#and that just gave off absolutely rancid vibes

[infestedguest]

I think it’s really funny (the fucked up kind of funny) that illuminaughtii, a content creator who primarily covers MLMs and financial abuse, was just exposed for a myriad of things including convincing a 19 year old to move out of state to become both her tenant and employee (illuminaughtii being in her 30s). Guess what that resulted in? (Hint: it rhymes with “shminancial shmabuse.”)

Someone who covers financial abuse being a landlord at all is also the fucked up kind of funny just on its own.

#I used to watch her a few years back but then #in one of her videos she was explaining how she got her dog #and she was like “adopt don’t shop is a really important cause and I 100% support it but it’s ok I bought this rare and expensive breed #from a breeder because I reeaally wanted it :)“ #and that just gave off absolutely rancid vibes #illuminaughtii #youtube

[nevertheless-moving]

literally only watched the first episode but good lord the vibes between owen and obi-wan are just SO rancid i love it so much its even more painful than i imagined kenobi didn’t just make a sad little model spaceship, he was inspired to make it while sadly watching luke from sad little space bincoculars AND he spent like all his none money on it, and he bought the parts from the jawa who regularly steals from him AND he delivered it in the middle of the night!! it was so sad! it was so sweet! and then OWEN THREW IT BACK AT HIMasfdjlkghadlfkfm dying. that’s right owen!! fucking kick him while he’s down!! i love it so much!!!!

desperately want an au where owen and beru and obi-wan survive, and all go to yavin together. all i want from this au is owen and obi-wan having to spend time with each other, because, you know, luke. and i want owen to NEVER let up on Obi-Wan. Just constantly ruthlessly drag the famous jedi in front of the entire rebellion and the force itself

owen: you fucker. you absolute fucker. ben: i assume you’re talking to me. owen: I TOLD you to stay away from luke! look what you did! look at what you’ve done! ben: to be fair he came to me, and— owen: so you immediately gave him a laser sword??? what the fuck is wrong with you? ben: I— owen: this is why i didn’t want you around! literally the first time you talked to him my house burnt down! ben: that— owen: and then you IMMEDIATELY told him that DARTH VADER killed his father? is that even true? you never even mentioned vader when you first brought him!! ben: ah— luke: you brought me to my aunt and uncle? owen: and then you fucking put him in the SAME ROOM AS VADER? Are you trying to get him killed or are you just a moron? ben: that wasn’t...that wasn’t— owen: get off this planet and stay the hell away from my family ben: right, right, i’ll just—i’ll just go— mon mothma, general akbar, luke skywalker, etc:  mon mothma, general akbar, luke skywalker, etc: WAIT DON’T ACTUALLY LEAVE— Owen: stay out of this!

#star wars #my au #star wars au #nevertheless meta #kenobi #kenobi spoilers

[captain-hen]

Honestly, that's the one thing that really annoys me. I get wanting the finale to end on a good note for everyone and i know that with Buck and Eddie's arcs being so deeply connected to their love life, something surrounding that would be the ultimate conclusion, but this has some rancid "you only get to be happy if you get the girl" vibes. Like don't get me wrong, i loved the finale and i honestly didn't expect anything Buddie to happen, but this part was very...eh to me.

yeah, it's not even the buddie of it all, i'm just so...dissatisfied with the setup? why build up everything in 6x12-6x15 the way they did just to end it like this? at least if they had continued writing 6B the way 6A was written, in terms of buck and eddie, i would have Gotten it, i could understand that this is not the story they want to tell anymore. but you can't sit here and tell me that this was because of the cancellation; by the time 6x12 was filmed they would have KNOWN how the season was gonna end and they built it up like this anyway. they gave us all that set-up with absolutely no pay-off, without buck and eddie even having a single conversation in the finale. it's weird and shoddy writing and you can't deny it. they never should have gone so hard on the buddie front in 6B if they weren't planning on having some kind of satisfying resolution. i never expected buddie to go canon, i'm not even surprised or upset that eddie called marisol. but buck is literally going in circles again, this is literally just a 4x14 redux for him, dating someone who left and then came back and being such a passive figure in his own relationships yet again. i'm so bored and tired of this lol.

#at least the other characters had a satisfying resolution #neethu answers #anon #911 spoilers #negativity

[eriexplosion]

I've been super excited to get to Metamorphosis

I absolutely love this Alien-esque intro, the shot of the ruined ship, and the pan over the interior while there's screaming in the distance, seeing the single survivor running through the corridors trying to escape before he gets dragged out of sight to a surely gruesome death? God this is PEAK HORROR BEATS.

Speaking of horror, forgot we meet Hemlock this episode. This man's ABSOLUTELY HORRENDOUS VIBES. I really want to know more about his history with Nala Se, where he got a whole clone assistant, what is going ON here?

"What was done on Kamino was unfortunate" UNFORTUNATE? MILDLY UNFORTUNATE THE WHOLE DESTRUCTION OF YOUR ENTIRE PLANET THING.

I'm still very surprised that they took Lama Su off planet because he seems quite useless to the operation but you know, good thing for Hemlock that they did.

Cid really gave them zero time before being like DESPERATE to send them on another job, like I said I think that the Empire has been on Ord Mantell the whole time and she's trying to keep them from coming back, starting with giving them more jobs and eventually switching to reverse psychology DEMANDING they come back while threatening, knowing it would put them off.

I love Wrecker looking excited by each increasing and then frowning when he sees Hunter not reacting, he's just always a huge delight.

"HOW HARD COULD SCAVENGING CARGO BE?" <- Things said only before almost dying while scavenging cargo

Wrecker's weapons knowledge extending beyond just explosives is a fun detail, he seems delighted by the electrostaff

"Whoever did this wasn't human" Hunter real quick do you remember what franchise you're in? I get the vibe they were going for but 'wasn't human' covers a HUGE RANGE OF THINGS INCLUDING A LARGE PORTION OF PEOPLE.

Splitting Tech off on his own had me WORRIED AS FUCK the first time I watched this. Now I think it just gives a good look at how he could operate on his own post Plan 99.

Omega's cloning knowledge <3 she's SO SMART

I do not approve of the goo

THE SHOT OF BABY ZILLO SLURPING UP THE ARM. I THINK IT'S A DROID ARM BUT STILL.

I'm still. OBSESSED with Tech finding the zillo beast and immediately going FASCINATING :O

Survival is secondary to COOL CREECHUR

IT ATE THE CREW? god Omega bby, she is SO UPSET.

Tech realizing just how big this thing is going to get is amazing. You must not let it get near the power grid! Unfortunate.

I LOVE this shot

Also the shot of Tech SPINNING OMEGA OUT OF THE FIREBALLS WAY

Obsessed with how the zillo beast plot never TRULY resolves it just gets put off for another time.

This entire village getting rounded up.... I have the unfortunate feeling that no one is ever seeing them again.

ECHO AND REX MENTION

I love how Hemlock is instantly established as just The Worst despite him doing nothing in this episode, just his vibes are THAT rancid.

#the bad batch rewatch

[toushindai]

Do you think something happened between Ganondorf and Rauru before the events of Zelda's memories? I've always viewed them as something like exes cause their dynamic is pretty tense in the flashbacks that Zelda gave us. ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌

Exes is such a widespread thought about Ganondorf/Rauru and I absolutely see why—very obviously there is something between them that makes their interactions resentful and deeply personal, and it goes a long ways towards explaining the malice in Ganondorf’s accusation that Rauru has shacked up with a Hyrulean woman. That particular dig is the only one Rauru responds to visibly, not even the “hey do you ever think about how all your people are dead and it would be super easy for me to finish you off?” one, which to my ears is a much weightier and more pointed threat. So I think exes is a delicious dynamic between the two of them—having been close once, having thought themselves in sync once, their philosophical conflicts were too great to resolve and they fell apart, each resenting the other enough that their aftershocks played out on the land of Hyrule.

Unfortunately by the time I saw that this was a pattern in Ganondorf/Rauru thought I was already neck-deep in my own thoughts, which did not involve them being exes and were broadly incompatible with the thought, and it was too late for me. Everyone else, please carry that torch proudly ✊😔

And it’s not just a backstory thing that makes it incompatible with my thoughts… I said above, if they are exes, their breakup becomes much larger than something between two people, effectively underlying if not causing the Imprisoning War. Absolutely a fascinating dynamic, but in some ways the opposite of what I found myself interested in writing, in which the affairs of state—these larger-than-life considerations with their own, slightly off-from-human sense of ethics and responsibility—are jammed into two tiny bodies and performed on a scale far too small for them. Does that make sense? Rauru is Rauru and he is Hyrule and he is the last of the Zonai. Ganondorf is Ganondorf and he is the first Gerudo male in a century and he is the Gerudo. Everything they do two each other is at least three things and there’s no room left for the people involved even as the people involved hate each other and want each other so much.

So, when I say “here’s what I think,” I’m not making any claim to canonicity; this is just what I’ve built to serve as the background odor the story I’m telling with them.

What I think is, Ganondorf and Rauru met seven years before the time of the flashbacks when Rauru got himself an invitation to visit Gerudo Town. This comes up in UAWTATR. Ganondorf loathed Rauru before they even met—understandably, as he and Sonia had already been around the region setting up shrines without permission from the Gerudo—but Rauru was hopeful for some kind of friendship with the Gerudo’s prince. His hopes were dashed to pieces when he met Ganondorf in the Northern Temple (what is now the Northern Ruins—where we find Riju training in TOTK). Ganondorf was curt and antagonistic with him, exuding with every exchange an air of we don’t want you here. This stung Rauru quite badly and he did not very much reflect on how his attitude might have led to Ganondorf’s—especially after, at a banquet that evening, Ganondorf orchestrated an opportunity to demonstrate his own strength (and thus the superfluity of Hyrule to the Gerudo) by having a molduga sicced on the party and taking it down single-handedly. This did not really have the effect he hoped on the royal couple and they left with the impression that Ganondorf’s vibes were rancid.

Then they didn’t really hear from each other again until Ganondorf’s predecessor stepped down and Ganondorf came to power, and at that point “hear from each other” is a very generous phrasing because what happened is Rauru started sending his Repeated Invitations and Ganondorf decided that Gerudo’s new foreign policy, at least when it came to Hyrule, was simply to Ignore.

So all in all, the way I’m writing them, Ganondorf’s time at the court of Hyrule is the first time they’ve dealt with each other extensively, but they already have this enormous history of antagonism built up between them. How refreshing it is to get to hate each other in person! While fucking.

#these days I am thinking about the two of them going hunting together #I am rotating that idea in my mind and seeing if it goes anywhere interesting. I have one GREAT sentence in mind #but one sentence does not a fic make #thanks for the ask! #and we were both kings 😳 #tou and the tearful kingdom

[munchbell45]

If I have to answer, then so do you. ~~~ : P

What ships are you not interested in writing?

Yeah, I gave you quite a hot-button question, didn't I? This will be a long one.

Now, there a few categories of ships I won't do because they make me uncomfortable. First would be incest ships (such as ItaSasu or NejiHina,) including step-family. Second would be teacher/student (such as KakaNaru or KakaSaku) ships, or at least when they are still teacher and student. A lot of ultra-taboo ships turn me off, though I am strangely not bothered by boss/employee stuff.

I also won't do adult/minor, but I am willing to age characters up to be adults for a story. I even did that once for a fanfic.

As for specific ships that aren't for personal discomfort reasons, I can name a few.

First, I probably won't do Obito/Nagato or Obito/Konan with the exception of AUs where Obito stops trying to do Infinite Tsukuyomi. Something about canon Obito's dynamic with Nagato and Konan (as tools for his plan) doesn't appeal to me from a shipping point of view.

Honestly, I'm not into most Nagato ships that aren't with Konan and/or Yahiko. I just feel like his personality post-Yahiko's death, isn't conducive to shipping with many characters outside of them. before Yahiko's death, I'd just pair him with Yahiko and/or Konan because I love shipping Ame Orphans. If I had a cool OC idea or shipped Nagato/Itachi in a canon divergent AU (rcrisdraws on tumblr has awesome NagaIta art.)

Next, I won't do TobiDei because I think that while Tobi and Deidara's interactions are funny, I can't picture them dating each other. Also, the idea of Obito doing the Tobi voice in romantic scenes is off-putting. I haven't cared for the TobiDei stuff I've read, which was mostly silly stuff on tumblr TBF. On a similar note, I probably won't do SasoDei just because part of me head canons Sasori as AroAce, but I am less opposed to writing it.

I have no plans to write most Danzo or Orochimaru ships because those two give me rancid vibes romantically. Maybe Orochimaru/Jiraiya could be neat, but I have no plans to write that one.

For Hinata ships, since you are a Hinata fan, I have absolutely zero interest in Raikage/Hinata, Hiruzen/Hinata, Nagato/Hinata, Madara/Hinata, or Kabuto/Hinata.

Other ships: SasuKarin, SasuSaku, and SasuIno because those dynamics feel really one-sided; Deidara/Kurotsuchi because I prefer a sibling-like dynamic (though I don't HC them as related)

#please don't kill me fans of these ships.

[lennjamin-o7]

🌯🗡️ anon here! Just woke up and the new chap and jesus christ I feel so fucking bad for Techno!

Like Phil genuinely can't come soon enough, when he next see's Techno I know that mans gonna be FURIOUS. God I don't even know what to start on there's just so much to like go over!

First with the people staring, of course they'd start getting eyefuls the second Phil isn't around to guard his sonboy and make them scatter away; It just sucks that Techno's gonna have to deal with it for now, don't worry Tech you have a very murderous father waiting for you, just wait a couple days and all will be fixed!

And then we move onto Mielle. Fuck Mielle. All my homies hate Mielle. Like I understand to a point that its fae nature to be an asshole since they're such self centred creatures but like, she's an asshole even for a fae. No wonder Phil rejected this little bastard, her vibes are simply too rancid to be allowed near his wonderful perfect wife!

She's gonna handle Phil not wanting her WONDERFULLY I can just tell after her totally reasonable response to the cookies. Also her wanting to yoink Phil's earring??? I already know that would've ended horribly for her, bros probably enchanted that to be a nuclear bomb for anyone else to wear. Nuclear bombza dare I say. I understand to a degree that the others are affected by whatever fae magic she's unconsciously / consciously using but honestly so far the only redeemable one is the queen.

Mielle: "I know you wanna adopt me SO BAD but I wanna stay with this family"

Phil: "Ew?? Who even are you??? Move aside so I can see my real baby"

Techno: 🧍‍♂️

Phil, practically vibrating with joy: "There he is!!! There's the boy!!!!" :D

Mielle: "HIM????"

Like with the cookie scene. "Techno’s grip around the bag loosened for a moment, habitually giving in to Mielle's request" Techno I don't think that's entirely habit. Mielle really wasn't prepared for her personal punching bag to gain a bit of magic resistance against her huh. Like I know Phil absolutely like enchanted the promise because that's technically a deal and since he's more powerful than her, he won that little battle but like bro accidentally threw Tech into like boiling water with that one.

Mielle: No fear

Phil: "I heard you gave Techno a bit of a scratch m8, lets have a little chat"

Mielle: 1 fear

or

Mielle after Techno spills what she did to Phil: "Why do I hear boss music??"

Also the scratch??? Phil was already gonna be mad about the hair but his sonboy being hurt?? In a custody battle they don't even know they're fighting??? If Kristin was already trying to deny him it'd take 1 look at the little skrunkle for him to just steal her Entire Heart away. Instantly.

Kristin: "Phil as much as I'd like to give into you, this is a very big commitment and I don't know if you're ready for it! No matter how wonderful he might be."

Techno: Walks in with a massive scratch on his cheek and his hair shaved off, visibly miserable. Very much looking like a sad wet cat.

