#and the retainers would run shrieking

[pseudepigraphon]

sibling honor

(image description under the cut due to length. pardon for that!)

A comic of humanized Hollow Knight characters, all in black and white except for a dash of red with a single source.

The swish of a bright red dress around scampering legs, quiet giggles, the cheeky grin on a little face: down an arcade of gothic arches runs a young princess Hornet, dressed in her best royal finery, her hair all done up under a double-horned hennin. She passes by statues of knights between each arch, with flowered branches growing up from their long, jamb-like carved forms. She smiles wider, elated to have gotten away with mischief, as she passes by a knight statue not between two arches but in one. She runs, then--

YANK! She's pulled up by the back of her cloak like a kitten by the scruff of her neck. "HEY!" She shouts. "Who--"

She pauses, eyes wide. Her voice dies down. Plucking her up from the ground, leaning over out of the arch with a stony look on their face, is the knight under the arch. Loose chunks of their hair flow over their chestplate. They are not, in fact, a statue.

Hornet flails and scrabbles in the air. "LET GO! I'LL BITE!" She shrieks.

The knight looks at her. Without a change in expression, they began turning and walking.

Hornet startles badly at that, falling practically limp. "Wait no--" she pleads, hands on her cheeks. "Don't take me back to the retainers, please, please, please!" She looks up at them pleadingly. "They'll be so mad, then mother will be so mad, and-- wait a second--"

She properly looks at them as they hold her in the air. She recognizes that long face, too pale to be properly human, or half-spider like her. She recognizes that horned helmet with the three spikes on each horn.

"I... I know you," she says slowly.

The epiphany comes to her and she leaps out of the knight's hand and leaps onto their shoulder, supporting herself with one pair of hands and clasping at the knight's cheeks with the other. "YEAH! I DO!" She cries, elated. "YOU'RE THE HOLLOW KNIGHT!"

She beams at them. "And that means we're siblings!"

The Hollow Knight returns her look with that same blank stony visage.

She gestures flippantly, her smile chilling out. "And--" she declares-- "that means you can't tell on me. Sibling honor, y'know."The Hollow Knight looks at her for a long moment. Lifts her by the underside of her arms off of their shoulder.

"Well?" She asks. They keep looking. Perhaps they would have been deliberating, if they were not a hollow vessel.

Far down at the end of the arcade, voices can clearly be heard coming from outside, the double doors wide open.

Everything rushes to the Hollow Knight at once. With a quick and lashing whip of their cloak, they drop Hornet and conceal her. "HEY!" She cries indignantly as they do so. "WHAT?!"

Two retainers, donned in find garb, walk down the hallway, talking about this and that. As they approach the Hollow Knight, standing still and straight and silent by the wall, they both slow.

"Ah, knight," says one retainer, looking up at them with a haughty expression. "Have you... by any chance... seen Hornet, daughter of Herrah, pass down this hall?" They ask with a pleasantly average smile, as if they are glad the Hollow Knight cannot ask why they do not know where she is.

It takes the Hollow Knight a moment to move. Slowly one hand leaves the hilt of their sword, making their cloak furl and swish, revealing a gloved forearm and a segmented elbow. They point further down the hall.

The retainer smiles, while the second one behind them has been sending the Hollow Knight a sour look. "Ah, I see," the retainer says. "Thank you."

The two depart quickly further down the arcade of flowers and statues until their statures are small, continuing to chatter all the while. The Hollow Knight watches them as they go.

They slip a hand down to give a thumbs up to Hornet, who is hiding most sneakily at the back of the Hollow Knight's cloak. She holds onto their cloak and gives a delighted and mischievous smile.

#hollow knight #hk gijinka #hornet #the hollow knight #newt art #newt comics #AUGHGHG i did this in like the middle of the night bc thats when i got the idea and motivation lmao #no regrets but still

[smuttysabina]

The Most Horniest Game

(Male Reader x Yeji 1750 Words) TAGS: Reverse non-consensual sex, some blood and violence, creampies, light drug use, predator/prey dynamic, dirty sex

(This is a silly parody of the short story: The Most Dangerous Game, probably one of the more... spicy stories I've written, so yeah check the tags and enjoy!)

To say you were excited to be joining an Itzy "Special Event", would be an understatement; but your joy had somewhat diminished since the start of this misadventure. Dropped off in the middle of a grassy glade with scores of your compatriots, you were greeted by staff, who filled you in on the details. Put simply, Yeji would be hunting you, and if you managed to retain your seed by the end of the time limit... you would be amply rewarded. Bemused, you and the others foolishly waited for Yeji herself to appear, misunderstanding the instructions entirely. It was only after witnessing her brutally fucking the life out of a poor fan that you realized your error; Yeji was not interested in mundane sex, she was chasing something far more exotic...

So you had fled, sprinting into the trees with the anguished yet ecstatic screams of your fellow fan ringing in your ears. It had been a week since that horrifying occurrence, and you had only seen Yeji twice since then. Once from a distance, and the second time from far too close for comfort, hidden amongst the bushes. You watched her hunting down a fan, stalking him like a deer before shooting him in the thigh with an arrow. Bounding forward, Yeji had taken him then and there in the dirt, wrenching his pants off and mounting him with glee. She had beaten back his struggles, cruelly pinning him and responding to his resistance with increasing violence until the deed was done. Finished with the fan, Yeji had eagerly grabbed her bow once more and crept off away from your hiding place, her cunt leaking a thick trail of semen.

Since then you had kept to the deeper parts of the forest, living off of what emergency rations you could scrounge; evidently the staff had made sure that starvation would not be what ended you. Your clothes grew ever more dirty as the days passed, and you reeked of fear and paranoia, ever wary of being found. But now it was growing difficult to find supply caches, and the periodic shrieks of despair had grown far and few between; so out to the edges you must go. Slinking through damp earth and ferns, you reach the edge of an open knoll, and spy the glint of a backpack near the apex of the slope. You ready yourself, building up the courage and energy to make the climb as swiftly as possible. Then something slams into your back, sending you sprawling into the cold mud, driving the breath from your lungs. Terror grips your heart as you look back, and find Yeji standing above you. She is nearly as filthy as you are, stained with sweat and dirt and blood and cum, yet her arrogant stance displays her unbowed superiority. Her outfit has been reduced to shreds, and a line of dried blood leads to a nasty scab upon her forehead, it seems somebody had put up a fight. A sadistic smile touches Yeji's lips as she readies her bow, and she lets out a purr, "You have 30 seconds. Run."

Skittering along the ground to pick up speed, you regain your footing and are soon pounding up the hill like your life depended on it. Which it just might. Your heart pounds like drum as adrenaline courses through your veins, your body burning through itself to aid your escape. As you reach the summit, you stoop to snag the backpack full of supplies, you made it- A sharp pain erupts from your leg, causing you to stumble, but your body pushes you onwards to freedom... Numbness spreads with sickening rapidity, and once again you find yourself face down on ground, groaning in agony. Your will to live is strong however, and you begin to crawl down the other side of the hill, if you can just make it back into cover... A boot slams into your back, pinning you like a bug, Yeji had finally caught you, as you knew she eventually would. She kicks you over, smirking down at you, a depraved Artemis considering her most recent prey.

Yeji would not take you without a struggle though, and you lash out at her as she descends upon you. She grunts in pain, taking your blows and returning in kind, her fists hammering into your sides to subdue you. The issue was never in doubt, and soon you lay vulnerable to her every whim; breathing hard, she squats on top of you, leaning close.

"Feisty. I like that in a man, so many of you just beg for mercy instead of fighting back, its pathetic. A few of you even tried to surrender to me, as if that would save them; they were lucky I let them keep their worthless balls. So you had better continue to satisfy me, if you don't want to end up ruined..."

With that Yeji hauls your pants down, revealing your unwashed hard-on to the cloudy skies, grotesquely eager for sex. As she readies herself for penetration, Yeji blandly explains that the arrow she hit you with was filled with a mixture of numbing agent and aphrodisiac, to make sure you stayed in place while she enjoys you. Which partially explains your dick's excitement, but the rest is caused by your overwhelming dread of what's about to happen. Fear is a potent aphrodisiac... Yeji lines up your filthy cock with her equally soiled pussy, already dripping with excitement. As she starts to slide it in however, you slam yourself upwards, hammering your cock deep inside of her in a fresh attempt to escape. Yeji seems to have expected as much however, and she wrestles you back down as you buck like an unbroken horse beneath her. Pinning your arms down, she slaps you repeatedly to subdue you as she rides you like an expert, taking every thrust with gusto. Yeji starts to grinds her hips as she fucks you, relishing every inch of your grimy dick as she approaches orgasm. With a grunt she cums on your cock, spasming as pleasure shoots through her beautiful body.

