging fire.

“I didn't order anything,” he said flatly.

“Compliments of my colleagues, no charge,” she replied, smirking.

Jacques narrowed his eyes at her, read her name tag—Cinder Fall—cross-referenced it with his administrator and memory implants. “You're not one of the regular staff. Who are you—a reporter, or an assassin?”

“Neither,” Cinder replied. “We share a common enemy, you and I, Mr. Schnee. I have information and connections you sorely need, you have the resources my people can use to do great things...”

“Ah, so you're terrorists, just like the Keeper and her ilk.”

“We prefer the term 'Rebels,'” Cinder replied flatly.

Jacques rolled his eyes. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because, you've got nothing left to lose, and everything to gain. We both know this 'vacation' is just their way of firing you without the PR stink, and that they're already imagining how they'd look like in that throne of yours, now that the King is in permanent exile.”

She smiled as she leaned on the table beside him. “So, what do you say, Mr. Schnee?”

“I want my Company back, and full knowledge of what you are doing with my assets. Don't think for a second that I won't know if you're trying to keep me in the dark.”

“And we want two seats for a round-trip flight from Valentino to Candela—business class, preferably—plus two tickets for the Eve of the Ether festival.”

“What are you planning?”

The waitress smirked. “Even terrorists have loved ones, Mr. Schnee.”

Jacques hummed. “That they do. You have a deal, Ms. Fall.”

“Shall we drink to it?” Cinder asked, gesturing to the Mai Tai.

“Not until I see it made in a fresh glass right before my eyes by someone I can trust,” Jacques replied.

Cinder chuckled. “This is going to be the start of a very fruitful partnership, Mr. Schnee. You won't regret this.”

“Just show me some results.”

Cinder smiled. “Oh. We will.”

#rwby #white rose #the keeper of the grove #fanfic

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

Discovery of sophisticated 115,000-year-old bone tools in China -- ScienceDaily

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/discovery-of-sophisticated-115000-year-old-bone-tools-in-china-sciencedaily/

Discovery of sophisticated 115,000-year-old bone tools in China -- ScienceDaily

An analysis of 115,000-year-old bone tools discovered in China suggests that the toolmaking techniques mastered by prehistoric humans there were more sophisticated than previously thought.

Marks found on the excavated bone fragments show that humans living in China in the early Late Pleistocene were already familiar with the mechanical properties of bone and knew how to use them to make tools out of carved stone. These humans were neither Neanderthals nor sapiens.

This major find, in which Luc Doyon of UdeM’s Department of Anthropology participated, has just been published in the scientific journal PLOS ONE.

“These artefacts represent the first instance of the use of bone as raw material to modify stone tools found at an East Asian early Late Pleistocene site,”said Doyon. “They’ve been found in the rest of Eurasia, Africa and the Levante, so their discovery in China is an opportunity for us to compare these artifacts on a global scale.

Until now, the oldest bone tools discovered in China dated back 35,000 years and consisted of assegai (spear) points. “Prior to this discovery, research into the technical behaviour of humans inhabiting China during this period was almost solely based on the study of tools carved from stone,” said Doyon.

Three types of hammers

The seven bone fragments analyzed by Luc Doyon and his colleagues were excavated between 2005 and 2015 at the Lingjing site in central China’s Henan province. The artifacts were found buried at a depth of roughly 10 metres. At the time, the site was being actively used as a water spring for animals. Prehistoric humans likely used these water supply points for killing and butchering their animal prey.

The bone fragments were dated using optically stimulated luminescence (OSL), a method widely used by geologists for dating the sediment layers in which tools are found.

Doyon explained that the researchers identified three types of bone retouchers, known as soft hammers, that were used to modify stone (or lithic) tools. The first type was weathered limb bone fragments, mainly from cervid metapodials, marginally shaped by retouching and intensively used on a single area. The second type was long limb bone flakes resulting from the dismemberment of large mammals, used for quick retouching or resharpening of stone tools. And the third type was a single specimen of an antler of an axis deer that, close to its tip, shows impact scars produced by percussing various lithic blanks.

The researchers have not yet determined which hominid species the users of these prehistoric tools belonged to, although they do know that they lived during the same period as Neanderthals and Homo sapiens. “The Lingjing site yielded two incomplete human skulls that suggest interbreeding between this species and Neanderthals,” Doyon said. “But this is a hypothesis that remains to be confirmed through further investigation, such as paleogenetic studies.”

More discoveries to come

The analyses that led to the identification of the bone tools were conducted by Doyon and his colleagues Francesco d’Errico (Université de Bordeaux), Li Zhanyang (Shandong University) and Li Hao (Chinese Academy of Sciences), at the Henan Provincial Institute for Cultural Relics and Archaeology.

Doyon participated in the project while working on his doctoral thesis on hunting weapons manufactured from osseous materials by the first Homo sapiens inhabiting Europe between 42,000 and 30,000 years ago. Having earned his PhD in anthropology from Université de Montréal in cotutelle with Université de Bordeaux (PhD in prehistory) in September 2017, Doyon will now pursue a postdoctoral fellowship at Shandong University to conduct further analyses on the bone tools discovered at the Lingjing site.

“We only had access to a small sample, because the initial aim of the project was to study the anthropogenic nature of the modifications present on other bone fragments, and this project is still ongoing,” he said. “The osseous artifacts excavated from this site were exceptionally well-preserved and the systematic analysis of all the bone assemblages during my upcoming postdoctoral research is certain to yield more exciting discoveries.”

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