Kristin: 🧡👄🧡

Kristin: "Oh. Oh he is a little baby isn't he? A sweet baby boy. A sonboy. Isn't he cute? He's kind?? Talented too, you say??? Our sonboy now. I want full custody and I want it NOW"

On that note though. Felix. Fuck Felix. All my homies hate Felix. Bro pretends to like sympathise with Techno but like very clearly sees himself above him. I wanna think he TRIES to be a good brother but if I'm completely honest I doubt that. Bro was obviously mad that Tech like started making his own way in the world. Watch it come up that the king and queen didn't order the hair thing at all. Purely just him bullying Techno for daring to say no to his spoiled brat of a sister.

He's still a bit of a magic baby anyway due to like Phils original deal so I think he'd have a bit of magic resistance too since the whole magical conception / womb deal. I could absolutely be wrong but like he clearly has some magic to him, meaning he in theory SHOULD be more resistant to Mielle. He probably just decides to give into her so he can feed his ego more.

You're like 21 bullying a 13 year old, get a fucking life Felix. Maybe get a hobby. I heard Getting Ripped Apart by Philza was about to come into season real soon; maybe give that a go! Oh also! I'm gonna cast my little guess for how this is gonna end out here to see how far off I might be when the end gets revealed. I have a feeling that it's gonna end in Mielle and Felix maybe getting punished rather than the queen and king.

Like yeah they're the ones that broke the deal but the kids ARE the deal and they have been fucking with Phil's new baby boy. So maybe the punishment will just be "You wanted kids?? I you had 3 but you refused to give me the 1 you promised so now I'm taking 1 by force and killing the other 2" type deal or more of a "You broke the deal but gimmie the one kid you had outside the deal and I'll call it even".

Oh and back to the hair! I'm not entirely sure how long it really is since Tech refused to look in the mirror so mentally I'm thinking of more of a classic Wilbur Soot type hair rn, does that mean Phils faerie knot got cut out?? If that's his tracker / the way he can get to his sonboy then that's even more angst for Tech. He's really just had an awful day. First he say to say bye to Phil, then Mielle is a bitch, then FELIX is a bitch and finally Phil doesn't come to visit him?? So much more skrunkle for the skrunkle boy!

I know I've like brushed on it a bit twice but like Phil is gonna be SO fucking furious when he see's what they've done. He leaves his baby boy in their custody for like 14 hours TOPS if he doesn't come visit Techno in the manor and they fuck up THAT much??? Like its good since that's gonna push Tech even more into Phil but also Phil wants Tech to be fucking happy for once!

Phil: "He's gonna come in any moment my love, you cant miss him, he's the boy with the long pink hair and adoptable vibes!"

Kristin: "I mean I see a kid with pink hair but his hair is far shorter than you said and and he looks miserable; He's kinda like a sad wet cat, I can see how he's perfect for us!"

Phil: :) "Ikr! He's so wonderfu- WAIT HOW DID THEY FUCK HIM UP THAT BAD SO QUICKLY????" >:O

Phil shaking the king and queen by the shoulders: >:( "WHAT DID YOU DO??? WHY DO YOU KEEP RUINING THINGS????"

I just love the thought of Phil having to like sales pitch Techno to Kristin and her having been on board ages ago or like her getting a single look at Techno and him just YOINKING her heart. Simply doing what Phil spent literal DECADES trying to do in like 2 seconds flat.

Phil: "Hes super good at archery, very kind and so SO skrunkly"

Kristin: :/ "Idk Phil I'm just not sure"

Phil, sighing: "I guess I have to pull out the big guns then"

Kristin "oh?"

Phil: "I saw him eat an entire hand pie in under 30 seconds. He unhinged his jaw like some kind of snake and nearly swallowed it whole. It was awful. I thought he was gonna choke like every bite!"

Kristin: :O

Kristin: "Terrifying. When can I meet him?? He sounds wonderful!" :D

Techno's gonna get so many pies when Phil wins the custody battle I can see it now. They call him the blood god because he's always 'covered in blood' but it's actually all the filling of the pies Phil gives him. He just shoved too many in his mouth at once and it got all over his shirt. He's too embarrassed to correct anyone so he just lets the rumour continue. Phil and Kristin find it HILARIOUS. Whenever Techno's upset in the future, post adoption, they always give him cookies or pie to comfort him. He deserves it.

Techno: 👁️💧🐽💧👁️

Phil: "I'm gonna give this boy so much fucking pie you don't even know"

Phil eventually teaches Techno how to bake, Techno immediately uses it for evil. The Potato Pie Incident will forever be feared in the fae court. That on top of many more disasters he begins through baking; he becomes as infamous as Phil because of it. Phil is so SO proud.

Fae courtier: "You suck! you're just Phil and Kristins pity project!!"

Techno: "Say that again and I PROMISE I'll go into the fucking kitchen and start baking ON TOP of telling mum and dad!"

Fae courtier, shaking in fear: "I'm so sorry young prince, I don't know what came over me! Please don't punish others for my actions!!"

or

Phil: "Hey Tech! How's my little piggy doing? What are you baking??" :D

Techno, in a frilly apron: "Revenge" >:(

Phil, crying: "I'm so proud!" :,)

I think that's enough brainrot for now, I hope you enjoy my novel; As always have a wonderful day and I'm sorry if I've overwhelmed you!

Gosh, I love your asks 💚💚💚💚💚

Techno is having a #time, certainly. Phil is not going to be happy about how Techno ks being treated. Like. At all.

He's a very special boy. Who wouldn't want to stare? But, to be fair, most of the people staring were humans. The fae scattered. They know better. Mostly. Some snuck back to stare once Philza skipped off. How could they not? Gossips, the lot of them.

Mielle is very much not a good person, nope. She is a bad apple, for sure. Kind of hard not to be when you are raised thinking you are perfect. She's selfish. She's vain. She thinks she is the only person and everyone else is just side characters. Techno saying NO???? Literally, hacks. No way. Couldn't happen. That is IMPOSSIBLE???

And yeah, Phil absolutely threw Techno into a very bad situation. Though, I think you might need to be wary of the "accidentally" in that sentence. Granted, I doubt he realized how hot the pot really was when he threw Techno into it.

As you said, he will NOT be happy with tbe scratch. His sonboy? Scratched? SCRATCHED?

I love how you describe Kristin seeing the sad skrunkle of a Techno for the first time. It had me cackling all day.

Yeah, Felix honestly thinks he's helping. He isn't, but he isn't being an ass just for the sake of being an ass. But he absolutely pulled the soup trick, and the exploring around thing to soften Techno to get him to cut his hair. Like, that was an intentional move. It wasn't a coincidence.

And Felix IS less affected by Mielle's magical pull. But, it's also a little sister who he was raised to be incredibly protective of and honestly hold in higher regard than his own country. His devotion is less magical and more that he was raised to view her as the most important person. Like, he was 4 when she was born. Imagine being told over and over again from the age of 4 that you HAVE to protect your sister. That your sister is delicate and special and we are putting everything on the line for her. Like, that's also a factor. He has more of a resistance, magically. But he was still raised to act that way.

I like hearing your predictions. :) Please continue to send them.

Techno's hair is very short. One inch of hair is not very long. My sister cuts hair, and I asked her how short 1 inch of hair is, and she said it was a clipper guard 8.

Which is something like this.

It's very short.

And yeah, the faerie knot got cut out :(

And your impression of Phil trying to convince Kristin is SENDING ME. Sales pitch Philza, convincing Wife about the benefits of new child. He's precious as an apple pie. So cute. Little bit skrunkle but that's a pro, not a con.

PIE FOR THE PIE GOD!!!

I appreciate every second of this! Every. Second. Sorry if I missed anything in my reply. It's a bit hard on mobile. But I have been sitting here, giggling, while reading this. Always feel free to share your thoughts!

#🌯🗡anon #lenn writes #sweeter than honey #ask and ye shall receive

[tsuki-sennin]

Geats~! 42 and 43! I slowly continue to get back on the ball. Things spiral ever quickly out of control. Shit's really hittin' the fan now.

Spoilers, I guess... though at this point, you know more about this than me.

-Festering parasites, Keiwa becoming truly ruthless, and a world

-Holy shit, not even an execution, this is a full-force beat down.

-Azuma...

-I think it's rather interesting that Keiwa's wish technically stays the same but his reasons for it have clearly radically changed.

-I wouldn't be surprised if Ryuga Sato's career blows up after this is all over the way Fumiya Takahashi's did.

-You're giving me absolutely

-J

-JITT????

-I thought Jitto was kinda dumb but like

-Jitt is a word the crappy (first) English localization of Azure Striker Gunvolt made up to substitute cussing.

-I can never take your ass seriously again, you steel rod wielding fuck

-Motherfucker's got a hitlist.

-Daichi's gone full Orteca.

-"It's all mine now~!"

-Oh thank god, Michinaga, you're here.

-Human memories, hoarded within the treasure room of his mind palace.

-Brain Tomatoes.

-And then there's this little demon.

-"Despair's a way better look for my oshi!"

-New Rider Forms, yippeeeeeee

-Premium Kekera! Premium Beroba!

-"...those are not Rider Forms."

-Frog Man's got hops.

-Oh shoot Command Form.

-Haven't seen that in a while.

-Y'know Buffa's kinda doing a lot better than expected.

-I mean it makes sense, Michinaga's a seasoned veteran and Beroba and Kekera did just get these forms.

-Azuma...

-"Oops. Oh well, not my problem."

-Yo there, Neon.

-Oh hi Ace. Nice of you to join us.

-"Dude, you're vibe is all off. Absolutely rancid."

-"It's called apotheosis, fox boy. Maybe if you just laid down, this'd be unnecessary."

-No justification, just an "eye for an eye".

-Hello, Samas. Guess you're enjoying your newfound promotion.

-Now comes the climax of the episode.

-A true battle of the dweebs.

-...that is nasty, even for a Reiwa Rider villain's standards.

-Now that I can compare them, the Premium Supporter forms look a lot like the

-Bujin Sword.

-They're bleaching her!

-OH?

-AN INSERT? AT A TIME LIKE THIS???

-Okay, sure!

Daichi: Kekera! What the fuck?! Help me, you piece of shit!" Kekera: You kidding!? This is exactly what I want!

-I'm convinced that if Kekera were real, he'd be the biggest Snyder-Verse dick rider.

-Daichi, I realize you're about to be as extinct as the trilobite you transformed into, but I don't think pointing fingers over things that you clearly planned meticulously is a good idea.

-"Yesssss! Kill!"

-Hello, Geats.

-Nooooo, not Negaiiiii

-Little Bro Ace... Big Sis Tsumuri...

-Oh

-She broke out!

-Somehow!

-...I won't lie though, she kills in that white hair look.

-Jitty don't play nice.

-Congratulations, Keiwa Sakurai! You brought back everybody who ever lost their lives to the Desire Grand Prix! Are you proud of yourself?

-Oh, new head molds?

-G

-Gya-Go???

-Oh man, Old Man Kousei's apparently done being a deadbeat jerkoff.

-The World of Keiwa Sakurai.

-"This is different."

-Good job! The DGP gave you exactly what you wanted! And as a cool bonus, they gave you new friends~!

-Oh Christ, a wild hog!

-For the record, in the United States we have a massive problem with invasive hog species that results in a lot of destruction of wildlife and (often) human casualty.

-"GEATS WHAT THE FUCK?"

-"Don't look at me, man! Tycoon was the one who made the wish! ...terribly!"

-I swear if Geats IX struggles against Mr. Warthog, I'm gonna shit.

-What's his name, anyway?

-"GEATS?! OH MAN!"

-Head?

-Honestly Keiwa you have nobody but yourself to blame for this one.

-"They're all dead! Again!"

-Kirito... Kirito???

-Damn, he grew up to be a real bastard.

-Guess all that digital.

-"Bad End, kid. Game over. Thanks to you, ratings have spiked thanks to our sadist fans."

-"...this isn't the kind of jailbreak I wanted."

-NEON

-Yeah, that fire extinguisher works.

-OHHHHHHHHH THAT'S AKARI'S KIDNAPPER

-He was a DGP player too?

-Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

-Neon...

-You are far too good for us.

-Hello, Keiwa-kun.

-"I"m going to kill every last one of you."

-Not even a second.

-"That's my boy."

-The shogun now has his army.

-Instant green.

-...is this a game mechanic?

-"Goddessfication" sounds like an absolutely horrifying

-Sunk cost fallacy is a hell of a drug.

-"I need to fix this."

-You're pitiable, old man.

-"Good job, idiot." Michinaga's never gonna let any fan of Daichi's quiz show success live this down.

-It all amounted to absolutely nothing, huh Daichi?

-Guess this guy just had nothing better to do with his life than ruin someone else's.

-Irumi and Kousei, as cruel and selfish they were miserable.

-It's like a fuckin' Greek tragedy.

-What a terrible realization to never have until too late.

-Neon's just 100% done with all this. At this point what, if anything, would make her hate Beroba any more?

-Once upon a time, Kousei Kurama met a fox on the bridge.

-Is that Kirito's snout? Are we reusing suit parts mid episode now?

-Oh, that's... that's new.

-"I want to play your game. There's a mistake I can't even begin to make up for without your help."

-Time Fire!

-Fantasy!

-...that's Brave's Fantasy Gamer armor.

-Nice repaint at least, I like the blue and gold.

-Oh!

-He's a wizard.

-A mountain lion wizard.

-"It's rude to open fire on the show, you know."

-NA-GO RETURNS LET'S GO

-I'm constantly flip-flopping on how much I like Geats, but right now it's in the "Yeah, this is epic" zone. Might change, might not, who knows?

#kamen rider geats #geats #geats spoilers #kr geats #the world's next round: trick shot of desire for the grand victory

[werewolf-w1tch]

part 4 of my ROTTMNT x TMA crossover analyses in which i decide which TMA entity a character from ROTTMNT would serve/vibe with! (villain edition 2: electric boogaloo)

parts one two three

we back babey!! it’s been a bit of a week for me hence the delay on this, but i’m ready to get back into the analysis mindset. i’m gonna continue the villain streak from part three cause i didn’t quite get to everyone, so it’s big bad time!

spoilers for tma and rottmnt!

kicking off the post with barry draxum!

i really really like draxum ok. i like everything about him. if donnie weren’t donnie then draxum would probably be my favorite character. he’s so funky. my poor little meow meow.

as i did with splinter, i wanted to split draxum into baron draxum and barry draxum for funsies. i’ll be doing the same with shredder. 

baron draxum is a corruption-aligned eye avatar with a healthy dosing of slaughter and spiral tossed into that rancid smoothie. i chose the spiral for the same reason i gave it to mikey: mystic shit. baron draxum was also a warrior alongside being a scientist and that man has absolutely killed before. he just gives me those vibes. 

barry draxum is a corruption-marked (cause the entities never really leave you) eye avatar with that same spiral but who is also leaning more towards the flesh when he becomes a lunch lady. you could also argue some lonely for him at the beginning of his redemption arc bc he’s living alone with no purpose having had his life force literally ripped out of him. i also get the feeling that, like splinter, he misses his glory days. i doubt he would go back to them bc he cares too much about the boys to want to go back but i can’t imagine he doesn’t have days where he reminisces on himself at his peak, powerful and respected. once he and splinter make up and he starts getting along with the boys, then he manages to break free of the hold the lonely has on him.

big mama!

i am very gay ok. preddy lady manipulate turrtles go brrrr. she is also the villain ever. again, if donnie weren’t donnie then she and draxum would be fighting each other to the death over who my favorite character would be. WAIT WHY ARE ALL MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS THE PURPLE ONES-

big mama is an hunt-aligned web avatar with a side of eye and a dash of the slaughter (it’s a very big dash ok). no one is surprised she’s a web avatar; she’s got the spider motif and she’s very manipulative with eyes and ears everywhere in the hidden city. she’s very intelligent and has a clear eye for talent, always on the hunt for her next champion. she is also so violent and you know what i support women’s wrongs. do you ever wonder if she regretted putting lou jitsu in the battle nexus (not enough to pull him out, but like do you think she ever regretted not saying yes and just having a life with him. anyway)

shredder!

PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE WHY DOES HE STAND LIKE THAT HE’S STANDING LIKE HE’S IN YOUR DOORWAY AT TWO IN THE MORNING TO TELL YOU HE THREW UP 

shredder is gonna be split into the shredder at the end of season1/beginning of season2 and then the shredder in the finale. 

end of s1 shredder is an extinction-aligned slaughter avatar with a bit of stuck-on spiral. the spiral comes from his constant blipping in and out of reality as he was teleported around new york. not much to say for him, he’s pretty self-explanatory. this shredder was terrifying because he was powerful (though not quite as powerful as finale shredder) and also because he just attacked everything in sight as brutally as he could. there was no strategy, just murder. 

finale shredder is an eye-marked extinction avatar with that same slaughter in him, just not quite as much as s1/2 shredder. THIS shredder was so much more dangerous because he was now awake and aware and could thus use his abilities and skills to the fullest and by god did he. i don’t have experience with other shredder incarnations but i fucking adored this shredder while he was around. what can i say i’ve got a soft spot for villains. 

the krang!

GOD what to say about the krang. i’m in love with the mech suit of krang prime and as villains themselves the krang were everything i love in antagonists. body horror galore and they were absolutely terrifying. i liked that they felt like their own characters too; they had the same goal and they had their similarities but they still felt like different people yk? it was so funny getting the whiplash i got when i learned what the krang are in 2012 vs here. 10/10 one and done villains. 

the krang are all slaughter-aligned extinction avatars with their own flair. krang prime is eye-aligned since he was obviously the brains of the operation. brownie krang (the little one) is flesh-aligned with all his ooey-gooey drippy disgustingness. murder krang is slaughter-aligned since she came out the door fucking SWINGING. i feel like if she weren’t evil (or if cassandra was) and didn’t hate every living thing she and cassandra would get along well. 

#i'm just now noticing that my cut in part three is in korean (?) #i don't know why #i am not korean and don't write in korean #oh well #rottmnt #also i wasn't joking literally all my favorite characters are purple #cause you got donnie #rottmnt draxum #rottmnt big mama #and then repo too #FUCK #AND SHREDDER #THE KRANG TOO?? SHIT #rottmnt shredder #rottmnt krang #tma #holy FUCK it is so cold in my house #this will probably be the last post of these #i enjoyed them! #my one contribution to the rottmnt fandom and of fucking course it was tma related LMAO #gotta combine the hyperfixations somehow

[phoenixyfriend]

Ventress vs. Absolute Primogeniture

Okay so, on discord, @atagotiak​ kicked off an AU with the following:

So uh. You know the premise of "Dooku dies, turns out apprenticeship legally counts as adoption on Serenno. Dooku's Grandson inherits, congrats Obi-Wan you've got a planet now"

How would this go before the clone wars?

And that’s how we start.

Ventress shows up to kill him, specifically because Serenno practices absolute primogeniture and Obi-Wan (third child of the second child) has to officially abdicate before Ventress (fourth child) can get anything. This necessarily involves booting Anakin from the line of succession.

She can’t actually kill him, for reasons, but she wants to.

(We presume that Rael implicitly gave up all other claims when he became regent of another planet, and Feemor getting disowned after the Xanatos situation removed him from the line of inheritance.)

The first Obi-Wan hears of any of this is the Council calling him up like "Hey... there's this darksider at the door telling us she needs you and Anakin to sign some papers renouncing any claim to the position of Count of Serenno so she can get Dooku's inheritance." "...what."

Also the revelation that this is definitely a darksider, and if she's in line that means Dooku taught her, and specifically taught her dark stuff... well, there’s a lot going on.

"Ventress deals with bureaucracy, trying to get her inheritance verified and processed, dodging calls from Darth Sidious (who struck her as kind of a misogynist, so she doesn't want to deal with That), while she's arguing with planetary government that she should be able to take the space yacht out to the sector's central DMV to get her ID replaced because apparently the last card she had expired and she can't go to Coruscant to bully her lineage nephew into giving up his claim until she has it replaced."

Tia asked if this means Ventress is getting awkwardly adopted, and my instinct is that Obi-Wan would have gladly signed off on this if she'd sent it by mail, BUT since she came in person and is clearly terrible, he tells her he'll only sign it off if she stops being a darksider, which means Ventress has to stick around Coruscant for a while to prove she’s not THAT bad and get the planet.

Unfortunately, killing Obi-Wan herself or arranging for his death would void her own claim, and she is so done but doesn't want the seat going to Dooku's blood nephew because that guy’s a speciesist prick who’d cut her out entirely, so...

(This route is fun because it has the possibility of like. A running joke about assassination attempts that can't conclusively be tied back to her and just. Casual foiling and critique of them.)

Also the obligatory "Wait, Ky survived? We thought he was dead! We had a funeral!"

I suggested QuinVen but I don’t have much beyond "Hey Obi-Wan, mind if I seduce your lineage aunt?" "Don't call her that, she’s younger than me... and no, I don't mind, but if she relieves you of certain body parts, don't come crawling to me for help." (Quinlan is actually successful but Obi-Wan fully expected him to have lightsaber burns on his crotch at some point.)

Maybe Quinlan’s there to investigate whatever darksider stuff Dooku had going on because, well. Obviously there was something what with Ventress and all, and Obi-Wan found some concerning stuff and he’s calling in more qualified people.

Palpatine shows up to talk to Anakin and there's just an awkward stare-off because Ventress, being Dark herself, can tell this guy is a Sith... but she's not going to fucking say anything while he’s there. He's not her business, and what if he tries to kill her while she’s there? He probably knows she’s dark, but if she ignores him hard enough...

Anakin has by this point decided to claim Ventress as great-aunt because someone explained lineages that way, which is terrible for everyone except Anakin, and when Ventress reacts unpleasantly to His Friend The Chancellor, Anakin gets upset, and maybe takes it as evidence against her being plausibly good eventually, because clearly she'd like Palpatine if she were redeemable!

Granted, a lot of people, including Obi-Wan, aren’t super impressed with Palpatine. So maybe Anakin just concludes that everyone has terrible taste.

Palpatine leaves, scheming, and Ventress is just like "So... you guys know that's a Sith Lord, right?" "What." "I dunno, pretty sure he's the one that killed Tyranus. The vibes on that guy are rancid."

“Also he looks and sounds kinda like that guy Dooku always called. I can’t be sure because he always had this giant hood on,,, but.”

At some point, maybe a couple years in, Kamino gets a little concerned because they haven’t had any contact for a while so they reach out? Something something all the money was going through shell accounts and at one point passed through Dooku's holdings in Serenno (it was meant as blackmail opportunities for Sidious), but all of Dooku's accounts were frozen until the inheritance kerfuffle was handled. Also Dooku might be supplying the startup money in the first place, since it would explain why the Jedi and/or the senate hasn’t complained about missing money (since canon never EXPLAINED where/when the money came in from).

#Asajj Ventress #Obi Wan Kenobi #Quinlan Vos #Count Dooku #Anakin Skywalker #Sheev Palpatine #Phoenix Posts #bureaucracy

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

So I bindged watched the entry of Metal Family (a Russian YouTube series) and its absolutely adorable. My favorite characters are Glam and Dee because obviously I'm always gunna go for either the goofy dad type with a tragic backstory and the sarcastic little smartass.

Anyway, I've been hearing around that Dee might have a girlfriend and as much as I like the idea of him having a cool laidback goth gf, I just can't picture it. He probably doesn't like to admit it but I think Dee and his dad have similar taste in women; ie badasses who are slightly batshit crazy.

Meet Sasha, they were put together as tutors for each other, she was failing math while he was failing art.

At first glance Sasha seems like a sweet, giggly, airhead with an affinity for tacky jewelry and thrift store clothes. Which is of course what Dee assumed when he offered his usual method of helping her cheat her way through her classes.

She smiled at him and called him: a pig-headed narcissistic asshole who couldn't smell the rancid shit coming out of his own mouth.

Yeah, turns out she isn't stupid just has really bad ADHD and needed someone to help her study math because her brain finds it too boring and therefore unimportant to focus on.

Their relationship is sort of similar to Glam and Ches when they first met; Sasha being a witty yet odd character while Dee struggles to makes sense of what the hell she's saying sometimes.

Because of her ADHD Sasha tends to switch out hobbies like socks; she especially likes activities that keep her hands occupied, such as knitting or origami. Dee has no idea how she can multy task so many things at once.

She is very forward and can be quite blunt when speaking her mind, though she tries her best to remain polite.

She is a big fan of grunge music and punk rock. Nirvana and Foo Fighters being her favorite.

She is the third oldest of six, so middle child syndrome all the way!

She's a bit of an anarchist and can often be found during the weekend tagging government property or big name brand store. Somehow she never seems to get caught.

Her parents are ex-punks so they aren't really surprised or disappointed with their daughter's antics so long as she doesn't get arrested. (More on her family later)

She knitted Dee a beanie during one of their study sessions, it was black with little cat ears. Now he wears it any time its even remotely breezy outside.

Heavy was the first to meet Sasha since they go to the same school. He couldn't understand how such a sweet girl could be friends with his asshole of a brother. She simply giggled and ruffled his hair, stating how Heavy remind her of her own younger siblings.

After that meeting people suddenly stopped bullying him. It was weird but Heavy wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth so he didn't question it. He did, however, wonder why Sasha had a baseball bat in her locker when she didn't even play the sport.

When Dee first invited Sasha over to hang out he made sure that his family would be out all day, because he knew that they would all make it their personal mission to embarrass him in front of her.

That plan backfired very quickly as they returned much earlier than expected and the two teens had been in the living room watching movies and cuddling.

Victoria adored her immediately, insisting she say over for dinner all the while making cheeky remarks at Dee to "make sure to keep her happy so she won't realize that she can do better."

Glam had meant to interrogate her, as he is secretly an over protective father at heart, but he was just so damn charmed by her he didn't have the nerve to do it. Instead he ended up showing her the boys' baby pictures (much to Dee and Heavy's protest).

Her and Ches vibed so well together, it was kind of weird and fascinating to observe. They later find out that Sasha is probably the only person out their that can beat both Glam and Ches in poker.

By the end of it Dee is red in the face with embarrassment and when he escorts her to the bus stop he apologizes if it was all a bit overwhelming. Sasha simply giggled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek assuring him that she really likes his family and can't wait to come over again.

Of course Sasha was the first to confess because Dee still had no idea about his feelings. Thought it was less a confession and more of a statement as if it was something she assumed he already knew.

He didn't, obviously.

Sasha knew that Dee liked her back but she needed for HIM to come to that conclusion himself if they had any hope of starting a relationship. So she remained patient and waited for him to catch up.

Though this did NOT stop her from teasing and flirting with him just a little 😋

She really couldn't help it, Dee was way too cute when he got all flustered and shy (much like his mother in that regards).

So they aren't OFICIALLY dating but they are together, kind of like a trial run (according to Dee at least).

ABOUT HER FAMILY:

Her parents are high school sweethearts that used to ride around town with Victoria and her old crew.

Sasha's mom is a headstrong yet laid back woman that runs the local laundry mat, popular with bikers as it specializes in cleaning leather. Her father is this big, burly, stoic man that works in construction and doesn't tend to say much. They love each other and their children very much.

Sasha has an older sister and brother as well as three younger siblings, twin boys and a little sister. Her older sister is living in England while also going to college to study political science. Her older brother is on his last year of high school and works as a mechanic at a local bike shop. Her twin brothers are in middle school, just a year below Heavy, while her little sister is just starting the first grade.

When Sasha invites Dee over to her house to study he is greeted at the door by her father who looms over him, glaring daggers. Dee may have seen his life flash before his eyes for a just moment.

Thankfully, her mother was much nicer, inviting him in as she called Sasha downstairs. Her younger siblings were very rowdy, asking him questions about who he is and why he was here. Her older brother however, joined along side his father to glare holes into his head.

He was all too thankful when Sasha finally came downstairs to get him, announcing that they would be in her room studying until dinner. Her older brother shouted after them to "keep the door open" and Sasha gave a cheery reply of two middle fingers in his direction.

Dinner was awkward, at least for Dee, but it wasn't terrible. By the end of it, when they were hanging around the bus stop, Sasha (who insisted on seeing him off as he usual does) proudly said: "I think they like you."

"Oh really?" Dee said with a nervous chuckle, he wasn't quite sure but he trusted her judgment. 🖤🖤🖤

#metal family #dee metal family #ocs #my art #my oc drawing #youtube #heavy metal family #glam metal family #victoria metal family

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 5: Reunion

Here we go! The big one! Honestly I feel like this chapter might be even more emotional than chapter 65 when they finally get together. I hope you enjoy and are now forgiving me for that last cliffhanger! 

(and also disclaimer i do NOT ship jon/sansa, that photo was just the right Vibe™ so please no one come for me) 

word count: 5956

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan tensed, the blood in his veins spiking with apprehension. The laughing group was just down the street, only a few blocks away from him. But they were hidden from his sight by a thick blanket of fog.

However, that meant that he was also hidden - so Rowan could take his time.

His senses strained as every sound, sight, and smell from within a quarter mile came streaming into him. He could hear everything, from the drops of fetid rainwater off a nearby gutter, to the whipping of the wind around a sharp corner, the pattering of rats’ paws in the alleyways, the snoring of an old man, warm in his bed, and the giggling of his daughter as she stayed up well past her bedtime, her soft hands rifling through a well-worn book.

Then there were the scents of the city. Rancid and foul place that it was, there were still some pleasant things to be found – such as the soft clouds of flour from a corner bakery just beginning to wake for the morning rush, burning sage and melting candlewax, a lavender sprig wilting in a nearby window, and –

And then he tasted it. The barest hint of jasmine, lemon verbena, and flickering embers. The scent of home.

The oath in his chest seemed to purr with delight.

Aelin was here. She was right here –  

But she wasn’t alone.

Rowan could hear the quiet steps of one– no, two others. The first was small and light-footed, probably a young mortal woman, who smelled of mint and some kind of southern spice…almost like pepper and fig leaves. The other was a male, perhaps a young demi-Fae. Though his movements were quiet, his steps were far heavier, marking him at over 6 feet.

There was also the scent of blood about the male, which had Rowan’s hackles rising. But it was old and sour – likely an old wound whose infection had only just begun to heal over. And as their movements were light and unhindered, their conversation free and open, Rowan wasn’t particularly worried that a fight was brewing. But still, his guard stayed up.

The man’s true scent spoke of warm furs and roasting chestnuts and…and something else, something almost…familiar.

His thoughts distracted, trying to place the strange smell, Rowan unthinkingly shifted his stance, causing the soft scrape of leather on stone to echo through the fog.

And the tension in his body ratcheted to new heights as he felt the group fall abruptly silent.

All was still. Rowan’s hands began to sweat.  

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she ordered him back to Wendlyn?

Rowan did his best to rally his thoughts, as he slowly made his way forwards through the mist. Making sure that each of his movements were choreographed far in advance. He didn’t want to surprise them, particularly that strange male, whose scent he still could not place…

And then Rowan was breaking through the fog, and he could finally see them, could finally see her. Vaguely he heard the male and the young woman say something to each other, but Rowan couldn’t tear his eyes or ears away from the cloaked woman standing stock-still barely a dozen feet from him, her lovely scent billowing with shock.

Aelin’s face was covered with a hood, so he couldn’t see her reaction to him, couldn’t know if she recognized him. But then she was taking a hesitant step forwards and loosing a shuddering breath and a small, whimpering noise that was almost a sob. And suddenly, Rowan felt all of his worries disappear as easily as the morning snow beneath the midday sun.

It was Aelin. And of course she didn’t hate him, of course she was as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

And then she was running, running straight into his arms and Rowan could feel his every muscle, his every bone all the way through to his soul, sighing in relief. Relief that she was here, that they were together again. Relief that he was touching her once more.

Rowan grabbed Aelin and pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping completely around her small frame as she buried her head into his neck. He curled around her, breathing in her scent as if it were the last drops of water in a blistering desert, as if it were a life-saving elixir. As if her scent alone would take him from the brink of hell.