Its all the distraction you need. Shoving Yeji off of you, you push between her flailing legs to force yourself inside of her. The idea of fucking her hard enough to make your escape crosses your mind, but your primordial instincts start to bleed that into a simple need to breed this girl. After all, your seed must get passed on before you, well, pass on. So you desperately plow Yeji as she writhes, beating back her attempts at stopping you before gripping her throat tight. You mate like animals in the dirt, fucking each other with wild abandon, focused solely upon the supreme act of impregnation. Yeji's eyes widen in shock and lust, her legs scissoring down around your waist to pin you against her. With a mighty groan you creampie Yeji, filling her foul cunt with a weeks worth of thick seed, her hands clawing down your back as she takes it all. But your grip does not slacken around her throat, and Yeji's bloodshot eyes narrow, one hand snapping upwards to force your chin up. You feel the sharp coldness of a knife against your throat, pressing deep enough to draw blood; and you slowly unclench your hands.

Yeji grins up at you, "Feisty." Her fist crunches against your face, driving you off of her and sprawling onto the grass. In a flash you are on her again, madly fighting for control of the knife, as you and Yeji wrestle in the muck. The blade spins into the mud in the same moment you send her crashing down besides it. But maddeningly, instead of reaching for your freedom, you instead give in to the desire burning within you. With a snarl you mount Yeji from behind, forcing her face into the dirt to subdue her as you plow her pale, perky ass. Hissing like a cat, her arms flail back at you, until you pin them against her back, never relenting with your thrusts. In punishment you viscously spank Yeji, hitting her butt until it is bruised and red from your abuse. Her pussy clenches tight around your shaft, dragging you deeper and deeper inside of her until you can no longer resist her cunt's greedy craving. Your second load spews into Yeji, painting her cervix as she spasms around your dick, joining you in orgasm. With a sigh you pull out of her, letting your cock flop out of the warm confines of an idol's fuck hole. Suddenly exhausted, you collapse onto your side, your breaths irregular as you try to recover from your madness.

But your savage lover is not constrained by any such weakness, and once more Yeji stands over you. Rolling you over onto your back, she kneels on top of you and in a repeat of what felt like hours ago. She is even more disheveled now though, with grass in her hair, mud caking one of her cheeks and blood running from a nostril. With almost gentle smoothness, Yeji drags her hunting blade across your cheek, shallowly carving her initials in a looping pattern.

"Well now that was fun, but surely you can keep it up, right? Don't tell me your just a two-shot chump who can barely please a woman properly. Don't worry though, I have my ways to keep you going, feel free to scream while its happening, it excites me greatly..."

After what feels like an age Yeji is finally done wringing out what pleasures she can from your ravaged body. Rising from her perch atop your now useless dick, she stares down at you with something approaching affection. Your seed drizzles from her gaping pussy, anointing your fallen manhood with the fruits of its own labor. Yeji tosses something metal onto your chest, as she gathers up her scattered belongings. Your mind fuzzily interprets that it is a beacon of some sort, calling for pickup; you have been judged worthy of retrieval. Yeji calls back to you as she prepares to set off down the slope, her posture still full of confidence.

"There's a fan meet in 3 weeks, I expect to find you there, and you had better fuck me as well as you did today, understood?"

It wasn't a question, and Yeji stalks off, already focused on tracking down her next prey.

Truly she is hunting the Most Dangerous Dicks.

#yeji smut #itzy smut

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (VI) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N goes looking for Regulus. Umbridge's spectacular rise and fall are overshadowed by the group's mission to the Department of Mysteries.

Part V / Part VII / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant. Regulus isn't in most of the chapter, but the events that occur are crucial to the story line.

You didn’t head to the dining hall for dinner that night. After sitting on your windowsill in a state of disarray until darkness blanketed over the castle grounds, you realized that Regulus didn’t intend on returning anytime soon. 

If ever. But you brushed that thought aside as soon as it surfaced; you didn’t want to mull over the possibility until you were absolutely certain, and you weren’t going to be unless Regulus told you to your face. 

Curfew would sweep into the night any moment now, so you made a decision. 

Startling up from your stupor, you quickly grab Regulus’ portrait frame and your wand, pacing out of your dorm and the common room. Many sent you furtive glances, intrigued by your determination, while others full-body turned as if tempted to warn you against toeing the line for curfew. 

However, it seemed that their words were caught in their throats after catching a glimpse of the blood-stained bandage around your hand. It was clear that you were aware of the consequences of breaking the rules, and you just hoped that you wouldn’t run into Umbridge on your walk. 

You wondered what would happen if she caught you. Surely, she wouldn’t use the quill on you again, but you couldn’t rule out the wandering thought that she might just test out a potion by pouring it down your throat. 

You truly couldn’t wait for her to run back to her post at the Ministry. 

Walking along the cold castle corridors, you cast a silent lumos and bring up the bulb of light to scan the collection of portraits around you. Many of the portraits hissed at the brightness, whispering furiously to usher you away. You didn’t pay any mind to their protests, eyes darting around frantically to try and find Regulus. 

You knew that portraits could wander into other portraits located in the same building, so that narrowed down his whereabouts. Unfortunately, Hogwarts happened to be a proprietor of hundreds of valuable portraits–so Regulus could be anywhere.

Growing restless as hot frustration pervades your chest, your shoulders sag as you stop in defeat. Standing in the middle of the corridor, your wand resting by your side, you turn your head up to the ceiling. It felt like a million thoughts were whirring in the back of your brain, yet every single one evaded your mental grasp. 

It was overwhelming. There were too many conflicting thoughts and emotions coursing through you. Unconsciously patting the vacant frame in your pocket, you begin to slowly walk forward into the darkness, no real destination or plan in mind. 

It was likely past curfew now, and you imagined that you’d already be halfway down to the shrieking shack if you had Harry’s invisibility cloak on you. You didn’t want to stay in your dorm, every inch of your side of the room was infused with the memory of Regulus. 

You wanted to be somewhere where you could forget. Somewhere that took your mind off of Voldemort’s antics. Somewhere where you could stop stewing over the absurdity of your feelings and attachment to Regulus–a portrait. 

Merlin, you weren’t even sure how much of him was human. What did he retain? Was he real? Yes. Maybe. You didn’t know. But it was giving you a headache. 

Maybe him leaving was good. You needed to sort out your feelings and confusion. 

Suddenly, you hear two pairs of footsteps echo around the walls. Loud clicking and uneven stomps. You had grown accustomed to hearing those two walks. Umbridge and Filch. Scrambling further down the hall, you quickly disperse your lumos as you reach a turn in the corridor. 

As you throw yourself against the stone wall, you peer from around the corner to see a faint light along with two figures. They stop just yards away from your position in the darkness, and you hear Umbridge begin to order Filch around, “These as well. They must go at once!” 

Of course, he was doing her bidding. You were pretty sure he had a school boy crush on her. 

Furrowing your brows, you watch attentively as Filch begins to lift the portraits off the walls, shaking them to the side to empty them. Shock paralyzes your body as he continues to move down the frames, savoring the loud protests echoing from the other paintings. 

Umbridge looks downright pleased by Filch’s compliance, simply making a noise of approval before spinning on her heel and strutting back from the direction they both came from. 

This was madness. First, performing Ministry evaluation on teachers, now dictating what kind of decor was appropriate? But it didn’t make sense, why would the Ministry want all of the castle paintings removed? Making Hogwarts a barren institution did very little for them. 

Quickly straightening up from your huddled position, you begin to walk down the dark corridor, eyes partially accustomed to the dimness now. There was no way you could cut past Filch now, so going back to the dorms was completely out of the question. Perhaps, you could just spend the night in the Room of Requirement. 

As you quietly navigate through the castle, a sudden epiphany strikes you. Stopping in your tracks, your mouth parts in dumbfoundedness as you realize that the Ministry does not care about the castle paintings. Umbridge taking them down was out of her own fear, and as a show of power–something she would have never done without explicit permission. 

Dumbledore would never allow the paintings to come down. Which means the Ministry did something to usurp Dumbledore. 

Merlin. Was he being punished for the D.A.? If so, Umbridge was now the reigning head of Hogwarts. 

And Harry didn’t know. 

Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, you pick up your pace towards the Room of Requirement as you process the revelation. As you quickly approach the wall in your distraught state, you let your mind slip to the first thought screaming at you in your head. 

I need to find Regulus. 

The large wooden doors appear with a muted crackling, the door handles protruding out just large enough for you to distinguish in the darkness. Quickly swinging open the door, you don’t process the sight in front of you until the door is shutting behind you with a click. 

You are rooted to the spot for what seems like hours, taking in the familiar sight in front of you. This seemed to be a cruel joke, but the magic doesn’t lie, your magic seemed to sing in harmony with the room just as it did over the summer. 

The disappearing room at Grimmauld Place was right in front of you. No. Just the disappearing room. It didn’t seem to be truly tied to Grimmauld Place if it appeared at Hogwarts. 

Inklings of warm magic flowed throughout the dusty room, entangling with your cooler magic. Earlier, you thought of a place where you could find Regulus. Did that mean that he somehow was in the disappearing room? 

Closing your eyes, you concentrate on reaching out to the magic in the room. You had spent enough time with Regulus’ portrait to grow familiar with the feeling of his magic. If he were in the room, you would be able to tell. 

The cool stretch of your magical core blanketed the room, but gradually receded as you realized you couldn’t feel Regulus’ warmth. Oddly enough though, you felt something akin to Regulus’ magic, almost like a faint wisp of magic tied to the room. 

What could it all mean?

Your escapade brought more than you could have bargained for. The information was overloading your brain, and you slowly willed your legs to move around the cluttered room. 

Yes, this was truly the disappearing room, not a fib version conjured up by the Room of Requirement’s magic. 

There was time to kill, meaning you could finish exploring the expanse of the room’s items. Over the summer, you were too engrossed with bonding with Regulus to try and sift through the items, and you weren’t sure you’d get a window of opportunity quite like this again. 

Running your eyes along the room, the familiar dresser you attempted to investigate the first time you accessed the room caught your attention. Slowly reaching over to pull out the bottommost drawer, you hesitate for a beat as if anticipating for Regulus to magically appear and ask you what you were doing like he did the first time. 

When nothing happens, you suppress a heavy sigh of disappointment. Pulling at the brass knob in defeat, your eyebrows stitch together as the drawer’s contents reveal themselves. 

The first to catch your eyes is an expanse of gloomy colors, painted delicately to capture the details of an ashen cliffside, strokes of navy and sapphire paint overlapping to create waves. In the right corner of the canvas, signed in the peaks of a wave, a simple R.A.B beams up at you. 

Regulus Arcturus Black. 

The painting was so finely detailed that you could have mistaken it for a photograph. 

Under the oceanside painting, you realize that dozens of canvases occupied the drawer, evidently all belonging to Regulus. 

It felt like you were intruding on his privacy, so slowly, you pushed the drawer shut and tried to erase the sight of his vivid paintings from your mind. Taking another once-over of the room, you huddle against one of its corners, resting your head on your knees. As your eyes grew heavier, and you slipped into the void of unconsciousness, one last silent thought burned at the surface of your brain.

Regulus stored those paintings in here while he was still alive. He’s been here at one point in time. 

You’re nudged awake by an aching in your lower back, body stiff from the position you fell asleep in. Unfortunately, there was no telling how much time had passed since you went to sleep, so it was better to leave sooner than later. 

Stretching your sore muscles and stiff joints, you quickly smooth down the wrinkles in your shirt, tightening your tie. Luckily, you didn’t go exploring in your sleep wear the night before. Reaching for the crystal door knob, you pause and take in the sight of the room one last time. 

Until next time. Your bittersweet farewell left a sour note in your chest as you were forced to return to reality. 

Quickly exiting the room, you swing your head furiously side to side in order to scan for people. Releasing a breath of relief, you realize the corridor was desolate. Facing one of the grand glass windows, you realize that it was around sunrise. Good, there was time for you to sneak back to your room before your dorm mates woke up. 

As you padded through the passageways, you realize that Filch managed to strip away every single portrait from the castle walls overnight. He was surely dedicated, but now you were incredibly anxious about Regulus’ whereabouts. 

In the spur of your tornado of thoughts, you suddenly are struck with a realization that has you loudly gasping and suddenly sprinting to your dorm room. 

Today was the first day of your O.W.L exams. Oh you were nominally, extraordinarily fucked. 

As you sit in Umbridge’s class, quill in hand, you briefly amuse yourself with your thoughts as you stare down at the paper in front of you. You had almost skipped breakfast in favor of last minute cramming, but your dorm mates practically hauled you to the dining hall, reprimanding you good-heartedly about your absence during dinner the night before. 

Question 7. What is the incantation for the tongue-tying curse?  

Sweet Merlin. Sifting through your mind, you curse yourself as you realize that there were a lot of holes in your memory. Your stress and anxiety over Regulus seemed to impede on your mental capacity. Think. Mutterwutter? No, that’s not it. Mibblewimbble!

Silently cheering at your victory, you go to write the answer, but a distant rumble pulls you from your concentration. Lifting your head up in confusion, you note that everyone was now distracted because of the noise. 

Tilting your head to the side, you briefly make eye contact with Umbridge as she hurriedly goes to investigate the source of the disruption. 

One moment there is a gaping silence as everyone waits with bated breath, the next, the twins are flying in on their brooms, scattering your test papers in the air. You’re unable to contain your laugh of wonder as they proceed to chuck sticks of fireworks over your heads, bursts of colorful sparks clouding the ceiling arches. 

Oh, Mrs.Weasley is going to be so pissed.

Soon, you’re joining Harry and Ron’s side as you watch a firework dragon chase Umbridge towards the doors of the classroom. As the dragon explodes around her stout figure, the sharp sound of shattering glass cuts through the noise of firework explosions. Umbridge freezes in shock as the frames of her educational decrees come crashing down from the walls. 

Splints of wood surround the furious woman and you’re snorting a laugh as you take in her ashen state. 

Oh, how the cookie crumbles. 

Grabbing Harry’s hand, you don’t look back as everyone in the class rushes outside to follow the Weasley twins, cheering at your professor’s karma. Amidst the thunderous noise of clapping and laughter, you’re snapped from your excitement as Harry makes a choked noise next to you, beginning to sway on his feet. 

“Harry?” Your voice comes out as a mere whisper. 

He seems unaware of your panic, slowly falling to the ground, eyes wide in fear and shock. You scramble to kneel in front of him, grabbing at his shoulders as he breathes heavily and seems to look through you. 

Another vision from Voldemort. Of course, the bastard had to spoil every happy memory Harry had. 

The few minutes seem to blur together, one moment Hermione and Ron were crouching next to you, the next, you were rushing up deserted stairs with the trio as Harry frantically explained his vision. Your stomach churns at the thought of Sirius being in danger, having been captured by Voldemort of all people. You weren’t exactly close with the man, but he was Harry’s family and Regulus’ brother, so you did care to a great degree for his safety. 

“What if Voldemort meant for you to see this? What if he’s only hurting Sirius to try and get to you?” Hermione’s words come out breathless, but firm, trying to ground Harry to reason. 

“What if he is? I’m just supposed to let him die? Hermione, he’s all the family I’ve got left.” You find yourself agreeing with Harry’s words, but you also know you could very well be marching to your death because of this vision. 

The conversation leads to the formulation of a shifty plan, something you were already used to dealing with, having been friends with the three for so long now. As you all break into Umbridge’s office to access the floo network, your heart nearly stutters to a stop as Umbridge’s sharp voice interrupts your mission and punctuates just how screwed you all were. 

Damn, you forgot to check to see if the room was warded. 

You gave little care to her prattling as she pushed Harry into a chair, members of the Inquisitorial Squad holding you and your friends by your collars like wet dogs. Though, your attention snaps to Umbridge once she slaps Harry, berating him for his dishonesty. Merlin, even Draco shifted away in shock. 

God, where was Rita Skeeter when you actually needed her?

Your mental cries for help only increased in severity once Professor Snape came barreling through the doors, sneering down on Umbridge as she requested the use of Veritaserum on Harry. 

Merlin, she’s lost the plot. 

It seemed that the trio’s influence rubbed off on not only you, but a couple of your other (usually reasonable) friends as well. It was merely half an hour after Umbridge tossed you out of her office when the four of you, Luna, Neville, and Ginny were convening on the bridge, conceiving another, probably awful, plan. 

If Voldemort and his death eaters didn’t get you first, the Ministry surely would toss you to the dementors for trespassing in the Department of Mysteries. Reaching in your pocket to toy with Regulus’ frame, you nervously try to run through a back up plan in case everything spiraled into disaster (which it most likely would). 

Harry’s scouts in action, once again. Though, you’d do it all over again for him, he didn’t deserve to shoulder the burden alone. 

But if you died, you’d never get to say goodbye to Regulus, and no one would know about his portrait. 

He’d be alone again. 

That left you all but one choice. You couldn’t die, even if that meant having to kick Voldemort where the sun doesn’t shine in order to escape. 

“Luna, I love you, but if I fall off and die, I’m going to be quite miffed.” Your words come out playful, but you were being completely serious as you try to suppress a wave of nausea once she suggests flying on thestrals in order to get to the Ministry.  