Rowan didn’t realize truly how much he’d missed her until that moment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan registered that she was crying.

“How did you get here? How did you find me?” Aelin pulled just far enough away that he could see the edges of her face beneath the hooded cloak; the pointed chin, the delicate nose, those beautiful, upturned lips –

Rowan slowly found his voice. “You made it clear my kind wouldn’t be welcome on your continent. So I stowed away on a ship. You’d mentioned a home in the slums, so when I arrived this evening, I wandered until I picked up your scent.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned over her, carefully assessing.

She was changed. Even though only a month or so had passed since he last held her, Aelin seemed different. Older. She carried herself with more weight, more authority.

His mouth tightened. “You have a lot to tell me.”

She only nodded, gripping his shoulders even harder. And Rowan couldn’t say he was displeased with that.

Rowan carefully raised his right hand, and brushed it against the softness of her cheek, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “But you’re not hurt,” he said softly, needing to make absolutely sure. “You’re safe?”

Aelin just nodded again, burying her face in his chest.

Rowan felt as though the city could fall apart around them, and he would not move one inch. He would never be able to hold her for long enough.

“I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn.” It was almost a tease.

“I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure.” He didn’t like to evade the question, but he couldn’t speak of Lorcan in such an exposed place. So instead he changed the subject, “Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca – especially in the mornings.”

Aelin laughed lightly, squeezing him once again. As if making sure he was real.

But tears still streamed down her cheeks, and Rowan found that he couldn’t keep his worry down any longer. Perhaps she was injured, and was keeping the truth from him, trying to keep him from worrying –

“Why are you crying?” he asked, trying and failing to push her back far enough so he could read her face.

She refused to move a single inch.

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, “because you smell so rutting bad my eyes are watering.”

Rowan let out a roar of laughter, the sound so wild that he heard the vermin in the alleys go silent. And the gaze of Aelin’s two companions really started bore into him.

But Rowan payed them no heed as Aelin finally pulled away from him, a wry smile curving her lips. “Bathing isn’t an option for a stowaway,” he said, finally letting her go, but flicking her nose before she could sidle out of his reach.

Aelin shoved him right back.

All Rowan wanted was to push her in return – to touch her, poke her, prod her, until she was snarling and writhing and snapping her teeth.

But the demi-Fae male at the other end of the alley was eyeing him carefully, his scent a potent mix of worry and aggression and protectiveness. And Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be patient for much longer.

“Are you just going to make them stand there all night?” Rowan asked.

“Since when are you a stickler for manners?” Aelin slung an arm around his waist, as if she was worried he would disappear on her. Neglecting, of course, to remember that it was she who disappeared on him, and not the other way around.

But instead of fighting the point, Rowan just put his arm around her shoulders as together, they turned and walked back to where her companions were waiting for them.

As they approached, Rowan fully turned over his attention to the two strangers, carefully cataloguing their every move, scent, and sound. Taking note of the muscles they favored, each blade hidden beneath their clothes.

The woman, an archer if ever he’d seen one, looked out of place. As if she were desperate to get out of their hair. The male, however, looked as though he wouldn’t move for all the world.

His every gesture thrilled towards Rowan, his instincts screaming at him challenge him, to measure himself against him. And as Rowan drew closer, he finally placed that familiar piece in his scent – or at least he thought he did.

The demi-Fae smelled of Aelin, the scent layered and complex. His first thought was that they were sharing a bed, an idea that clanged through him, uncomfortably. But the scent was too old, too deep – and once Rowan spotted that golden hair, that fair skin, he knew that he must be looking at the face of Aedion Ashryver.

Aelin’s cousin.

His face was mostly covered, but from what Rowan could see, the bones were strong and sharp. Unforgiving. But the male was young, barely into his twenties, and he was still coming into his power.

The Fae blood in his veins was strong, stronger even than Aelin’s in some ways. Rowan couldn’t tell if he could shift – but if he could, Aedion Ashryver might even be strong enough to rival any in Maeve’s court. Perhaps strong enough to rival even him.

And Rowan knew that Aedion wanted to find out. Wanted to challenge him. To prove himself, to Rowan, to their queen.

Rank would have to be established.

No matter the male’s strength, he was still but a boy. And though he was reportedly a fine warrior, Rowan was one of Maeve’s war-torn lieutenants, was Aelin’s bloodsworn. Her Second.

Aedion would have to find his place. Rowan could only hope that he would do so gracefully, without bloodshed. He doubted it would much endear him to Aelin if he killed her cousin in some ill-begotten contest.

Aelin pinched Rowan’s side, and as he hissed in response, Rowan realized that the two of them had been locked in a stare. So Rowan casually broke their gaze and pinched Aelin’s shoulder right back.

He had been playing these games for a long time, had been playing them well before Aedion’s grandfather, and his father, and his father before him, had been more than a flicker in his mother’s womb. Touching Aelin so informally, refusing to acknowledge that challenge burning in Aedion’s eyes – they were signs of dominance, attempts to put the boy in his place.

And Aedion knew that. But he didn’t say anything as Aelin turned back towards the group, saying, “Let’s get inside.”

But the other woman, the archer, was edging away from the group, her eyes flickering between him and Aedion. “I’ll see you later,” she said, not seeming to refer to anyone in particular. And she barely waited a moment for a reaction before sidling into the shadows and out of sight.

Rowan stored his curiosity away for another time as Aelin pulled him forwards through the mist, and they headed deeper into the slums. Aedion fell carefully into step behind them, and Rowan could sense that the male hadn’t given up. Far from avoided, their confrontation had been delayed, allowing the roiling tension between them to build and build and build.

Rowan tried to keep himself from looking forwards to it. To ridding the boy of his arrogance, and cementing his own place with their queen. He didn’t succeed.

Together, the three of them walked through the night, Rowan keeping careful note of every sound, every flicker of movement, every strange scent. And this far into the slums, there were many of those. He did his best to ignore the rot and filth and vomit.

He also tried to keep himself from focusing too much on that empty space between his body and Aelin’s, the way that it seemed to crackle with energy. The way that he wanted to make it disappear.

No matter how many resolutions he made, how many times he told himself that he couldn’t pursue her, that it would be a mistake to let themselves get any closer, it all seemed to go up in flames the second her eyes locked with his. The second her scent curled in his nostrils.

But he didn’t have a choice – he had to keep control of himself.

They walked together until they came upon an unremarkable wooden warehouse, and Aelin fell to a stop. For a moment, they paused while Rowan examined it – making note of every entrance and exit, every window, every dimension. Only once he was absolutely sure the building was empty did Rowan step aside, allowing Aelin to unlock the rolling metal door and enter.

Tugging him by the hand, she led him through a large storeroom, mostly empty besides a few stacks of wooden crates that smelled of ink, and towards a wooden staircase that led to the second level, where Rowan guessed they would find her apartment.

But whatever expectations he had unconsciously formed, once Aelin turned the lock on that bright green door and revealed her home to him, Rowan knew that there was no way he could have ever anticipated this.

The apartment was fit for a king. Plush, luscious couches, mahogany furniture, hardwood floors topped with soft woolen rugs, a carved marble fireplace, and just so many books. They were everywhere, on the large dining table at one side of the room, stacked on the floor by the couch, on shelves framing the fireplace, atop the mantelpiece – even piled high on one of the soft armchairs.

Aelin had carved out an oasis for herself, right in the middle of the least likely place imaginable.

While Rowan examined the apartment, Aedion had moved in from behind them and was now standing beside the fireplace, his hood still up, hands within easy reach of his weapons. Not that it would make a difference.

From what Rowan could see, there were at least two bedrooms and a kitchen in addition to this larger, shared space. But before he could make a thorough survey of the building, Aelin was tightening her grip on his arm and saying, “Aedion, meet Rowan. Rowan, meet Aedion. His Highness needs a bath or I’ll vomit if I have to sit next to him for more than a minute.” Then she was dragging him into the next room and shutting the door behind them.

For the life of him, Rowan didn’t know why it made a difference, this being alone with her. A simple closed door. But it did.

They were now in what Rowan could only suppose was her bedroom. Aelin was leaning against the closed door, and he could feel her studying him.

Rowan turned, studying her right back. Her lithe body was clothed in some tight-fitting material, though much of her silhouette was still obscured by that damned cloak. Along with most of her face.

But he didn’t miss it as Aelin bit her lip.

Against his will, Rowan’s eyes slid to her mouth, his blood running hot as the space between them went taut.

“Take off your hood,” Rowan said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Aelin crossed her arms. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, Prince.”

He pursed his lips, then yanked back his hood. “From tears to sass in a few minutes. I’m glad the month apart hasn’t dimmed your usual good spirits.”

“Your hair! You cut it all off!” She rushed towards him, pulling off her own hood as the distance between them closed. And it took all of Rowan’s self-control not to reach out and touch her again.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Rowan didn’t know if that was due to a fault of memory, or if she actually had become more stunning during the month separating them, but he didn’t much care.

Her gold-and-turquoise eyes still pierced him through, and even though she no longer had her magic, they still seemed just as molten. But for some strange reason, she had decided to dye her hair a flat, uninteresting shade of red. It was dull, and did nothing for her pretty skin.

He wanted to scowl at it.

“Since you seemed to think that we would be doing a good amount of fighting here, shorter hair is more useful. Though I can’t say that your hair might be considered the same. You might as well have dyed it blue.”

“Hush. Your hair was so pretty. I was hoping you’d let me braid it one day. I suppose I’ll have to buy a pony instead.” She cocked her head, her eyes dangerous.  “When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. Aelin barely kept her laugh in.

Rowan tried to change the subject, turning to look over the lavish bedroom. “You weren’t lying about your taste for luxury.”

That was an understatement. The space was beautiful and warm and welcoming – and not only because it was filled to the brim with her scent.

Candles dotted every surface, casting a soft warm light. The bed was in the corner, beside the entrance to an attached bathroom. And Rowan was sure that it would be more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. Across the room was another marble fireplace, the door to a very large closet, and a window gracing the adjacent wall. Along with yet more books.

“Not all of us enjoy living in warrior-squalor,” she said, grabbing his hand again. Rowan gave up on conversation and instead closed his fingers around hers. Another moment passed while they just looked at each other.

Those eyes – they were full of secrets. Of stories.

Rowan opened his mouth to demand that she explain everything, to explain why her cousin was here, why she seemed so heavy with worry, why the city was teeming with Valg – but Aelin cut him off before he could speak, pulling them into the bathroom.  

She flitted about the room, lighting a few candles by the sink and on the ledge above the tub, saying, “I meant it about the bath.” She twisted the faucets and plugged the drain. “You stink.” She bent to grab a towel from the small cabinet by the toilet.

Rowan was starting to worry that she was purposely avoiding telling him what had happened this past month. His voice was flat as he said, “Tell me everything.”

Aelin was silent, grabbing a green vial of some gritty power and another of what he thought was an oil, and dumping generous amounts of each into the rising bathwater, turning it milky and opaque.

“I will, when you’re soaking in the bath and don’t smell like a vagrant.”

“If memory serves, you smelled even worse when we first met. And I didn’t shove you into the nearest trough in Varese.”

She just glared at him. “Funny.”

Rowan’s face almost split into a grin. “You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”

“Just get in.”

Chuckling, Rowan obeyed her, and began the long process of undressing. Before he could wonder whether she would be staying to watch him strip, Aelin turned from the room, shrugging off her cloak and unstrapping her various weapons. But she neglected to shut the door behind her.

Rowan stripped anyways, discarding his clothes carelessly on the floor and placing his weapons atop the cabinet, next to all those mysterious bottles and vials. By the time she was done with him, she’d probably have him smelling the like a gods-damned flower shop.

Rowan just sighed, lowering himself carefully in the tub and shutting off the faucets. He had to keep himself from groaning at the delectable warmth – the hot bathwater was almost as pleasant as the relief of holding Aelin had been.

But only almost.

A few moments passed as Rowan began the sorry task of scrubbing away at the thick layer of dirt and grime covering him. All the while trying desperately to keep himself from listening too closely to the sounds of cloth on skin coming from the bedroom, as Aelin pulled off that tight black suit of hers and changed into something more comfortable.

It made Rowan wish that Aelin had drawn a colder bath.

By the time Aelin returned, the water was so clouded by soap and dirt that he doubted she could see anything beneath.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, her eyes flowing over all his exposed skin. But Rowan didn’t acknowledge her, instead continuing to scrub at his check and shoulders, splashing water on his face.

She only handed him a washcloth, saying, “Here.” And he wasn’t sure, but her voice almost seemed rougher than usual. Rowan just dunked the cloth in the water and began rubbing it over his face, his neck, his chest.

Aelin was still looking at him.

Another moment passed, and then she mutely handed him some lavender soap. Rowan sighed in resignation, accepting his fate. He would just have to smell like a flower shop – Lorcan would be shocked to see him now.

Then Aelin sat on the curved lip of the porcelain tub and began to speak.

She told him of her journey across the ocean, of the plans she had made and of losing her magic. Of arriving in Rifthold and immediately setting after Arobynn, and learning of what had happened here through the spring – of Dorian and Chaol and Aedion, and what they’d lost in the wake of the king’s wrath. How she’d discovered that Dorian was now possessed by a Valg. How she’d failed to kill him, but managed to save Aedion from certain death. She told him of meeting Nesryn, the woman from earlier, who was a pretty great shot. And of getting to know Lysandra and Evangeline, who were still trapped under Arobynn’s thumb.

She spoke very little of Chaol, and whether she had let him back into her life. And she said nothing at all of her plans for the future. But Rowan knew that he would have to be satisfied with what she did tell him. At least for now.

By the time her story of demons and danger and deceit was done, Rowan was nearly finished washing himself, and the bathwater was considerably less warm. Once again, Rowan found himself mourning their missing magics. Aelin would be able to keep the bath warm with less than half a thought.

Rowan absentmindedly raised the soap to his head, thinking to wash his hair with it, when Aelin squeaked. “You don’t use that in your hair!” she hissed, quickly standing up and rifling through the cabinet of bottles and vials.

Rowan scowled, seriously considering dolloping the lavender soap on his hair while she wasn’t looking. But patience won out.

“Rose, lemon verbena, or …” Aelin sniffed at the glass bottle. “Jasmine.” She squinted down at him.

Rowan just looked back up at her. Do I look like I care what you pick?

She clicked her tongue. “Jasmine it is, you buzzard.” She moved to stand just out of sight at the head of the bathtub, and before he really realized what was happening, Aelin had already dumped some of the sweet-smelling tonic on his head and her hands were brushing the top of his head, rubbing in the soap.

Rowan knew that he was supposed to stop this, knew that this was far, far too intimate. Knew that this was coming very close to breaking all of those careful rules he had set for himself.

But the second he felt her touch, all his resistance crumbled to dust.

Her fingers weren’t rough, but they weren’t too gentle, either. Aelin found exactly the right amount of pressure as she massaged the soap into his scalp, moving from his hairline to his ears to his neck and back again.

The scent of the oil wafted down towards him, mixed in with her own scent. And without thinking, Rowan took in a slow breath, luxuriating in the scent. It felt as though his face was being caressed with the taste of night-kissed jasmine.

Aelin’s fingers began playing with his hair. “I could still probably braid this,” she teased. “Very teensy-tiny braids, so – ”

Rowan growled, more out of habit than real irritation. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes as he felt his whole body relax.

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

Rowan couldn’t even summon the will for a rebuttal. Instead, he let out a low noise in his throat, a sound of pure pleasure. It might as well have been a purr.

Rowan hardly cared.

He knew he’d probably yell at himself for this later. But Rowan also knew that he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. And no matter how upset he might be in a few hours, he knew he would never regret it.

Just as Rowan was beginning to wonder whether Aelin’s fingers were starting to prune, she spoke up. “You haven’t said anything about your magic.”

He tensed, and Aelin’s hands stilled. “What about it?”

Rowan felt her lean down to peer at his face, her hair sliding from behind her shoulders to stroke the back of his neck. It sent a warm shiver down his spine.

“I take it it’s gone,” she said. “How does it feel to be as powerless as a mortal?”

He opened his eyes, his brow falling into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“I spent the first few days sick to my stomach and barely able to move. It was like having a blanket thrown over my senses.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m dealing with it.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Grumpy, grumpy.”

Rowan snarled in annoyance – but it was more at the fact that she had removed her hands from his scalp than because of her teasing. Aelin only pursed her lips and pushed down on his shoulders, silently asking him to dunk his head underwater.

He did so, and by the time he emerged, Aelin was standing and holding out a bath towel for him to use. “I’m going to find you some clothes.”

“I have – ”

“Oh, no. Those are going right to the laundress. And you’ll get them back only if she can make them smell decent again. Until then, you’ll wear whatever I give you.”

“You’ve become a tyrant, Princess,” he said, taking the towel from her.

Aelin just rolled her eyes, turning away from the bathtub just as Rowan stood up, water sloshing everywhere. She didn’t look back at him, moving straight across the bedroom and directly into the huge closet.

Rowan was somehow simultaneously disappointed and very, very relieved. He didn’t know if he would be able to control himself if she saw him – her long looks were already heavy enough as it was.

But still, there was that other voice. The one that wanted her to see all of him. Just as he had already seen all of her.

Rowan shook himself slightly, then began toweling off. Thinking cold thoughts.

Once he was mostly dry, Rowan wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and walked through the bedroom, and into the absolutely massive closet. Only to find Aelin crouched on the floor, staring at the open drawer in front of her.

For a moment, Rowan just looked at her in confusion. But then he remembered.

All those years ago, before the king, before Endovier, Aelin had lived in this apartment with Sam. Right before he had been killed.

These must be his clothes.

“You don’t have to give those to me,” Rowan said, soft as he could.

Aelin started anyways, twisting in place to face him. For a moment, she only stared at him. And Rowan wasn’t sure if it was because of the scent of the dead boy swirling around them, escaping from the dresser full of his old clothing, or because Rowan had taken her off guard, but Aelin’s look was dazed. She looked completely at a loss for words.

She swallowed, then finally spoke. “Clean clothes are scarce in the house right now, and these are of no use sitting here.” She pulled out a pale shirt and held it up. “I hope it fits.”

Rowan looked at it apprehensively, then took it. Sam had been an eighteen-year-old mortal when he died, and his clothes definitely reflected that. Rowan had his doubts about ‘fit.’

Aelin quickly looked away from him, her face carefully blank as she rifled through the drawer for undershorts and pants. “I’ll get you proper clothes tomorrow. I’m pretty sure you’ll start a riot if the women of Rifthold see you walking down the streets in nothing but a towel.”

Rowan huffed a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound forced. He knew that Aelin would never stop mourning that boy, no matter how long she lived. But it was different now, being here. Where she had last seen him living and breathing.

It made it so much more real. That she had loved, and lost. Just as he had.

And Rowan couldn’t help but feel as though he were intruding.

But instead of pulling away, and leaving Aelin to wallow in that guilt and sadness alone, he stepped forwards, under the pretense of examining the contents of the closet. Thinking to help her the only way he knew how – with distraction.

But soon, he found himself entranced by them. So many luscious fabrics, exquisite embroideries, soft furs… “You wore all this?” He looked at her with wonder.

She nodded, quietly getting to her feet. Rowan flicked through a few of the garments, eyeing the tunics and dresses and shirts – some of which were the finest he had ever seen. “These are … very beautiful,” he admitted.

Aelin’s voice was soft. “I would have pegged you for a proud member of the anti-finery crowd.”

“Clothes are weapons, too,” he said, remembering all those times he had been stuck at court dinners, parties, festivals – with all that careful maneuvering. Fae playing games with each other for centuries, whole generations.

He continued searching through the closet, but then paused when he glanced a luxurious gown of pure black velvet. Its sleeves were made of tight, sheer silk, the neckline skimming just below the collarbones. And while the font was completely unadorned, the back nearly took his breath away.

A great, golden dragon roared down the spine of the garment, rendered perfectly in glittering metallic threads. Spraying a torrent of golden fire up to the neckline where it poured over the dress’ shoulders. It was so detailed that each scale was perfectly visible, as the serpentine dragon curled down the skirt of the dress to rest on the hemline, where the tail swung around the edge of the garment, as if lazily brushing the floor.

Rowan loosed a breath. “I like this one best.”

Aelin reach out a hand to brush to soft velvet sleeve. “I saw it in a shop when I was sixteen and bought it immediately. But when the dress was delivered a few weeks later, it seemed too…old. It overpowered the girl I was. So I never wore it, and it’s hung here for three years.”

As she spoke, Rowan ran a finger down the golden spine of the roaring, furious dragon, marveling at the rippling texture. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”

Aelin looked up at him, meeting his gaze. The gold in her eyes just as molten and burning as the flames of that golden dragon.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

And the vulnerability, the pure openness he could see in her eyes made something in his gut clench tight. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Why he made all those gods-damned rules in the first place.

“We weren’t apart that long.” His voice was cold as ice.

Aelin scowled. “So? Am I not allowed to miss you?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, and guilt was already swirling in his stomach for the lie he knew he had to tell. “I once told you that the people you care about are weapons to be used against you. Missing me was a foolish distraction.”

Aelin’s face darkened. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

When Rowan didn’t say anything, Aelin swallowed and pushed the clothes into his arms. “You can get dressed in here,” she tossed the words at him like a blade, walking out of the closet without another word.

Rowan made sure she didn’t see the way her tone had cut into him.

He breathed deep, shoving away those emotions to deal with them later. It didn’t matter if she thought him cold, or heartless. Not if it kept her safe.

So Rowan breathed again, and began trying to worm his way into a dead man’s clothes. Trying not to let that bother him too.

As practical as he was, the last thing Rowan wanted to do was put on the clothes of the mortal man Aelin’s had loved, and who loved her. It was like forcing himself into someone else’s love story, the unwelcome addition. The replacement that nobody wanted.

He stretched the undershorts over his thighs, and then carefully shrugged his way into the pants. They were too short, but they fit. Barely.

The shirt however was another story. Just looking at it Rowan knew that it would be too tight. So instead of risking tearing it, Rowan figured it would be better to go barechested.

He walked back into the bedroom to find that Aelin had gone into the bathroom. From the sound of it, she was washing her face. But this time, she had closed the door.

Rowan tried not to read too much into that gesture.

When she returned, her face darkening at the sight of him in the comically-small pants, he held the shirt out to her, saying, “The shirt is too small. I didn’t want to rip it.”

Aelin took it from him gingerly, then just looked at it for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I’ll go out first thing,” she said softly, then breathed in through her nose, quick and sharp. “Well, if you don’t mind meeting Aedion shirtless, I suppose we should go say hello.”

Rowan shook his head ever so slightly. “We need to talk.”

Aelin’s hackles instantly rose. “Good talk or bad talk?”

“The kind that will make me glad you don’t have access to your power so you don’t spew flames everywhere.”

“That was one incident, and if you ask me, your absolutely wonderful former lover deserved it.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, remembering. Remelle had certainly deserved it. And if Aelin hadn’t intervened, Rowan might have ended up doing something he would have regretted. Like murdering Remelle.

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t have regretted it so much.

Aelin just sighed, “Now or later?”

“Later. It can wait a bit.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded, turning towards the door to the great room. Where Aedion was waiting for them.

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#warrior and the wildfire #rowaelin #rowan pov #rpov #queen of shadows #rowaelin ff

[cardentist]

tw for abuse, incest and consent issues.

I’m not sure if I’d call this a wide-spread misconception, mainly because it’s not something that Comes Up in casual conversation about the series, but on and off I’ve noticed that people have a specific Attitude about gallerian when it comes to the situation with mira and ma where they view him more in the vein of kaspar. mind you it’s understandable when a big part of the fandom gets their information second/third/etc-hand, but it’s just Very Unfortunate when you lay it out in the context of the novels

so ! the short answer is that ma isn’t a seductress, she’s an abuser. she gave birth to gallerian specifically to use him, and if levia had accepted his body as a vessel he Would have been left to die like nemesis had been. the reason he’d been spared was undoubtedly so he could be used to Create nemesis down the line. I’ve written that in a way that’s easier to swallow, but I need you, the viewer, to understand that ma looked at her baby boy and only kept him alive so that she could fuck him in about 20 years.

there’s more about the situation that’s worth bringing up, but that’s the biggest sticking point for me. gallerian was victimized by ma whether he personally realized it or not, in more ways than one, and I really don’t like how that’s swept under the rug in this specific instance because of common tropes and expectations.

now ! this doesn’t mean that I don’t think that gallerian has any responsibility in this situation at all, cheating on your wife is still Bad, but the situation as a whole was Messy to say the least.

gallerian and mira bonded in the wake of being abused by the same person. mira after facing loki’s controlling aggressive behavior for a long period of time and gallerian after literally facing a traumatizing hate crime. michelle was born when gallerian was 18 meaning he was almost certainly 17 when she was conceived (and mira 18 or 19). they were teenagers who trauma-bonded and accidentally tied themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. they weren’t compatible romantically but they didn’t exactly have a choice.

to put this in perspective, we have to remember that gallerian is half fantasy japanese in what is analogous to 1920′s america, that his direct familial line (his mother) was tried and executed for magic (a genetic trait in evillious), and that gallerian’s entire goal in life had been to uproot the system that was discriminatory against him. the novel goes out of it’s way to show us that the first case where he’d found someone innocent in a witch trial the people in the stands had to be held back by the guards.

he was a minority trying to take one of the most important positions in the country to push an unpopular (if moral) agenda. yes it would’ve been better for the both of them individually if they’d gotten a divorce or if they’d never gotten married in the first place, but in the position that he was in the time period that he was doing so would’ve been risking his career (which in turn would’ve risked the lives of the people who were facing Active Genocide). And mira likely wouldn’t have been much better off.

now those are the general, rancid, vibes, but lets talk about the lead up into the Inciting event.

so, ma abandons gallerian and then comes back into his life while he’s a teenager. she fakes her own death and doesn’t change her appearance At All (beyond hair color) when she meets him again. he doesn’t know that she’s his mother but she’s obviously playing into his trauma while she does this. she aligns herself with the people that saved him and lends a hand to help put loki in jail and out his family as being literal slaveowners.

after making a positive impression, putting herself in a savior position during an extremely traumatic part of gallerian’s life, she helps to put him in a more powerful position politically. in his mind she’s a friend helping him achieve his dreams, in hers she knows he’ll be useful to her in a stronger position.

she watches as gallerian and mira’s relationship deteriorates, their personalities clashing (and gallerian’s poorer background making him more frugal than mira, who grew up wealthy, would like to be). his 20th birthday rolls around and she invites him to eat, she orders him wine and tells him that it’s a present. he’s shocked, he admits that mira had totally forgotten, he opens up about how unhappy he is but that he’s trying to keep the relationship together for his daughter’s sake. she gets him so drunk he can’t even stand on his own.

can I blame gallerian for that first night? no, absolutely not. he wasn’t Lusting after anyone, ma deliberately played on his loneliness and unhappiness to get him drunk enough that he’d agree to it. while he may have continued the relationship after the fact, he Was Not in a position to consent. he has some responsibility yes, but he was groomed by his own mother who’d stayed in his life specifically so she could manipulate him and she chose to do it while he was young enough to see her as an authority figure. I can’t blame him for that. gallerian wasn’t in a position where he would’ve been able to say no, point blank, and I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened to him if he’d tried.

what’s also telling is how bruno responded. he very famously let gallerian get away with a Lot, but he stepped in with ma. he picked up on the fact that she was his mother and specifically confronted her about it, telling her to leave. he saw ma as an aggressor taking advantage of gallerian and frankly he was right.

we never hear about gallerian cheating ever again, but we do see ma coming back into his life to continue manipulating and using him all the way up until his death. I can totally respect people who can’t forgive someone for cheating, but I can’t see gallerian as a cheater or as the ultimately guilty party.

#evillious chronicles #evillious #ec #gallerian marlon #ma #mira marlon #meta #there's more that I could say #but this is long enough and I don't want to be called a gallerian simp kjlfsd

[pumpkinofthedale]

Friends... it is now.... well over 13k words and i’m maaaaybe a little over halfway done with the first chapter.... but I am a slut for positive reinforcement.... so here is another excerpt from my cronus fic (I see you and love you)

“Seriously, if you hate it that much give it back.”

“Nope, it’s crispmass and you gave me a gift. Even if it’s the worst gift anyone’s ever given me.” His words were slurred, v’s and w’s blurring together.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and leaning back against the next step up. From this angle you could see lavender from the Christmas lights bouncing off the thin membranes of his fins. And maybe it was the alcohol, or the faint nostalgic music coming from the other room, but you couldn’t help but stare. Polished orange horns shining with little rainbows dots, a small smile on his grey lips. He was breathtakingly pretty.

“At least you gave me a present I guess. None of my other asshole friends did. Like I get most of them are gutterblood trash-”

He just had to ruin the mood, didn’t he.

“Shooshooshoosh.” You grimaced and put your finger on his lips to quiet him and he froze; Stock still, eyes wide as he stared at you like a deer in the headlights. “God, you’re so fucking pretty, but literally everything that comes out of your stupid mouth is ugly.” You snapped. “So just… shut the actual fuck up for a little while.”

His fins fluttered a little and he seemed to look everywhere except directly at you. You realized after a few moments that you still had your finger on him and removed it, but didn’t look away. In the dim light of the room you could faintly see a violet flush tinting his cheeks, another one of those peculiar expressions on is face.

For a few minutes there was a blissful silence except for the muffled music as Cronus worried his bottom lip between his sharp teeth. “You uh... You really think I’m pretty….?” He asked after a while, finally turning to face you.

You shrugged, drinking some more eggnong. “Yeah. When you’re not being a complete and total d-bag, so uh… very infrequently. You’re kind of a douche a lot.”

He let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“But like... physically? You’ve got a lot going for you…. For an alien I guess. Not that I really know how you guys measure physical attractiveness. But by human standards… your aesthetic is immaculate.” You gave him an appraising look and his fins fluttered again. “But your vibes are rancid as fuck, dude.”

His lips curled back in a sneer showing off those perfectly even teeth, and you couldn’t help but wonder if trolls had orthodontics… Were those perfect teeth the product of genetics or did he have to wear braces as a kid. You failed to stifle a snicker at the thought.

It seemed to throw him off guard because the threat display dropped immediately.

“I don’t get it. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just alien braces.” You waved him off.

He gave you a quizzical look, but didn’t press you for any more details. He fell silent once more, staring down into the depths of the mug in his hands, fingers fidgeting and clenching. The Christmas music hung heavy in the air.

The snow’s coming down

I’m watching it fall

Lots of people around

Baby please come home

A pang of went through your heart and your grip on your eggnog tightened….

“So where’s this boyfriend you keep talking about?” Cronus asked. “Afraid I’d steal him away from you if he came?” He raised an eyebrow, lopsided grin growing on his face.

You swallowed, sighing and closing your eyes, trying to drown out the Christmas music through sheer force of will.

“He uh… he’s in Minnesota.”

“Gesundheit.”

A soft laugh escaped your throat. “Halfway ‘cross the country.” You explained.

“Oh shit… What’s he doing out there on crispmas?” You chanced a glance over at him, and were surprised to see his brow furrowed, head tilted… he looked… genuinely concerned.

“He lives out there… so does his family.” You were thankful when your voice didn’t crack or waver. “I was supposed to go visit him, but y’know,” You shrugged, “Life happens.”

“Shit, chief, so you’re tellin’ me,” He paused to let out a bewildered half chuckle. “You’re tellin’ me you’re in a relationship and you still ain’t getting any...?” He made an odd, but recognizably lewd gesture with his hand.

“Relationships are about more than sex, Cronus.” You mumbled, trying not to think about the fact that you were going to be very, very alone this Christmas.