Couldn’t you all have a normal day for once in your life? 

Forget a career. You’d just write an autobiography about your adventures after you graduate. You could be the next Gilderoy Lockhart–except without all the lying and felonies.  

Surprisingly, you didn’t slip off or faint on the journey to the Ministry, even when you got lightheaded as your thestral suddenly dove down once you were nearing your destination. 

That’s a win in your books. 

You find yourself fiddling with your wand as you all clambered into one of the Ministry elevators, adrenaline suddenly weaning away as unease enveloped your body. Tilting your head to look up at the elevator ceiling, you have little time to panic as you feel a hand land on your shoulder. 

Turning your head to the side, you raise an eyebrow at Luna’s soft smile, “Don’t worry, he is always watching over you.”

Mouth falling open at the girl’s ominous words, you can only squeak out a small response, “Him? As in God?”

She shakes her head in amusement, leaning over to quietly whisper in your ear, “The one who is always with you, in your pocket. The nargles told me. They say he’s a strange one, special magic. I can see it too, all around your ring.” 

Shifting your shoulder to study her in shock, your hand instinctively slaps against your jacket pocket, the frame pressing against your palm. 

As the elevator dings, Luna loops her arm in yours, “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

Releasing a breath of exhaustion, you simply pat her hand and whisper a small, “Thanks.” You’d question her uncanny abilities at another hour, for now you just hoped you’d all survive to see the next sunset. 

As your group warily files into the hallway, you take a moment to appreciate the interior design, intrigued by the design choice to have floor-to-ceiling black tiles.  

Understandment dawned on you though, once your group entered through the hallway door, entering a vast room of high shelves, spanning hundreds of feet high, so far that it seemed to disappear into the darkness. As you peer over Neville’s shoulder, you realize that the shelves seemed to go on for hundreds of rows. 

It seemed that the Department of Mysteries was going for a grand theme of monotony. Fascinating stuff. 

Casting a small lumos, you trek next to Luna as your group walks further down the aisle, Harry soon breaking away to rush and see if Sirius was anywhere around (being tortured and whatnot). Luckily, Sirius was nowhere to be found. Unluckily, you had an eerie suspicion you were now all trapped like rats in a metal cage. 

Harry reaches to pick up a small orb of fog, a familiar voice beginning to croak a prophecy as he holds the sphere tightly. That voice. You knew that voice, and apparently so did Hermione as you see her cringe from the corner of your eye. 

Bloody hell, Professor Trelawney was responsible for Harry’s prophecy? You had no idea the woman was an actual seer, after all, Luna gave her a run for her money. 

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice is quiet but taut with panic, a sound concerning enough to have your group following her gaze towards the darkness. Slowly, a masked figure breaks through the wall of black.

A death eater. 

“Fuck. It’s a trap.” Your words come out breathless and you spin on your heel to check your surroundings. Not being able to identify any other threat, you turn back towards the approaching death eater just in time for them to pull out their wand and disperse their mask. 

Fuck, even worse. Not just any death eater, it was Lucius Malfoy of all people. Of course, Voldemort just had to send in the most insufferable, bigoted–wait. Was that?--

“Bellatrix Lestrange.” Neville’s words come out with more bite than you’ve ever heard from the boy, and for a moment you want to break from the tense moment to give him a proud smile. 

Not the time. 

As Lucius continues to try and coax Harry, your nerves prickle as you realize that you were gradually being surrounded. Shifting closer to Ginny and Luna, you draw your wand as you steel your nerves. 

“Now!” Harry’s command has all of you firing off your best stupefy as you begin to sprint through the endless rows, inevitably splitting up as death eaters begin to apparate around you. Realizing that you somehow managed to end up alone, you prepare yourself just as a black swirl appears in front of you. 

Ducking as a spell flies over your head, you whip your wand towards the cloaked figure, hissing a confringo that fires off more fiercely than you intended. Seemingly startled at your reflexes, the figure narrowly misses being reduced to meat scraps by apparating away, allowing you to blindly sprint forward. 

Merlin’s balls, you just casted a pretty impressive curse. 

Letting out a noise of surprise, you nearly crash into your friends as you all reunite in a circle. As a black wisp quickly flies towards you, Ginny steps forwards and casts a firm reducto, reducing the black wisp into a bright light. That didn’t kill anyone, did it? No matter. 

“Ginny, you are truly amazing.” Your words come out unevenly as you try to catch your breath, catching the small smile the redhead sends your way. Your amusement is cut short, though, as the impact of her spell has orbs falling from the shelves and raining down towards your group in heavy clusters. 

Trespassing? Check. Breaking and entering? Check. Destruction of private property? Check. Potential manslaughter? Check. Today was just a fun little getaway to see how much you could extend your criminal record.

Soon, you’re all blindly running towards a door that has you falling towards the ground at an alarming speed. Just before you’re reduced to a human pancake, you all are jolted to a stop just inches away from the ground. 

As you’re softly dropped onto the floor, you let out an ungraceful grunt as you clamber onto your legs, trying to make sense of the day’s events. You probably aged ten years from stress, so surely Harry would die young from heart problems at this rate. 

Looking around the room, you realize it was completely empty save for the giant stone structure erected in the middle. The translucent swirling that filled the door-shaped gap of the structure made you realize just exactly what it was. 

“The veil.” Your whisper comes out as a mixture of awe and excitement. 

“Indeed.”  

You barely have time to register the scratchy voice behind you before you’re being manhandled by an iron grip, holding you in place. Your friends have no time to notice your predicament before they’re being swarmed by streaks of black. 

Damn. A part of you had hoped that the death eater lieutenants had succumbed to the downpour of crystal balls earlier. 

In record time, the intruding death eaters have you all successfully apprehended, victorious sneers painting their faces. 

Sure. How impressive of them to successfully take down a group of students. 

Their victory doesn’t last very long as before they could do any real damage, light fills the room as Aurors apparate in, allowing you to sag in relief. The man holding you draws in a breath of panic before he’s tossing you to the side and firing off a killing curse at Moody. 

Awfully nice of him to spare your life, yet vaguely offensive that he didn’t perceive you to be a threat. 

Not wanting to interfere with the Aurors' concentration, you hurriedly shuffle away from the fighting and towards your friends. Sweeping your eyes over the chaos, you manage to see Sirius guiding Harry away from blasts and hexes, guarding him from flying rubble. No doubt, the man was still cracking jokes at such a time. 

The next time you look over at the pair, you almost tumble down in shock as you see a curse hit Sirius square in the chest. His body goes rigid before immediately falling limp, slowly sagging backwards. 

Your heart seemed to disappear in that moment, dread pouring over you like a bucket of freezing cold water. 

Harry’s scream is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him, but it's enough to kickstart your brain. 

Acting on instinct, you pull out your wand and cast a swift trahens actio, snagging his body towards you midfall, pulling him from falling back into the jaws of the veil. There was still a chance.

The next few moments are a blur and you’re barely focused enough to stay upright. You’re vaguely aware of Harry sprinting after a cackling Bellatrix, and you lean back against the wall, finding purchase on its stability. Sirius’ motionless body lies a couple of feet ahead of you, and you want to sigh in relief as you see Remus sprinting towards him, dropping to his knees and immediately checking for a pulse. 

Murmuring incoherently to yourself, you blindly fish around in your pocket for Regulus’ portrait, needing to ground yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 

As you blurrily peer down at the small item, you’re sure you must be dreaming as you lock eyes with the boy you’ve desperately been looking for, his own eyes swimming with concern and uncertainty. 

“Reggie?” 

And the world seems to stutter to a stop.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txoru @surelysherly @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @urgurlfave @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black imagine #regulus black scenario #regulus black fluff #regulus x reader #regulus deserved better #regulus black series #harry potter series #harry potter and the order of the phoenix #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter imagine #regulus black fanfiction #the noble house of black #sirius black #hermione granger #ronald weasley #the weasley twins #luna lovegood

[ctitan98official]

Alcina being curious about Y/N’s comic books and collectible figurines

Alcina: *Quietly reading in her bedroom*

Y/N: *Runs in excited* Alci! Look what I got from Duke! It’s a Batman comic that came out in the 90’s! It’s not canonical, but it’s really hard to get. *Holds it up for Alcina to get a better look*

Alcina: *Confused, but if Y/N is happy that’s all that matters* Why do you keep all of these comic books and toys in packaging? Wouldn’t you like to read them or play with them? *Reaches out to pick up the comic Y/N is holding*

Y/N: *Yanks their hand away before Alcina can touch the comic, fucking snarls at her* No! Nobody can touch them but me! I keep them in the packaging so they retain their value!