“Well, yeah. I know that.” He rolled his eyes. “But like… don’t you get lonely?”

Your jaw clenched, you were simultaneously way too drunk and not drunk enough for this conversation. “Nope. Never.”

Loneliness whom? You do not know her. (If you tell yourself enough, it’ll be true. That’s how emotions work, right?)

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing as he searched you for something.

Ah fuck, was he making an insight check? Is that what insight checks looked like? Did you roll high enough on your deception?

“Humans are fuckin’ weird as hell.” The sea-troll said after a few moments. “I just don’t get it. Like what kind of quadrant are you even in that that sort of distance makes sense? I’d say flushed but you ain’t even pailing so what’s the point of it?”

“Pailing?” What the fuck kind of bullshit….

“Sex.” Cronus opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it with an exasperated huff instead. He definitely looked like he wanted to keep probing you (heh) for more information, but he just stared into the contents of his mug.

I’d hold back this tear

But it’s Christmas day

Baby please come home

Baby please come home

Michael Buble finally finished his pining, and were immediately assaulted by Elvis pleading with Santa to bring his baby back to him.

Fuck… you could just not catch a break tonight.

The fuckboy next to you was unusually silent, leaving you stewing in your own thoughts like some sort of asshole without distracting you. How absolutely inconsiderate of him.

Finally an overtly religious Christmas classic started playing, tacky, respectable Christmas music that wasn’t constantly reminding you that your boyfriend was halfway across the country and your family was on a different continent.

Actually... a few songs passed (which you’d begun humming along to) before Cronus spoke again.

“Why doesn’t anyone like me?”  

His voice was soft as he stared longingly into the other room, past the set of french glass doors where the rest of the party was; silhouettes of people mingling and muffled laughter. “I… I know people don’t like me, I just don’t get why. I try so, so hard… and I just can’t figure out what people want. I….” He trailed off.

You watched him for a moment, but he never stopped gazing through the glass.

“Do you want an honest answer?” Normally, you would revel in the chance to make an exhaustive list of his many flaws, but the expression on his face was so different from what you were used to, and the warmth of Bing Crosby’s voice made you pause.

And you think you may have finally figured out what Cronus was about.

He looked at you with big violet eyes, chewing on his bottom lip, then nodded.

And everything about him hit just a little too close to home.

“Well,” You took a deep breath, “I… I think I get you now. Where you’re coming from at least… because I’ve been there before. And I guess I want to help you.” And began to explain to him exactly why he was such an unlikable bastard starting with the callous way he treated his friends, blatant attempts at manipulation, his casual use of what you’re pretty sure are slurs, or at least really rude words, how there’s nothing genuine about how he presents himself, finishing on a softer note with the overwhelming amount of body spray and cologne he wore.

And to his credit, he just sat there and listened (though his fins drooped more and more with each new bullet point).

You did your best to be as constructive as possible, but the increasingly dejected look on his face left you feeling… less satisfied than how you would have imagined a moment like this would feel. When you finished, you couldn’t help but reach down and take his hand in your own, threading your fingers together.

He was cold to the touch, skin smooth besides a few thin ridges along the sides of his fingers. He stiffened for a moment before relaxing just a bit, squeezing your hand back tight enough to almost be uncomfortable.

You sat like that for a little while, hand in hand

You took another sip of your eggnog, starting to get a little sick of the taste.

Cronus’ eyes were glassy as though he was blinking back tears, and you felt kind of bad. It was definitely something that he had to hear, and you’d tried to do it as tactfully as possible… but you were very drunk, and you weren’t great with words or comforting or emotions even when you weren’t.

Fuck… you’re pretty sure you heard him sniffle a little.

“If I’m really so awful, why’d you even come over here?” His voice wavered a little, but didn’t crack, staring down into his hot toddy (that you had so painstakingly prepared and was probably delicious as hell and not at all disgusting like Cronus kept insisting).

You took a moment, breathing deeply and giving his hand a squeeze.

“Because no one deserves to be alone on Christmas.” He finally looked back at you again, violet eyes locking with your own… damn even when he was a wreck he was pretty. You wished you were half that pretty when you were having an existential crisis.

And before you even realized what you were doing, you had brought his hand to your lips to place a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than half a second, but you had never seen anyone look so incredibly flustered in their life. His eyes went wide, almost round like egg yolks with little purple gems in them, a deep violet flush on his cheeks, fins flicking. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water (you would have laughed if you hadn’t been too drunk to realize the appropriateness of the analogy), but all that came out was a shaky exhale.

Cronus looked away and buried his face in his forearm, a very alien clicking sound coming from his throat, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You know I really thought we had a good black rapport…. I thought you hated me….” He mumbled after a minute with a little drunk giggle.

Well he wasn’t wrong… you definitely hated him. Or at least… you hated everything he represented. Or… you thought you did. “Well, I mean you definitely weren’t my favorite person in the world…. But hate’s a little harsh.” (To say out loud.)

He snorted. “Oh I was definitely waxin’ pitch for ya. I thought that’s why you gave me this gross drink.”

“It’s delicious, and if you keep insulting my beautiful concoction I’m gonna get mad.”

His laugh was breathy, “No, it’s legitimately disgusting as hell.” The troll chanced a glance at you, cheeks still flushed a bit, a candid, lopsided smile on his face. “’m not even pitch flirting anymore, this is the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

#cronus ampora #You know i started writing this fic as like... mindless smut #but then i got more and more invested #like... the smut aint coming for at least another probably 20k words and i hate myself for it #because i wanted to flush out his stupid character #i just want him to get better before being rewarded.... #but seriously its getting ridiculous how long this is just so i can write smut #like i even have branching off pieces i want to write #i hate this #but also i love it #i just wish i could write faster #but i get tired easily #i'm gonna try to finish the 22nd page tonight #w34ry words #homestuck #longpost

[quillsareswords]

Crooked Grin

Damian Wayne

Your smile shouldn't look like that.

[Reader lives with John Constantine, and is similarly a demonologist and magic user. About 16-18.]

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

"Are you ready to go?"

You turn away from the book on the table, and face him. "Sorry?"

"Are you ready to leave?" he repeats. He leans against the doorjam, arms crossed, clad in black, much like yourself. He doesn't look impatient, but he does look a little anxious.

You cock an eyebrow and shoot him a lopsided grin. "Nervous, Birdy?"

He rolls his eyes as you snap a leather bound journal shut. "Please, I've assisted you before."

You set the book on your dresser. You shoulder a messenger bag on your way to meet him at the door. "Sure, but you already know what I'm up against this time."

"I didn't see it," he argues.

"But you felt it."

He doesn't answer you. Turns away before you can get a proper reaction.

You shut the door behind you, and enter the Wayne Manor. If anyone were to open the door again, it would be an empty closet.

Ah, how you loved your little door trick.

It was fairly simple magic, something you learned quickly. You could simply replace doors—switch one with another, if you will. With a rune and a mumbled phrase, you can make any door lead to any room that has a door you've marked with the same rune.

"Tim's the one who saw it on CCTV."

You stopped in front if the bookcase in Bruce's office, allowing Damian the grand honor of pulling the right book and pulling the hidden door open. "Video footage isn't exactly trustworthy when it comes to paranormal—haven't I told you this before?"

"Probably," he answers, throwing you comical wink.

Now you're the one rolling your eyes. "One if these days, you're gonna wish you listened," you sing, beginning your decent down the metal grate stairs.

He starts down after you. "No I won't." He slows his pace when he's next to you, "Because you'll be there to remind me." Then off he goes, taunting you to chase him clear down to the cave, through the secret hideout, and clear over to the vehicle bay.

You've never liked riding on Damian's bike. Or Robin's bike, rather. You much preferred his Lincoln, all leather seats and metal walls. Though he insisted it would be faster tonight, so you relented. The bike felt less secure, gave you less of a chance if anything were to happen.

Don't misunderstand; Damian is a fantastic driver. You'd rather him behind the wheel than yourself any day. It's more the people in the city he calls home you don't trust.

You've always had a love-hate relationship with Gotham City. You love the dreary atmosphere, the rainy days. You adore the old buildings and even older libraries. You live for the underground, more-than-human clubs and shops peppered throughout the streets.

You hate the crazed clowns, killer plants, and murderous penguins. You despise the snobby people and jacked up prices. You detest the crumbling ruins left to decay alone. Most of all, you abhor the other side of the coin.

Gotham has no shortage of darkness. In its people, under its streets, below the waters, above the rooftops. Though it sends a shockwave of thrill through you, the danger only you seem to be aware of is forever just around the corner. From ghouls to vampires to demons to dark witches, Gotham is crawling with things darker than its skies.

You, if course, stay in your lane unless absolutely necessary. Demons, ghosts, angels. That's your specialty, after all.

You're who the Bat Gang calls when things get a little too weird. Your father figure isn't one to drop and run at anybody's beck and call (except, perhaps, yours), so you're the one who gets the call first. You don't conplain—you enjoy the practice.

Damian slows and steers the bike off the backstreet, into the tiny parking lot of a little abandoned church. Little, meaning most likely one big room, and maybe a backroom and a bathroom at the end of the building.

He twists the key and silences the engine, one foot anchored on the asphalt, then removes his helmet.

You unwind your arms from his torso, lifting off your helmet as you slide off the machine behind him. You stare up at the stark white building and the wide brown mounted to the front of it. "How long has it been empty?" you inquire.

He dismounts the motorcycle and pockets his keys. His eyes find the same spot yours have: the busted glass of the front door. "Three weeks."

You turn to him, incredious. "Three weeks? Really?" You face the building again, studying the sprawling vines and waist-high grass by the playground, the chipping paint and the grimy windows.

In the light if dusk, it wasn't a place you'd want to find yourself on any Sunday morning.

"Three weeks," you breathe. You steal another minute or so to run through your mental database. What causes such decay so quickly? What was powerful enough to take residency in a church?

You head up to the doors, treading over busted asphalt and shattered glass and dry leaves on your way. Damian follows you closely, peering around at the surrounding buildings and streets.

The streetlights flicker on behind you, but you're too busy trying to get a good look at the inside before opening the doors to notice.

You try the handles first. It doesn't budge. You don't want to risk irritating whatever is inside before you're ready, so you duck down and carefully slip through the bottom pane of the left door, which had been shattered. Outwardly, you note. Whatever broke the glass came from inside, leaving the shards of glass scattered on the sidewalk.

Damian hesitates before he follows you. His muscles tighten the moment he crosses the threshold.

Beyond a short hallway consisting of three flimsy doors, you find the sanctuary. It's laden with over turned or broken pews, stained red carpet, and papers and pamphlets scattered all around.

Damian joins you in the middle of the isle a moment after your entrance, footsteps muffled by the thick red carpet. "The two doors on the end of the hall are bathrooms. I didn't see much there, besides some blood splatter in one of the sinks."

You nod, gaze shifting around the alter. "What about the far end? Have you been in that one yet?"

"No," he answers, "but if the other two were bathroom, it's most likely an office or a kitchenette."

You point to the far end of the sanctuary, at a door looming in the corner. "That's the office, I bet." You turn to face the entrance doors. "Let's check the door in the hall first, that one over there's giving me a bad vibe."

He follows you to hall, but you make him wait by the sanctuary doors.

When you nudge open the ajar door with the toe of your boot, Damian's suspicions are confirmed. A slim white refrigerator, four feet of vinal counter top, and a shallow sink. The only thing out-of-the-ordinary is the rancid stench and the cock-eyed chair by the window.

You dig out a maglight from your messenger bag and click it on. Light floods the dim room as you wave it around, gliding over counter tops and in open cubords. "Nothing in here," you report absently, fingers hooking around the refrigerator handle. You yank it open, just as a precaution.

You gasp suddenly, more out of shock than fright. You puff out your cheeks with the excess air, staring down the red and white mess caught in your flashlight beam with high eyebrows. "Found what's making that smell."

"What?" Damian stalks into the room, posture tense and guarded.

You press the door closed to save him the scaring image of three dead, mutilated chickens and a severed cat head. "Some sacrifices, apparently. Looks like they've been in here for a few days, maybe. A week, at the most."

He tries to look again, but you slam the door too quick and push him out of the room.

You know he's seen far worse, and frankly so have you, but one less thing to pop up in nightmares could make all the difference.

The pair of you make your way back through the hall and down the sanctuary aisle, to the flimsy wooden door at the very back, behind the podium and the alter.

However, your gait hitches a few feet yards away. You stick out your arm to stop Damian.

He looks to you for an explanation, but you don't hear his question.

You're too busy skimming the room with your eyes. The air seems to cool around you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. You mentally recite the hand motions and spell for a barrier rune, just in case.

The streetlight outside flickers six times exactly, before it goes out completely.

The room is considerably darker now, leaving shadows to dance upon every wall, to whisper in your ears, to nip at your ankles.

Your growing paranoia gets the better of you, and you jump closer to Damian as your light darts in the direction of quiet crunch, eyes narrowed.

A gray cat scurries out of the way of your light, skinny and panicky.

You exhaled slowly, light beam passing through the room one more time before you turned back around.

Damian knows better to comment on it. Not that he would have—he just thanks his lucky stars you jumped, too.

You hook your index finger with his before you move forward, beam still highlighting all areas within close proximity to the door.

Shielding rune and defensive spells fresh in your mind, you waste no time in opening the door. You bypass the formality of the knob this time, and decide instead to kick it wide open.

The handle crashes against the wall, thundering echo bouncing trough both rooms. You search the ceiling thuroughly before entering, sure to hit every inch of the textured surface with the beam of your light.

When you are confident there's nothing hiding there, you move past the threshold cautiously. As you tightly swing your light around the room, a story unfolds.

This room, that appears to an office with cheap bookshelves of holy literature and a desk right out of an Ikea magazine, more closely resembled a warzone. Books strung throughout the room, some flipped over, some split open, some with pages in taters, and some with their covers ripped clean off.

The windows on the north and west side are so thick with spiderwebbing fractures, neither of you are able to see through them properly. The carpeting is shredded in random places, as if wild cats had been set loose to ruin it. You look back to the windows, at the curtains, and wonder if that could possibly exactly what's happened here. But with a spotlight on the paintings and pictures on the wall, you decide that cats have nothing to do with it.

You approach one of the paintings slowly, light focused on the face of what you guess is Mother Mary. Your mental check has you listening to Damian's boots crunching on discarded pages as you observe the hollow place where her face should be.

"Look at this."

You turn away from the image at Damian's call. You find him in you beam, crouched in the middle of the room, hunched over an open book, his micro light poised between his thumb and his index finger.

"What is it?" you inquire, crossing the room to lean over his shoulder.

"There are words written in this one." He points to the red, black, and blue circles highlighting specific words.

"It was very swift?" You squint at the page. "Why would you use three different pens for that?"

He shakes his head. "We're investigating a possible demon and you're questioning why somebody would use different pens in a book?"

You roll your eyes once again. "Firstly, you should always assume poltergeist before demon, and secondly, who do you know that would make any kind of mark on a book in a church?"

"Point taken." He stands, waving his light around by the wall you'd come in by. "Closet."

You turn again to find where his light is pointed. "Awesome," you heave, stalking toward the feeble sliding door. You motion Damian away from its direct path, positioning yourself on the opposite side.

In one swift motion, you jerk it open.

"Shit!" You jump away as a man falls out, his head hitting the floor with an awful thud.

"I really hate closets," you hiss, pulling the high neck of your shirt up over your mouth and nose, the stench tumbling out with him.

With his shirt fitting the way it does, Damian is left only with a sneer and his hand.

You narrow your eyes and refocus your beam on the mystery man. With your boot, you roll him over.

Black button down, white collar, brass belt.

"Preacher," you announce. You take a closer look at his face. Bald head, strangely proportioned features. "A weird one, though. Looks more like he belongs in a trenchcoat at a playground."

Damian nods, fearing that if he opened his mouth, he'd have to taste the smell of rotting skin.