Alcina: *Not sure whether to be pissed or turned on by Y/N’s aggressive outburst, raises an eyebrow, sniffs dismissively* Well, have it your way, draga. I doubt anybody but you cares about things like this in the castle, so your collection will be safe here.

Y/N: *Sighs in relief* Thanks Babe! You’re the best! *Puts the comic book in a box on a shelf with their other collectibles*

Alcina: *Smiles and pats Y/N’s head* Why don’t you go see what the girls are up to, draga?

Y/N: Good idea! *Runs out to go cause chaos*

Alcina: *Chuckles and returns to her reading*

Also Alcina: *Glancing curiously at the shelf of toys and comics, can’t focus on reading anymore* Well, if I’m really careful and put them back how I found them Y/N will never know…

Alcina: *Puts her book down, closes the bedroom door, hurries over to the shelf*

1 hour later

Alcina: *Lying on her bed and kicking her legs in the air, comic books strewn everywhere, playing with a My Little Pony Funko Pop* Come on, girls! We have to go save Princess Celestia!

Y/N: *Walks in* Hey Babe! I- *Shrieks* WhAt Are YoU DOinG!

Alcina: *Whips her head around to see an outraged Y/N* Draga! It’s not what it looks like!

Y/N: *Eyes blazing with anger and betrayal* How could you do this to me!

Alcina: *Trying to explain herself* I was going to put them back! They just looked so colorful and fun! I don’t know what came over me! Please forgive me, Y/N!

Y/N: *Crosses their arms, thinking* Well… I guess the only way to make it up to me would be…

A couple days later

Mother Miranda and the 3 other lords: *At the meeting site*

Mother Miranda: *Huffs in annoyance* Where is Alcina!

Y/N: *Busts in through the door, dressed like Batman, running around pretending to beat up bad guys* I am the darkness! I am the night! I’m Batman!

Everyone: *Confused*

Moreau: Uhh… what’s happening?

Y/N: *Looks behind them, whispering loudly* C'mon, Alci!

Alcina: *Groans loudly, walks through the door wearing a fucking Robin costume*

Heisenberg: *Busts out laughing*

Alcina: *Crosses her arms and growls*

Y/N: Say the line, Alci!

Alcina: *Sighs* And I am Robin… boy wonder…

Y/N: *Eyes sparkling, slips back into character* Robin! Do you see that? *Points at Heisenberg* It’s Mr. Freeze!

Alcina: *Groans and rolls her eyes* Gee whiz, Batman… it’s a double feature. Look over there. *Points at Mother Miranda* It’s The Penguin…

Moreau and Angie: *Laughing their asses off*

Y/N: *Eyes sparkling, jumping up and down with joy* Okay, Alci! Apology accepted! *Runs up and hugs her leg*

Alcina: *Sighs with relief* Thank God…

Mother Miranda: ??? Did you just call me a penguin, Alcina?

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #salvatore moreau #karl heisenberg #mother miranda #donna beneviento #y/n is stupid #re8 shitpost #re8 incorrect quotes

[bloodredfeathers]

Hair

What I think it would be like to play with the hair of the boys with long hair

Characters: Jamil Viper, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia, Leona Kingscholar

A/N: Nobody begged me not to write anything else so I'm assuming my last fic was okay, anyways here's my second thingie enjoy it :3

Gender neutral reader, you/your pronouns

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamil Viper

You know his hair is silky smooth and super soft fjfkdhdkfhd

Just imagine braiding it for him

Sitting on his bed while he's kneeling on a pillow on the floor

And as you start to do his hair he closes his eyes and leans back

He feels so relaxed for once

"Just don't pull too hard, okay?" Jamil was incredibly hesitant to allow you to lay even a finger on his hair. As a retainer, he has to keep up his appearance to set an example, so although he trusted you, he couldn't afford to have something bad happen to ruin said appearance.

"Also don't take too long," he mumbled. "The game against Royal Sword Academy starts in around forty five minutes."

"Relax, you'll be fine!" You said cheerfully. "Just trust in my abilities!"

Jamil raised an eyebrow before turning his back to you, allowing you access to his hair. Carefully and patiently, you began your work, starting by creating a couple of thin French braids on the left side of his head. Jamil shuddered slightly. He usually did his own hair, and therefor the feeling of someone else doing it for him was very foreign.

Gently, you gathered up his hair atop his head, securing it in place in a neat bun. The braids snug but not uncomfortable, he felt somewhat relaxed and comforted by the fact that you were so gentle and caring with him.

"It looks nice," he complimented your work as he looked in the mirror. "It doesn't feel loose but it's not uncomfortable. Thank you."

"Of course!" You beamed. "Now go kick RSA's ass!"

Idia Shroud

Please it would take SO long for him to not freak out over you even looking at him, let alone playing with his hair

But his hair is warm and soft, and the way it moves is very flamelike

Of course, it's not hot enough to burn you

Even though blue flames are the hottest flame-

But still, his hair would be super soft and the feeling of it would be almost like running your hand through water

Like yeah it feels and acts like normal hair but it still has that sort of flowy liquid behavior to it if ykwim

"Idiaaaaa," you said in a singsongy voice. "When are you gonna be done with that game?"

"Just give me like...ten minutes," Idia didn't look away from the screen, but you could tell he was super excited. "I've been trying to complete this Elden Ring quest for like two days now and I keep on failing but this is the closest I've ever gotten to doing it!"

You smiled and stood from his bed, walking over and watching from behind him. You noticed his hair moving a bit quicker than usual, as it typically does when he's hyped up about something. Reaching out your hand, you felt his hair flow around it, gently caressing your hand. He didn't notice at first, but then you reached higher and ran your fingers down his scalp into his tresses, staring in awe at how they carefully danced around.

"H-hey! What are you doing?!" He nearly shrieked as he realized you were there. The tips of his hair began to glow a bright pink.

"Your hair is so beautiful..." You said, mesmerized.

Idia's hair went from pink tipped to nearly pink throughout as he became even more flustered at you complimenting him so easily. He brought his hoodie up to his face to hide his uncontrollable grin as your fingers danced through his hair.

"Do you like when I do this?" You asked him. He felt his face heat up and he couldn't speak, so he nodded, kind of aggressively. You giggled and gathered it into a ponytail before combing through it, feeling its lazy flow and comforting heat.

You could swear he's the robot and not Ortho from how he literally malfunctioned.

Malleus Draconia

Okay so idk I feel like his hair is super soft but kind of tangled

No bc hear me out

Lilia usually brushes it for him but he's been slacking a bit so it's a little tangled

So you go to do it for him

And you're shocked at how soft his hair is even though it's so tangled up

Lemme paint the picture rq

"Do you have a hairbrush?" You asked Malleus as you sat on his bed. He nodded and picked up probably the most extravagant hairbrush you had ever seen from atop a dresser. Made of what looked like pure silver and twisted in a Victorian Era style, it looked like an antique. He handed it to you and you took it carefully.

"Lilia used to use this to brush my hair for me but he's become a bit preoccupied with his other responsibilities," Malleus explained. "Therefore, he hasn't had much time to do some of the things he used to."

"Come here, sit in front of me," you beckoned him and tossed a throw pillow onto the floor in front of where your legs dangled. Malleus cocked his head slightly but did as you asked. Even sitting on his knees, he was almost at the same height as you sitting on the bed.

"What are you doing, child of man?" Malleus asked cautiously.

"Just trust me, Tsunotaro," you said reassuringly. He seemed to visibly relax then, and you began working. Gently untangling his hair, brushing slowly, starting from the bottom and working your way to the top. Malleus had incredibly thin and smooth hair, and not very much of it, just enough for a long, thin ponytail. Or...a braid...

Once his hair was untangled (no thanks to his horns getting in the way), you brushed your fingers through it, separated it into equal sections, and begun to braid.

Malleus was enjoying himself. He could bear with the slightly numb legs if it meant having his child of man work the magic they were. After you finished the braid, you smoothed down and fixed his bangs and showed him in the mirror.

He loved it.

Leona Kingscholar

Oh

Oh no

Bestie wyd I hope you have a lot of free time cuz this bitch has tangles for YEARS

I'm sorry Leona I love you but tame that literal mane

Ik you're lazy but for Yuu's sake-

But if you're gonna untangle his hair it'll hurt so PLEASE PET HIS EARS AND MAYBE GIVE THEM A ✨KITH✨ OR TWO

"Ow!" Leona yelled. "What'd ya go an' do that for, herbivore?!"

"Sorry!" You protested. "How is your hair even this tangled in the first place?"

Leona huffed and closed his eyes again.

"I don't have time to take care of it," he muttered. You held back a laugh. If he had enough time for all of the sleeping he does he SURELY had enough time to spare two minutes to brush his hair out every once in a while.