"What exactly were you doing here, buddy?" you ask aloud, half expecting an answer. When none comes, you look to Damian again. "I would say it was just straight up murder—maybe a robbery-gone-wrong—but this guy doesn't have any marks.

A look passes over your face, as if you've just reminded yourself of something. "Get me a pencil off the desk."

Damian creeps the short distance back through books and scattered paper in the now pitch black room, relying heavily on his tiny (yet impressively bright) flashlight to keep him from tripping on anything.

At the desk, he reaches across it for a pencil from a plain white cup, but stops short when his gaze snags on a book spread open there.

Thick black lines scrawling across thick, yellowing paper that alarmingly resembled dried skin, thin and black red letters in a language he only vaguely recognized. He could only guess a few words; that one could be blood, this one might be chicken, over there could be human. He knows better than to touch the book at all.

He returns to you quickly, though you're already looking at him. He holds a sharpened No. 2 pencil out to you. "When you're finished with him, there's something you should look at."

You accept the pencil, flipping it in your hand so you were using the eraser for whatever you were planning to do with it. "What is it?"

He watches you gently press the eraser to the preacher's eyelid. His brows furrow, but he doesn't ask. "It's a book. The pages don't look like paper, and I don't recognize the language. It's partly Latin." He grimances as you carefully push one eyelid open. There is no eye, only a round black, coal-like stone. "And some runes, or something alike."

You turned to look over your shoulder at him. "Really?" You look back down at was once an eyeball. You're quiet during your examination, poking your way all around the poor man's face.

Damian stands at the preacher's opposite shoulder, watching from above. He doesn't ask what you're looking for. As whip smart as he is and as quickly as he learns, he gets lost in the centuries-old homemade terms and lack of scientific logic.

Finally, you stand. "He's been possessed," you concur. "The skin's gone cold, so it's been a least a week. And the rot in his mouth is pretty progressed, so it's probably been a little over that." You meet his eyes in the dark, as if you're expecting something.

"I don't have any intent to ask, beloved."

You bob your head with a little smile. "Fair enough. Desk, then?"

"Desk."

You follow him back across the room again. You lean over the surface, pointing the wide beam down on the old book. You kept attentive to how close you were to the edge of the desk, as well as how far your many necklaces and bracelets hung above the miscellaneous items and papers strung about the flat wood.

"This is an old language, one of the original ones the first demonologists and occult studiers used to record everything and communicate with each other—"

"Why did they need a separate language?"

You kept your gaze focused on the open page. "Most serious demonology—outside of Bible stuff—and focused paranormal study started around the same time people were called witches for curing sicknesses, Dame."

"Ah."

"Anyway, I'll stop boring you with the history lesson. It's basically a mashup of Latin, Greek, and little freestyling."

"Can you read it?"

"Yeah, I read stuff like this in the House Of Magic's library pretty often. It's similar to what is used in modern day demonology."

You squint down at the page, scrutinizing the dull lettered lines. Damian noted that you weren't blinking.

"It's . . . It's labeled as an invocation, but it's a summoning." Your eyebrows gather above your nose. "Which is pretty obvious, considering–"

"(Y/N), as much as I adore hearing you talk about the things that interest you, what exactly does it summon?"

You fall silent, eyes darting further down the page, to the two intricate symbols scribed there. Finally, you announce, "Crossroads demon—for making deals. But it doesn't make sense, because crossroads demons don't need this much, uh, drama."

"What does that mean?" A creak echos from the sanctuary. He moves quickly and quietly, back to the door to see what's caused it.

You speak a little louder to be sure he can hear you. "Well, a crossroads ritual is so much simpler than this, and you don't need any kind of rune, symbol, or anything, really. As basically as I can put it, you put a box in the dirt and beg for it to work." You grab your longest necklace in your hand and pull it away from the desk, allowing you to lean closer to the book without the programed stone touching the desk. "And this right here would mean–"

You eyebrows unfurrow immediately. That would mean I summon thee to take my soul. Your eyes dart wildly across the page, rereading and rechecking every letter of the old text.

That isn't the right center for a crossroads demon.

You mentally run through everything but of information you'd compiled since last night, when Tim had shown you the footage.

You bounded down the stairs, Damian on your heels, as you chattered on about Constantine's rotten habits and The House's typical invasions of privacy.

"Speak of the devil." Tim throws you a cocky, yet oh-so-tired grin.

You jump the last three grate steps, landing with a hard thump on the cement. "Close, but not quite," you laughed, sauntering over to join him at the massive blue screen. "What can I do for ya, Trombone?"

His eyebrows slant together in annoyance at the aged nickname. You try to play a trombone one time—one time. "Found this yesterday," he grits. His pinky tags the tab button, just as Damian joins you.

The black and white CCTV clip is taken from a security camera, focused on the building across the street. Nothing seems to be happening.

You lean closer to the screen. Maybe you're missing something? You doubt it's a prank, considering the last time they tried to jumpscare you. Your gaze bounces around to all the windows and the doors, the dark corners and the shadowed strips.

Then, out of the blue, the three streetlights bordering the parking lot and accompanying sidestreet flicker off. Then on again, then off.

You blink. Squint. "Rewind it."

The footage speeds backward a few seconds, then takes proper motion again. You focus on the windows. A shadow moves just inside the door. "Right there," you point at the glass entry doors. "Go back and watch the edge of the left door."

The accelerated decay of the property.

The dead animals in the kitchen.

The intact cross.

The flickering streetlight.

Possessed priest.

This is for something far stronger.

You pull away from the table and shoot forward, nearly tripping over an outstretched arm. "Damian!" you bellow, stumbling out into the sanctuary.

He's halfway down the isle, flashlight swinging to face you in surprise. "What?"

You run through the room to close the gap between you, beam of light cutting through pitch black empty space, peeling back inky air from the ruined room. Paranoia swells in your chest, knowing something was looming in the shadows so close to him.

He subconsciously reaches out and grasps your arm. "What's wrong?"

You're still steadily searching the room with your light. "It isn't a crossroads demon, it's worse, it's bigger, it's meaner. We should go back to The House, regroup, get some tougher stuff."

"What do you mean?" Now he's skimming the room with his light. "What is it?"

You shake your head. "That's the bad part, it wasn't specific, so I don't know for sure."

"For sure. What do you guess it is?"

"Educated guess?" You flick your light behind you. "Fourth ring—bad news."

"Aren't all demons bad news?"

"Not the ones you can reason with."

You both spin on your heels to face the crashing commotion by the entrance. Your light caught it just in time to see pages settle on the ground around a newly over turned pew.

"We're leaving," you state firmly, pushing against Damian, a silent order to move your ass.

His light must have hit every edge of the room as he creeps forward, step by step, toward the entrance of the sanctuary. You walk backward behind him, keeping your eyes from settling on one thing for too long.

When the pannel doors slam shut with enough force to knock the remaining photographs and painting off the wall, you feel the pressure of Damian not only stopping, but jerking back a step against your back.

Your beam settles on the office doors. "The doors shut?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear the lock?"

"Watched it."

"Fuck."

"Shit."

You move your beam to the podium. Then the fractured statue of Jesus nailed to a cross on the furthest wall. The head and arms had been broken off, laying sadly at his sides.

"Damian?"

"Yes?"

"We're going back to the office."

"Obviously." He spins around to stand at your side. "I'm far more comfortable with the remains of the living than the presence of the dead."

"Not really the dead, but I know what you mean."

You lead the way down the main isle, light skimming and skipping through the room as you went. You listen intently, for any sound that might tip you off to intentions or locations. Demons lower (or higher, depending on how you looked at it) than a Sixth Circle require a body to walk the living plane. If you're right, there must be a form of some kind around here some place. A physical body.

You reach out absently, hooking your index finger around his pinky. You've had people and things snatched away in silence before, and you weren't about to let it happen to Damian.

He doesn't say anything. No typical snide remarks or well thought jabs. The first few times he'd accompanied you to an exorcism or a hunt, he'd been just as cocky and arrogant as the day you met him. He'd laughed when you whipped out a canister of table salt.

The third time, though, he'd been pinned to a wall by something he couldn't see or feel. He couldn't fight it, couldn't intimidate it, couldn't distract it.

He never mocked a thing about your practice after that.

Another crash echoes from the left side of the room, drawing both of your attention. Your light finds the broken crucifix, now toppled over and laying across the podium it knocked over on it's way down. Your light lingers.

"Go ahead into the room," you poke a thumb in the direction of the open door. "Set Carl back up in the closet, if you don't mind."

"Carl?" Damian edges his way back to the open door, using your favorite tactic of keeping an eye on him. If he was still talking to you, odds are, he's just fine.

"Yeah, I named the poor guy. Didn't want to offend him with that dead dude on the floor." You creep closer to the crucifix.

"And you chose Carl because. . ?" he pushes the door the rest of the way open, the creak bouncing off the walls, throwing the sound in every direction.

You kick a shredded Bible out of the way. "Just what came off the top of my head," you answered honestly. You shift your gaze from the broken religious symbol to the surrounding area, just to make sure.

"What about Davis?" He sets his little flashlight between his teeth to free his hands. He hesitates, but hooks his hands under the dead man's shoulders, grips his shirt, and lifts him back to a near-standing position.

"No way, look at the stubble of his chin. No Davis would let it get that bad."

He stuffs the body back into the closet with as much grace and pride as he can manage. He shoves the door shut double checks the latch to make sure it doesn't swing open with the added weight. "Mark?"

"No way." You nudge the wooden cross with the toe if your boot. It must weight at least seventy pounds, and it from the six inch industrial screws on the back of it, it was bolted to the wall. "Not with hair that thin."

He shakes his head. What to talk about now? "Find anything out there?"

"Not yet." You crouch, running a hand over the carved robe.

He sweeps the room with his light again. But this time, it catches on the farthest corner from the door.

His heart leaps. His spine stiffens, his blood runs cold.

It's staring right at him.

His mind reels, grappling for something—anything—you've mentioned about dealing with a demon face to face.

He's panicking. Why is he panicking? He works well under pressure, one might even say best. Why now? He feels terror grip his heart, and his breath is coming and going in short, silent bursts. Terror floods his mind—but why?

Why, why, why?

He was raised for this sort of thing, groomed for it even. He's never reacted this way before–

It's a demon, he reminds himself, through muddied thoughts of escape plans and defensive manuevers.

It's got to be messing with him. He remembers you mentioning things like this, both in idle conversation and over sparring.

He does his best to push it away, keep the blood rushing in his ears at a manageable level.

What does he do?

Does he yell for you? Will that startle it, or push it to action? Should he make a break for it? Is there even a chance he could get to you before it gets to him?

What if he takes you from the equation entirely? What can he do? Can he hit it? He can see it now, mostly, at least. What about shielding himself?

"Damian?" Your voice sounds like church bells ringing on a dark and foggy morning.

There's his out, if all else fails. You'll be coming to check on him in a few seconds if he doesn't answer, and he's finding speaking more difficult than usual anyway.

He tears his eyes from the piercing red and orange globes hanging in font of a foggy face. An old, dogeared bible lays on the floor. Surely that would do something.

"Hey, Dame. Everything good?" He doesn't hear anymore movement from you. You sound more focused. "Damian?"

He holds his breath. Counts to five. Releases. Counts to five. Another breath.

"Damian, I swear if you're just too focused to listen to me. . ." Your warning trails off as you draw closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you moving around the corner, coming through the doorway, and then you stop.

He doesn't look away from the thing in the corner. He knows you're looking at it. He knows, because you haven't called his name again.

He nearly jumps and your voice, cold and level. "You nasty bastard."

The thing's glittering orange irises slide slowly to you. The rest if it doesn't move.

He takes the diverted attention to get a better look at it.

It looks like a man—all the pieces are there, the arms, the legs, the hands, the feet—but it just looks wrong. Like. Poorly designed animated character that was meant to resemble a real person, but was just off enough to be nearly unrecognizable.

And the face. It was distorted in an indescribable way. He could almost pick out the details—a nose, a mouth, even eyebrows—but it was like they were just out of sight. Like looking through a foggy mirror, but the air was perfectly clear.

"What brought you to Gotham, then?" you question.

Damian tries to sneak a step backward. You're only a few feet away, and if he can get to you, you'll be able to tell him what to do. Give him something to hit with.

Unfortunately, the discarded papers and books scattered along the floor expel any and every chance of stealth he thought he had.

Orange irises flicker yellow and snap back his way, and he finds himself unable to look away. Panic is starting to rise again when you take two daring steps sideways.

"Hey, what the hell, man? We were having a conversation, you know. It's rude to look away when someone's talking to you." You're only a foot away from blocking him entirely.

It's eyes are back on yours now.

"As I was saying, what brought you 'round this side of town?" Damian sees your hand sliding into your back pocket. "Thought you'd be up in the skyscrapers, ya know, with the big dogs in fat ties with fatter checks." You slide on a pair of knuckles.

Damian shifts his weight. You're about to charge it, he can read it from your body language. As loudly as his instincts are screaming, he knows he'll only be in the way if he stays where he is. His best bet is to at least get out to the sanctuary, so you can get your job done without worrying about where he is.

You're both silent for exactly two seconds. Muscles curled tight, like wild animals waiting for the right time to strike.

Then, in barley a blink, you're leaping forward, words of a dead language flying off your tongue, bring orange shapes he doesn't register encasing your hands. He's swerving behind you, slipping on papers in his rush for the door.

He speeds around the first row of pews, and takes the farthest left right isle. He makes it to the double doors at the back of the room, before discovering that the doors are still very firmly locked. Thankfully, the doors were cheap and easily gave way to Damian's forceful convention.

He shoves one side the rest of the way open, and discovers exactly why such a task was so difficult in the first place.

The dining table from the kitchen had been lodged in the doorjam.

He blows out a breath when the leg catches on the wall of the hallway. It's not going to open without shattering that table leg, which he doesn't have time for.

You let out an angry shout, shoving forward the spinning, glowing sigil you're using to shield yourself from the demon's razor-like fingertips.

You thrust it through the doorway of the office, quickly pinning it down on an upright pew.

Damian swears under his breath and ducks past the doors, opting instead for a more stable place to hold his ground, should things get as bad as they were looking.

The room is nearly pitch black, both his and your flashlights abandoned in the office, providing the smallest amount of light to the most obvious parts of the room. The only other sources of light are your magic and your eyes, both a mesmerizing shade of dark orange, glowing fiercely in contrast to the stale dark air surrounding you.

There were times when those glowing irises were a calming, steadying presence; something to lean against to keep himself grounded.

This is not one of those times.

At the moment, he's hunkered down behind a church pew, waiting for you to tell him to do something, watching sparks of magic fly around the room as you battle against a demon you weren't entirely prepared for. The great room is filled with encantations in a language he doesn't care to understand and ungodly shrills and growls.

Then, he hears a pained shriek so deafening and strangely pitched, his hands involentarily fly up to cover his ears.

The room goes quiet and still, papers settling back on the cheap red carpet, dust finding it's way back down to the wooden surfaces.

He peers over the edge of the church pew once more, eyes flicking through the whole room in a near desperate search for that orange glow. It couldn't have been you that made that noise, could it?

Finally, he finds two tiny, bright orange circles flickering around the room as well. The palms of your hands still have a soft glow to them, in the fuzzy outlines of your veins.

"Damian, where'd you go?" Your voice is level—you aren't worried. You know he didn't go far enough that you couldn't be heard.

It always left him just a bit tender in the chest when you reminded him just how well you knew him. "Right here," he beckons, straightening out and picking his way back across the room to the doors, where the dim beams of the streetlights out side have away his outline.

You start up the isle immediately, eyes still piercing the darkness. "Do you want to go get your light?"

He doesn't answer you right away. "My–? No, I have more at home. What happened to the demon?"

"Killed it," you answer dryly. "Or mostly did, anyway. Either way, we better go before we find out."

He's about to follow you back up the rest of the way to the doors, but stops halfway. "Wait, I do need something from that office."

You turn to ask what is, but he's already running back down the main isle. Your grip tightens on the strap of your messenger bag, the same strap that had been sliced in two at some point during your little skirmish. Eyes dart around the great room. You raise your maglight again, and click it back on. You'd gotten yours from the office, but Damian's was too small for you to waste much time looking for it. You point it after him, and when he vanishes into the mostly dark room, you direct it to the darkest edges of the room. When you're satisfied, you pinch the light between your jaw and your shoulder, drop your bag, and set your hands to work with moving that blasted table out of the way.

You've just about got it completely clear when the sound of the office door reaches you. You turn halfway, just to check. And then, your heart drops along with your flashlight. It feels like the floor's given out from under you when your light catches him.

You start to shout, but the words get caught in your throat. Your hands twitch and suddenly the world seems like it's slipped into slow motion.

Then, your knees are bending and the rubber soles of your boots claw against the carpet. Your rushing toward him, but it doesn't feel fast enough.

Faster, faster, faster.

Your heart is palpitating and your mind is reeling already, and all you can hear is the premonition his screams.

You come to a near-screeching halt in the tiny space between your lover and the charging black mass, fully intending to push him clean to the exit, eyes hardly focused before it happens—

Something hits you, hard, fast, and cold. Your eyes roll back and ice shoots through your veins, you can feel it, and the pain is overwhelming as you stumble backwards with the world spinning around you and—

Damian feels it in his chest before he sees it. Heavy and tight. He spins around, though it takes a measure of courage and willpower, because he has a feeling he knows what's happened, but he doesn't want to see it.

You're a few feet away, crumpled, hunched in on yourself as you sit on your knees, between two intact pews. Your back heaves with every strangled breath. Your hands are out of view, pressed firmly against the rough red in front of you to anchor yourself.

"(Y/N)?" He braves a step or two forward. "What happened?"

You don't answer.

Chills rush over him in waves. The temperature in the air hadn't been in any way warm to begin with, but his breath billows out into the stream of light from the flashlight he'd managed to pick up on his way out of the office. He tries your name again, and this time, you side to your feet.

You don't stand, mind you, so much as levitate gently until your feet are beneath you. You turn very slowly, with jagged and barely controlled movements.

You grin widely at him, but it's crooked and too sharp at the ends. It reaches tour eyes, sure, but really wishes it didn't.

Part 2; but I can't link it because Tumblr is still being a bitch with links. I am so sorry. If you go to profile, it should be the first post until further notice. 🙄

because Tumblr apparently has a limit of 250 text blocks per post

#damian wayne blurb #damian wayne headcannon #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #constantine #john constantine #Quill's Holiday Specials #Halloween special

[froggy-fics]

Long Past Dawn Ch.1

[Aaaah, okay so this is the first chapter of what I hope to be many! The ending is a little rushed but I hope its still enjoyable! Any comments, feedback, and/or advice is greatly welcomed. Also note the oc is nonbinary. This has been proofread by me but I may have missed things!]

WC: 3,054

The downpour outside lulled us into a quiet meditative conversation.Two Americans and two Canadians, a count of four in total, all of us students in search of degrees in education. 

Daniel spoke first, breaking the silence, a talent of his. "So," he started, "why did the rest of you get into teaching? Personally, I just want to work until I get tenure and then wild out, just absolutely go off" he guffawed, turning to another member of our party, Angel.

I hated to look at her as she smiled at the rest of us, her teeth just looked too perfect and I hated them. They were in my uncanny Valley, along with her. "I just, I don't know ya know. Kids are our future and I feel as if it's my calling to nurture that" her too perfect teeth suddenly curtained by her lips as a tight smile made an appearance on her face. 

It's my turn, a panic and sweat washing me in discomfort. "Um, well, I actually don't know. I think I'm just trying to make up for the shitty teachers I had early on in my learning" Clearing my throat I continued on, "I just feel as a mentally ill child I didn't get the care or attention I needed so I want to make up for that" I finished and gave a smile to fake a sense of calm.

Dante, our last compatriot suddenly hitting my knee, "No I feel the same! I feel as though the education system we have as of currently constantly fails those it should be helping and I want to end the cycle of educational neglect!" The words raced from him in a flurry, only to be met with my excited agreement, noise and discomfort from Angel and Daniel. Turning to me he spoke more, "Fabel, you and I, are the only two people here with any pure intent" in a shaming tone that made me chuckle.

Peeking over to a clock in the hostel room we shared the clock read 3:30 am. Our professor for the trip wanted us to stay up and go on a hike sleep deprived for some arbitrary lesson to learn how to cope under stress. Hitting my head off the wall I groaned, I didn't want to be in a foreign country sleep deprived. A shared glance and emotion feel upon us, frustration. We signed up for this, yes, but we felt as if the man who was supposed to teach us meant to belittle us. We all just needed a foreign language credit and all had picked Romanian at our respective schools, thus the event that led to our meeting. Breathing in before I rose to guzzle down another cup of coffee and grabbing the cup Daniel had suddenly flung out. The sound of rain and the smell of coffee was a perfect sleep mixture, unfortunately nothing can be perfect I found as I rubbed my eyes with my hands.

The room we resided in was average I suppose, this being my first hostel experience, plenty of room for the professor but he refused. The bunks were comfortable and the amenities worked so that's all we needed. The carpet was the best part, resembling a movie theater carpet which kept popping up in conversations. Everyone was staring into the center of the room suddenly, thoughts and movement ceased, our moving chests the only sign of life. Breaking my trance I my eyes moved to peer outside the window all of us neglected to close, instead leaving it to people watch and be generally nosey. The town we stayed in was large and seemingly filled with life. The fact that we could stay here and learn more lessons than driving hundreds of miles for a silly hike to stroke some guy's ego suddenly got to me. My chest tightened as I then remembered Daniel and his lack of coffee.

Hours had passed and the dawn was coming in just some hours as we had begun packing for the day. Angel had been seemingly the most affected, refusing to consume caffeine she began to whine to herself as she stumbled about. Daniel and Dante were throwing themselves into each other to aid in waking up even slightly. Embarrassingly, I stood and did theater exercises to help myself wake a bit. Down the hall through the door we could hear a throat clearing and coming towards us, we freezed in anticipation. 

“Good to see you kids awake! I never thought you would’ve been and hoped for a teaching moment” Our professor seemingly lamented, teaching moments his name for public humiliation and being treated like a child. I refused to learn his name, if he wouldn't show respect towards us I wouldn't show any towards him. He starts to move his body like a swiveling fan observing our room. His eyes attempting to find any mistakes, none would be found. We stood, ready for our day with bags filled as he stood like he was the embodiment of the law or something of equal importance. Finally deciding we were of his approval he clasped his hands together he began to speak in his yell-talk style.

"As you may remember me saying all week, today we will be driving to a remote part of the country for a hike. This will teach you leadership, team work, and how to rely on others. Now, this hike won't be easy nor for the faint of heart, but I know you kids should be fine" he finally spit out, his face showing a smile but his eyes betrayed him. His chest rose as he breathed and began to turn, a blessing to us as a group a few moments of reprieve needed. You could almost feel the tension in the room leaving with him. 

Realizing I had been picking at my thumbs the entire time I breathed in and shifted my weight on to my other foot. 

"I don't understand people like that. They go into teaching and act superior off some perceived amount of knowledge" I spoke with a grouchy tone. "You're not fulfilling your duty as a teacher, you're just being a dick" I spat forward as a follow-up.

"And he doesn't even offer constructive criticism, it's just straight public humiliation" Angel grumbled in agreement. Her eyes focused on the floor, brows furrowing as she continued, "he's also just plain rude. Literally has said nothing nice. I can only imagine what people say behind his back about him" she said, finally looking up and shaking her head.

Both Dante and Daniel stood like pillars, hands gripped on the straps on their backpacks. Daniel finally breaks their silence.

 

"He has off vibes, like something about him isn't settling with me" the sentence sends a chill in the room. "He's just - he's rancid. That's all I can say" he finished looking up at the ceiling suddenly.

Dante said nothing and just began to march from the room like a man possessed, we filled behind him reluctantly. The sentence "Fabel Zając faces the music" kept running through my mind. Feeling a tugging sensation I turned to look at Angel who gave a sheepish look, only asked, "Fabel, can I hold your hand? I'm nervous" thankful to have a way to stave off the panic in me rising and the ringing taking over my ears, I quickly agreed and both of us gripped hands. She wasn't a bad girl at all, I just hated her smile. She grew up in a religious home which gave her her constitution, truly you could see she was just a sweet girl. Just awkward with those outside her church. I looked forward again to see Dante's back, I reached up and tapped his shoulder and he turned to look at me as I smiled up at him and gave a wave. He laughed and waved back. Turning back again to look at Daniel, he was looking up at the ceiling of the hallway we walked through, I started to make faces at him until he gave me attention. Angel's giggles quickly gave it and he returned the faces. It brought all of us up as we giggled and leaned on one another in fits. Finally we made it to the main door, we stood and spotted our professor, he stood by a jeep and was messing around in the back. We all took a final breath and stepped out of the hostel into the cold hazy morning.

Shivering as we shuffled towards him, hopeful he would ignore us as we loaded ourselves into the vehicle, Daniel taking the front passenger seat, Dante sitting behind him, I in the middle, and Angel behind the professor. Thankfully, he did ignore us as we all began to text our respective families about our safety and the day ahead of us ensuring them we'd be okay. I shut off my phone and closed my eyes, letting my head back as I heard a grunt and the starting of our engine.

Hours had passed as the sun began to break more, it felt like purgatory. Nothing but static could be heard over the radio which caused an uproar from all members, the one moment all of us truly agreed. The urge to cry hit me, I wanted to be back in the hostel in town amongst people. I had a sinking feeling all morning and it only worsened. Suddenly a pop broke my thoughts as we began to swerve on the road. 

"I don't have a spare" The professor mumbled.

"Excuse me! What do you mean you don't have one!" I snarled out. 

"How could you not!?" Dante continued the line of questioning.

"I mean I don't have one, I had to make room for other bodies!" The professor spat.

"Dude, what's your problem? You've been a dick since we got here and now you endanger us?" Daniel then shouted over us all. 

Angel in a moment of complete stress shreaked, almost destroying our eardrums.

We then sat in silence for a moment, all of us thinking.

"We're hours from anywhere aren't we?" Dante finally spoke.

"Yes, Dante, we are" The professor huffed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We'll just have to walk to find help, I'm sure it shouldn't be long" he followed by unbuckling his seat belt.

Angel, following his lead, swung her legs over the ground and hopped from the jeep. Daniel rolled his eyes, popped his knuckles and followed. Dante looked at me in the rear view, he put his head back, shook it and also followed them. I sat and finally before they were too far my resolve diminished and I jumped out and ran after them. 

Hours had passed, all of us had blisters, and we had multiple arguments until we stumbled upon the outside of a village. Huffing for air I silently thanked the universe as I bent to put my hands on my knees, my chest burning. The buildings and fencing looked old, as if the people were stuck in time; appearing abandoned and void of residents, our professor began to march in yelling for help. The pit in my stomach grew as we all shared a glance and followed despite our better judgment.

Panic began to rise in my chest as I turned to my group mates after finding myself in the front. The looks I turned to see were full of fear, as I assumed mine was a match. I held my hand out to Dante as I had found myself closer to him, "let's hold hands, I'm scared" he nodded and grasped my hand quickly. Every structure was made of wood and pathways would seemingly lead to dead ends and blocks. After a never ending amount of complications and no one our professor let out a roar of frustration. 

This is where the trouble truly began, the roar back we never expected or saw in our future. They sounded animalistic and primal, nothing a human could ever produce. All our eyes locked in that moment, the calm before a storm. My legs took over me and I began to run praying that my speed came to be like Hermis. Barreling into an empty home I looked for any place I could hide, whimpers and whines escaping my throat as I heard noises only comparable to dogs, but much larger and monstrous. Cramming myself under a bed and snuggling to the wall I waited, hand over mouth shaking with ragged breathing. Closing my eyes I let go of the tears I had been holding in allowing myself to let my mind wander to the worst possibilities about my friends, how my pets wouldn't understand, how painful my end would be all causing my body to assault me with tears. Finally, the noises subsided slowly as I could hear the beasts running further into the village. Breathing in huffes of air I steel myself with resolve and crawl agonizingly slow from my spot. I crouch and make for the door, creeping to it and cracking it open like a cold one with the boys, I peer and think of my options, deciding on finding my way back to the gate at the opening of the village. I dashed out and scramble to my right, realizing quickly I'm lost, I just keep running.

Luck wasn't on my side as I found out, finding myself at the edge of the village, during my run a few of the creatures circled back causing me to scramble for cover. The attempt was unsuccessful and one had dug a claw in my leg, slicing the meat. Still I kept running and hiding, at one point I dove for another house, barricading the door and breaking through the floor to run out from below the house as they were on top. I had only made it to the center of the village before my body gave up leaving me on the ground, my blood pooling around me as I fought for consciousness. As the world faded a shadow formed in my vision accompanied with boot steps, a cold hard object lifted my chin and moved my head back and forth as a hum met my ears.

"You're tough, you'll be useful" followed by a chuckle caught my attention. Useful, for what? The question didn't stay long as my head finally became cloudy and I left reality. 

The stick of a factory caused me to stur in a groggy state. It was a soft hum, the machinery reminding you of its presence. My head hurt and the smell of oil and metal not helping in the thumping. The mattress I felt under my hands was thin enough to bring my attention to the springs of the frame. I grunted as I forced myself to sit up, finding my wounds covered and as I'd hoped stitched. I let my body fall back and slightly bounce as I began to cry and rock. I rolled to be on my side and hug myself as I try to choke back my noises not knowing what other danger I could be in. Suddenly the sound of footsteps broke my thoughts and caused my heart to leap. Pulling the covers over my head like a child I burrowed underneath hoping to feign sleep. Wiping my eyes and nose I try to control my breathing, I lay as still as I can and wait, the steps getting closer causing the beating in my ears to grow as my chest restricted and panic set in causing goosebumps to cover my body. 

"You're not asleep" I heard followed by a chuckle as tears sprang to my eyes again, I was going to be sick. "C'mon and quit your hiding" despite sounding like a request I could tell it was an order as I snaked my arm to the top of the blanket as quickly as my shaking body could manage. It wouldn't be that difficult of a task as I'd learn, the blanket being ripped from me. I threw my arm over my face and withdraw into a ball, similar to how I learned as a child during tornado drills, just on my side. It must've been funny to my capture as he burst with a chuckle. 

"I won't hurt you, after all look at you, you already look half dead." 

"Promise?" I sound like a child, I could only assume the lycans he mentioned were what attacked earlier, and as for the bitch I hadn't a clue nor a care.

After a snort a reply was given, "I won't make promises for later, but for now we'll see." It wasn't promising, but it was all I had.

I unfurled myself with a whimper, not realizing just how much it would hurt after my sudden movements. Slowly I rolled over to observe my savior and capture. He was tall or at least from this angle he was, salt and pepper beard and hair with what looked like a leather cowboy hat adorning his head, a trench coat and combat boots. My first thought was he must be a military larper of some sort, part of me fighting a laugh as I managed to rub my eyes and groan. The thing stopping me in my tracks was the giant metal hammer, no regular person could use such a thing causing my fear to spike once again. The grin he gave was full of malice and looked predatory, the inability to see his eyes only added to his aura. The full realization of the situation hit me as I freely began to cry as he studied me. I could die here or worse with this wolf left to lick up what I leave, what proof did I have that he wasn't already planning on it. Shaking my head as I tried to get out anything but sobs I found him laughing at me again, seeming to enjoy my response of overwhelmed fear to him. 

"You'll be perfect!" He declares, "finally I can get rid of that bitch." He says voice shaking with rage as he bares his teeth like a dog. My fate seemingly sealed as all I could do was let myself freely weep and a stranger laughed at me.

#heisenberg x oc #oc fic #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #resident evil #resident evil village #re 8 #re 8 fanfic #fanfic #canon x oc