You continued your seemingly futile attempts at untangling Leona's wild locks. Little by little, you combed through and worked out as many knots as you could. Soon enough (not soon at all), his hair was smooth and without any tangles. Leona had to admit, the lack of tangles made him feel good, especially when you gently massaged his scalp and pet his ears.

"We're all done," you said softly. "If you need it taken care of again, please just ask. I don't want you to have to suffer like that again."

You gently kissed the top of his head and he felt his face heat up immensely.

"Whatever herbivore..." He paused for a second before burying his face in your stomach. "Thank you..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok so that's done finally

Any requests? Feel free to ask!

💥Akira💥

#disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst leona #twst malleus #twst jamil #twst idia #idia shroud #leona kingscholar #malleus draconia #jamil viper

[lim-boe]

Ever my savior

This is a Jon Snow x Reader fanfic

This is not for the faint of heart and this is part one of many.

Warnings: Violence, torture, Ramsey Bolton

If you are a minor DNI

——————————————————————————

You were a lady of a northern house. Your father was not too influential, but a lord nonetheless.

You were a lady. 

You couldn't tell if you still held that title. 

You stood in Lord Bolton's war room. Or was it his bedroom? Is there a difference?

He was seething. Pacing. Clenching his fists. 

Not good signs. 

“ That fucking bitch”, Ramsey hissed. 

Sansa ran away. Theon and Sansa ran away. Theon ran away. Your one lifeline. Your ally.

Alone.

That was what you were.

Alone to face Ramsey by yourself. 

He was gone. 

He left you.

“ Darling,” Ramsey gripped your chin harshly, squeezing your cheeks, “I’m feeling frustrated, do me a favor and lay on the table.” 

He always did this. Played the part of a sweet and understanding man before stripping you of your dignity. You were used to this.

But not alone. 

Theon was always here. Someone to anchor yourself to while Ramsey did what he wanted. While Ramsey tortured you.

Theon understood what it was like being tortured by Ramsey.

He knew.

And he still left. 

You walk over to the table and lie down, just like Ramsey wants. 

Ramsey never touched you in the way that you’d think. He wasn’t interested in fucking you. If he was then he would've done it by now. Instead, Ramsey, ever the gentleman, left you your purity. It seemed that he thought you would catch him a better ally or price while still retaining your purity. 

You were given to Ramsey as his betrothed before Lord Balish brought Sansa. She was a much better choice. You thought that you would be permitted to go home. You weren't. 

Ramsey had his fucktoys. He had his wife. 

You were his chew toy. 

Ramsey pulled up your dress to reveal your pale thigh.

He dragged his knife around until he found an area of unmarred skin. Then he carved. He liked to hear you scream.

You weren't in the mood.

The absence of Theon numbed you.

When you did not scream Ramsey looked at you curiously and pressed deeper. A tear escaped and fell to the table. Still, you were silent.

“ Really? You too?,” Ramsey leaned down to whisper in your ear, “ Are you keeping silent in some sort of solidarity with the half-wit and his whore. Maybe you're the half-wit whore.”

He removed the knife from your thigh. The feeling of warm blood pooling on the table beneath you caused a shiver to run up your spine. 

The Lord smiled at you as he stood up and ran his eyes down your torso. His gaze stopped on your lower abdomen.

In an instant, Ramsey had cut a deep gash through your lower abdomen and you let out a blood-curdling shriek. 

Bastard.

#jon snow #jon snow x you #jon snow x reader

[moonlit-flowerfield]

BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR @hyacinthrame !!!

Prompt: "Draw Your Bow in This White World" Mafuyu Trained x "Weaving Precious Memories With You" Emu Trained

Summary: Mafuyu was sent out by the queen, its mother, to kill what it was told was a terrifying beast. Being separated from their guards and their retainer, Mafuyu manages to shoot the beast... Or so it thought.

Mafuyu uses It/Void pronouns. Mafuyu's mother's name is Madoka. Emu is a Märchenkanichen (Fairy Rabbit), a type of Fey I created that turns into a rabbit to traverse the human realm. Ena is a Dark Fey (looks being "The Wandering Hermit's Path" Ena Trained)

Ena's speech is in blue, as there is no brown. Shizuku's speech is in green, as there is no mint. Tsukasa's speech is in orange. Mafuyu's speech is in purple. Emu's speech is in pink. Mafuyu's Mother's speech is in red, because she's a red flag.

This is way longer than i meant to make it so uh. Ye. Tee hee, this. Might get chapters. Oops. :)

((Prerelease edit: this ended up being 1204 words, it's getting chapters))

“L-Lord Mafuyu! You must slow down!!”

All Mafuyu heard was the cries of void's retainer, Ena, paired with distressed voices belonging to it guards, Tsukasa and Shizuku, as void ran after the beast. It couldn't let it's mother down. Not after the agreement they made.

---

“Mother...?”

“I'm sending you out to kill a beast that has been terrorizing and plaguing the village, Mafuyu. A princess needs to be able to protect her people.”

“. . . I wanted to ask you something. . .”

“Can it wait?”

Mafuyu glanced over to the side room, where Ena was violently shaking her head no. Mafuyu looked back to it's mother. “No. I wish to tell you I. . . I am not a female. I am non-bina—”

“Complete this mission perfectly and I will address you however you like. Your guards and retainer are not to end the beast's life. And I want proof.”

Mafuyu's eyes lit up just a little, and with a bow, it left with Ena out of the side door. “I must complete the mission perfectly.”

---

The beast had lost them all day. It only had a few days left to complete the mission. The dark night sky, paired with thick canopy filtering the dim moonlight, would not stop this royal.

Finally, the beast stopped. Possibly to eat. Drawing its bow, eyes narrowing sharply, Mafuyu aimed at its torso. A place that would cause too much pain to move.

The clouds covered the remaining moonlight as it released the arrow, and only a pained shriek told it that void it had hit it target. The moonlight returned, and Mafuyu approached the clearing the beast had been in.

... but there was no beast. The closest thing was a slightly larger than normal rose rabbit, with an arrow in its torso. Ena, Tsukasa and Shizuku caught up, only Tsukasa not being at a loss of breath. “MY GODS, Mafuyu, you can't just run off like that! This beast is—”

“... A rabbit?” Shizuku finished, confused. “Your mother wanted us to kill a rabbit?” The archer approached Mafuyu and tilted her head. Ena moved to the beast and frowned.

“Not a normal rabbit. It's a Märchenkaninchen, a fae that hides as a rabbit in our realm. It must be young, though... My dad said they normally aren't huge unless they're young and learning their powers still.” Ena got up, turning to Mafuyu. “Your mom must be mistaken. They're harmless fey.”

As if on cue, the rose rabbit turned into a girl with a pink bob. The light blue sweater was stained a dark pink with the blood of the fey. Shaking, scared pink eyes looked up at the four humans, as if surprised she wasn't dead.

“... We'll take her back to the castle. Explain to mother what she thought the beast was. Tsukasa, please carry her back to camp. We'll tend to the arrow wound there.” The male nodded, carefully scooping the fey up (and recoiling from the loud terrified squeak released right in his ear), before they all went back to camp.

At the camp, Mafuyu stayed awake with Ena to tend to the fey. “The arrow is deep enough that pushing it through is way safer.” Ena said. “I'll get the pocket knife I have so we can cut the feathering off the arrow.” She went to her tent.

Looking down at the fey, who was trembling in void's arms as if she would be eaten, Mafuyu tilted it's head a little. “Why are you so scared? We're trying to help you.”

The fey squeaked. “Y-You shot me! I-I have a right to be terrified!” The tone startled Mafuyu. Void didn't expect the fey to speak its language. “I was just trying to make a few flower garlands... Saki and Honami said the flowers they like are way deep in fey territory, so I was gonna help them...”

“Saki...? As in the Saki from the village outside my castle? My guard's little sister?” More importantly, wasn't it dangerous to give a fey your name...?

“Saki did say her big brother was a guard... so maybe? She— Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow—” The fey whined in pain, shaking more. “... I thought humans used iron arrows...?”

Mafuyu shook its head. “We use iron arrow heads. But I stick with non-metal. It doesn't rust.” It looked up at the tent Ena went into. “Besides. My retainer is a fey. I wouldn't want Ena getting hurt.”

“I was wondering about her horns...! It's impressive to see a dark fey work under humans, since a lot of them hate humanity...” Mafuyu tilted it's head again. "Ngh... Ow ow ow ow..."

Ena returned and quickly cut off the feathered part of the arrow. "I'm only half fey! Whatever, just— Take a deep breath in and breathe out when I push the arrow through. Lord Mafuyu, if she needs to, ca—"

"She can squeeze my arm or hand if needed, yes." Mafuyu remembered back to the one time Shizuku had been stuck in the situation the fey was in. And the pain the archer vividly described in excruciating detail (poor Tsukasa).

The fey timidly took Mafuyu's arm and inhaled deeply. Then let out a very pained yelp with an exhale as the arrow was pushed through and pulled out the other side. The fey squeezed void's arm tightly, as evident by her whitening knuckles, but void felt harrly anything... Which caused a little worry. As soon as the arrow was through, Ena used what little magic she possessed to keep the wound from bleeding more so they could fix the other fey up. “I'm going to remove your sweater and lift your shirt enough so I can stitch you up, okay?” The pink fey nodded and closed her eyes. Brown eyes looked up at duochromatic ones. “She's really weak... Mafuyu, are you sure bringing her to the castle will be a good idea...? I know you don't want to kill an innocent, but there has to be a way to tri—”

“I can't fail mother...” Mafuyu took a deep breath. “I'll stitch up their left wound, you stitch up the right.” The retainer nodded, and they hurried to keep the fey from worse pain.

Once they were done, Ena sighed a little. “I've set up a small protective barrier around us, if you want to sleep. I'm wiped out from everything.” Getting up again, she turned to the royal. “If you haven't slept by morning, I'm not letting you hit the road. So don't forget to.” And with that, she went to her tent.

Mafuyu looked at the fey, who seemed to be asleep. Brushing some hair from her eyes, Mafuyu tensed when void saw an eye open weakly. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's okay...” She groaned. “I wasn't asleep yet...” Mafuyu held the fey closer. “. . . I'm Emu.”

Mafuyu blinked. “Ma— My name is Y—”

“You don't have to tell me your name... I know that humans get taught all fey can steal names, and I wouldn't wanna accidentally take yours... Good night, your highness...” The fey, Emu, closed her eyes again and fell asleep. Confused, but not sure it wanted to complain, Mafuyu curled up around Emu and fell asleep as well.

#project sekai #project sekai colorful stage #colorful stage #emu otori #mafuyu asahina #otori emu #asahina mafuyu #mafuemu #shizuku hinomori #tsukasa tenma #shinonome ena #fey au

[curufiin]

Bitterness Tastes So Sweet

Little Curufinwë knew that his brothers enjoyed picking on him. Now that Fëanáro refused to bend to his every will, he realized that he must take the matter of revenge into his own hands.

gen / 1.8k / also on ao3

It was strange, this feeling, Curvo thought. How it gripped at his chest and made him think horrible thoughts, made his hands tremble and his heart ache, and worst of all, how he seemingly could not do anything about it.

He knew he was upset, and he knew he used to be able to get away with nearly anything he did when he was upset. He could simply scream, cry, fall to the ground and curl up and shriek until Father ran to his side and cradled him in his arms, and ultimately punished whoever had wrong him. That did make him feel better. As he grew older, however, he found that father retained little of his patience when he was younger, still small enough to hold in one arm.

Now, Curvo found he had to take matters into his own hands.

Tyelkormo was first. Not for any specific crime he committed lately, just that his pale haired brother seemed to have a talent of upsetting him. It would take countless hands, many more than the pairs they had in the family, to account for every single time Curvo felt slighted, but he was not here to complain to his brother about how he’d tell on him if he kept up his mischief.

Picking up as big of a bundle of clothes as he could with his little arms, he ran out into the yard. It had just rained the previous night— usually, Curvo despised the mud. Now, he grinned at its sights.

The clothes fell onto the muddy grass, and Curvo made sure to kick it around and even massage it some, even if it meant jeopardizing the cleanliness of his hands and sleeves (he found that they were a bit too big for him, and rolled back down even when he pushed them up). Some distant feeling crept up in the back of his mind, the tiniest morsel of remorse— and Curvo slapped it away like it was some pesky fly that happened to be in his way. Once he deemed the clothes sufficiently muddied up, he ran back inside with the clothing pile, and dropped it back in Tyelko’s room with a great, wet plop.

Then, he changed his clothes, washed his hands, and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

It took some time for anyone to notice, and Curvo could not deny he found the wait difficult to bear. Patience was not his strong suit. Yet, as first the gasp of indignation, then the shriek of rage and the stomping against wood floors that came from their mother reached his ears, he knew the wait was worth it.

“Tyelkormo Turcafinwë, what in Eru’s name did I tell you about leaving muddy clothes in your room!”

Curvo smiled.

***

On an overcast day, while sitting outside doing nothing in particular, Curvo decided Carnistir would be next.

He’d never particularly liked his fourth brother. There was just some quality that prevented them from clicking, and each conversation they held felt more like an attempt by both parties to keep from yelling at the other for as long as possible. Carnistir radiated animosity, and Curvo swore that he always knew to run when his brother neared, because he could smell that animosity from down the hallway.

He did not know why he disliked Carnistir so much. He just knew he disliked him. Not hate, of course. Hate was a strong word, and he doesn’t hate his brothers, not really. Maybe a little, but not a lot.

While Carnistir was away, forced by father to do additional studies, Curvo sneaked into his room. In the corner, stuffed away behind miscellaneous objects as if his brother was trying to hide the fact he had hobbies, was a box. To anyone, it appeared to just be an empty metal box which might’ve once held cookies, but Curvo knew better. Inside were the threads he used for his embroidery projects, alongside the various needles he had.

Well, what use is embroidery? Thought the little Curvo. An art for the sake of art. Seems a bit pointless.

And so he reached for a pair of scissors on the desk, and cut up each bundle of thread until all that remained was a colorful pile of rainbow fuzz on the floor.

Carnistir wailed for the next three days. Curvo found himself enjoying every second of it.

***

“Kanafinwë, your concert was very well received.”

“Oh, yes, dear! We’re so proud of you. I always knew I named you well, despite your father’s protests.”

“Oh, please, Nerdanel… he grew into ‘gold-cleaver’. I’ve always found that ‘strong voiced Finwë’ rang true no matter his age.”

They laughed heartily, and to Curvo, the echoes carried down the hallway felt like the cries of ghosts. He felt no joy at Kanafinwë’s concerts, only some vague sense of spite that he still could not seem to grasp instruments the way that his second eldest brother could. Music was like breathing to Kanafinwë, and if that were true, then Curufinwë was drowning.

His face paled with anger each time his second eldest brother was praised, whether it be from his family or by admirers on the street. Kanafinwë did not lack them, and when he did not fee the need to feign humility, he quite enjoyed the small boost to his ego. Curvo, for all that talk about being Father’s splitting image, how he must’ve also inherited Father’s great will, and whatever nonsense people liked to spout so that Father may gloat, found himself confined to the shadows.

Apparently, Kanafinwë would play with the other top musicians in Tírion for his next concert. It wasn’t saying much, of course not. His brother was the top musician, and not even Findaráto, someone else greatly admired for his mastery of the Song, could quite compare. And, as usual, Curvo was spared no details of the concert, and none of the expectant praise that came with it. His brother would star on the harp, his main instrument. Except this time, he had to come along to the concert.

However, he found that he had quite the terrible idea in mind.

When time came for the concert, Curvo ran back stage, as if he was going to talk to his brother and wish him good luck— which he did. He did not hate his brothers, not really. Not a lot, anyway.

Each time he found that no prying eyes scanned his way, he reached to the tuning pins of the harp, and twisted them this way and that. It took some finesse to act like he was just in awe at the craftsman ship of the instrument, and a few unceremonious plucking of the strings for the helpers to assume it was merely a small child’s curiosity. Then, he ran off, and took a seat in the very front rows.

The concert started magnificently. His brother did not come in until a little later, and by then, it would’ve been too late to simply excuse himself, put the concert on a five minute hold, and retune the harp. He knew Kano would’ve found such a thought equally harrowing, but then he could just go back right into the song as if nothing happened. This would be much, much worse.

And as he predicted, when it came time for Kanafinwë’s entrance solo, instead of the sounds of melting gold that flowed seamlessly from his fingers, the sound was more like a cacophony of discordant twangs, and the look of extruciating humiliation on Kanafinwë’s face was the greatest satisfaction yet.

***

Nelyafinwë had not really done anything to him, Curvo knew that deep down. His eldest brother had long since grown out of childish pranks or petty grudges, and oftentimes he spent as much time as Mother did in trying to keep the peace of the house, with four younger brothers now running around instead of the one or two he was used to.

Even so, he still could not shake this feeling he got every time they passed eachother without so much as a greeting. Nelyafinwë did not often acknowledge him, and when he looked at him it was as if he was looking through him, peering into the depths of his fëa. He was saying something, but Curvo did not know what. He did not want to know what.

Infuriating was a nice way to put it. What he felt was pure, unadulterated rage, and he found that he really would like nothing more than to push Nelyafinwë off a very tall ledge. Curvo did not know why.

Perhaps it was the disapproving glances. Perhaps it was the way his eldest brother always fell silent when he entered the room, as if his very presence brought unspoken aggravation to the other. Or, the way that he sometimes would just sigh, and say ‘okay, Atarinkë’.

He did not much like being called Atarinkë. Not much at all.

Curvo wanted to punch something. There was nothing to punch that wouldn’t also injure himself.

He stumbled into Nelyafinwë’s study, with no other thought in his mind other than ‘why’. Why did he hate him so much? What did he do to earn such scorn from his brother? Why?

Curvo found a stack of papers on the desk. It seemed important.

Why?

He picked them up. Some pages fluttered to the ground.

Why me?

Stumbling back out the door, he struggled to the fireplace. The papers were heavy.

Why does Maitimo hate me?

He dumped them into the fireplace, and what once was a small, flickering fire seemed to grow into a raging inferno within an instant. That feeling gripped at his chest again, and he felt himself dizzy with anger. He did not know what to do— all he knew was he really wanted to curl up on the floor and cry. So he did.

Nelyafinwë looked even more like a ghost at dinner than normal.

***

By now, Curvo knew what the feeling was. Guilt. But how could he ever apologize for what he did, when he hardly knew why he did what he did? He knew, of course. He wanted to get back at his brothers for being so annoying and stupid and awful and because he hated them. But he did not know why he hated them. He wished things would just make sense. Nelyo once told him that when you’re a boy, nothing really makes sense, and Curvo used to think Nelyo was just making fun of him.

Now he saw some merit in those words.

Curvo sat up from his bed with a sigh, and closed his eyes. He heard Mother shouting at Tyelkormo, heard the cries of Carnistir mourning for his stupid threads, the horrified gasps of Father at just how terrible the harp sounded, Nelyafinwë stare of defeat. And he smiled.

#the silmarillion #silm fic #curufin #atarinke #sons of feanor #writing #he has so many problems

[reilliane]

Troubles like to approach him wherever he goes—from the nation of freedom and now, the land of contracts.

Aether would rather bury himself ten feet under than deal with growing responsibilities—when in truth he just has one priority; searching for his sister—but alas.

Ah, well, it isn't like he's doing this for free, but he digresses.

“He isn't here at all!” Paimon can't sound any more defeated.

That much is true, wonders the Traveler as he meanders about the balcony, waiting for an absent sign. No one's here.

A detriment at worst, for he's meant to find all known Adepti and inform them about the passing of their Archon.

With lips sealed tight in mild dread, he informs Goldet about visiting some other time tomorrow before leaving for the harbor. He passes the bridge, leaving the vicinity of Wangshu.

For now, he'll have to settle with waiting, there's no use looking for someone who-

He only hears Paimon's horrified shriek before all of a sudden, he's crashing to the dirt with a hiss.

“T-Traveler!”

The foot on his dominant arm holds it down with immense weight, telling of the ability to crush it if the newcomer wishes to.

Aether can only try to move his head, though he's quick to freeze at the prickly feel of a weapon pressing against the side of his neck.

“Where is she.”

She?

“I don't know who you're talking about,” he says, honest and firm, retaining the sobriety in his tone and gaze despite sensing immediate peril.

Whoever this man is who wears the mask of a demon... means harm if need be.

“Lies will not save you, mortal,” the polearm presses deeper, “If you value your life, you will-”

“We don't know who you're talking about, r-release the Traveler!” Paimon charges with a yell, but her tiny body is no match for the measly swipe of the man's gloved hand.

The yelp prompts Aether to twist his body with newfound vigor, though his endeavors are fruitless. The slam of a foot lands straight on his sternum and he winces, glaring through narrowed slits until-

“... !”

The Conqueror of Demons?

“A second spent is time wasted, don't mess with me. Answer.” growls the masked Yaksha. His effulgence of cyan speaks decibels of danger, suffocating and thick.

Aether almost cries out when the foot presses harder. “I don't know who you are talking about!”

That doesn't seem to appease the Adeptus.

“You-!” a pause, then suddenly, the weight on him is no more.

“A Sigil of Permission..”

When Paimon has found her way back to his side, the mask has vanished, revealing a face torn by contemplation. Aether stands, sword materializing in hand.

Golden eyes flicker to the weapon before the polearm disappears.

“When you bear such an item... I cannot harm you.” it is said through gritted teeth, as though the thought of it pains him so.

Aether scoffs. Can't harm? Too late for that, isn't it?

“G-good! Now listen up, you crazy- I- I mean, listen!” Paimon shouts with a semblance of anger, though she's quivering. “We came here to tell you something important. We don't know this 'her' you're talking about!”

The Conqueror is scowling, appearing repulsed at having to entertain their presence.

Beyond his own annoyance, he truly does wonder about the reason for such belligerence.

“Not tonight.” the answer is terse, “My energy is too destructive, come back tomorrow.”

He vanishes without a trace before either of the two can even respond. Paimon is already blasting off her displeasure, stomping in the air, having forgotten her prior fear.

Aether certainly feels disconcerted; he did not expect his meeting with the Vigilant Yaksha to go off on a wrong footing. The sigil blessed him with safety, that's for sure.

Hand clutching his midriff, he trudges with a groan, not willing to think too much of the situation. The environment he sees, however, forbids him from doing so.

Guili Plains always has been prolific with ruins and debris, with a couple of hilichurl camps active and flourishing with creatures, but...

What he sees now...

A chill runs down his back.

The grass is almost dyed black and there are lingering whirls of dangerous anemo, a second away from exacerbating into cyclones. Camps are no more, and the remaining architectures have all but crumbled apart.

A battlefield greets his eyes—but something is amiss.

He recalls the way the Yaksha demanded things a while ago, the malice in his voice, and the destruction that now lay before his eyes.

When Aether ponders more into it- the ruined prairies do not look as if war has broken out. No, it looks upended- ruined for a purpose not to engage in battle, but...

“Where is she?”

But to search for someone.

:)))) yes this is a sneak peek for ichor :))))))))))

#m-mercy #queued #ehehe

[goshiikkuburcdo]

waxgentleman asked: Galdino can't really blame Buggy for not wanting to participate in these meetings, those two never spare him. He's always running too—doing the possible to not even cross in their field of view. His old boss for obvious reasons.. but in Mihawk case? Who wouldn't be afraid of the strongest swordsman of the entire earth? It's called being sane. Since all he had to do was to tell them about their monthly's income, he's obligated to attend instead of the clown. When Mr3 opens the door he's taken by surprise only seeing Mihawk there. That's feel somehow worse! The pressure in that room is killing him. "Oh Good evening!...................Actually—would you excuse me for a second? ga ne." He closes the door and immediately sounds of a muffled screaming can be heard. After a few minutes of whimpering, the artist enters the room again with tired eyes and a faint smile. "I see Crocodile didn't arrived yet—Buggy sadly won't be participating this time, ga ne. Would you like a heads up or do you prefer to wait, Mister Mihawk?" (HMM BIT LONGER THan I planned but i Hope it's alright!!🤝)

Of course it appeared no one else was going to take any of this seriously, despite having been so seemingly excited for this alliance. It should have come as no surprise that the clown was either too scared or too lazy to bother while Crocodile was happy enough to leave anything that irritated him to someone else to deal with.

This was the same type of redundant, tiring theater as he had dealt with during his time with the warlords. Truly it seemed nothing changed.

Finally though someone approached, eyes narrowed when eyes rested on neither clown nor Crocodile. Of course. While he was clearly irritated, there was a part of him that felt a bit of relief. Dealing with both those fools tended to end with him rubbing away a headache and medicating himself with a full bottle of wine in order to keep from swinging Yoru at them. Quickly though that relief was dashed when the man that approached faltered and squealed while attempting to stall and hide.

"I prefer not to have my time wasted. If you speak for them, then speak already." He stated, clearly ignoring the muted whines coming from the man. If they were to wait, it would be all night. Mihawk didn't have that amount of patience for this. "Perhaps you will retain this little job if you can prove your reliability. Clearly they cannot. Just, stop shrieking." Hopefully the offer of trust would relieve the man and create someone that could get something done. Someone he could actually deal with without wishing to walk into the ocean.

Mihawk settled back and waved a hand, inviting him to have a seat and get more comfortable. "Do I even want to ask what the clown's excuse is this time?" No, probably not. He loosed a dramatic sigh. "Lets move on. What are the numbers?"

#waxgentleman #you're fine!

[anticomedygarden]

Happy 60th birthday, Percy!

-

ao3 link

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Percy couldn't remember a time Camp Half-Blood had ever been so full.

Not even his first summer, back before the wars when the gods were so damn horny and irresponsible, were there so many people (and mythical beings) packed into the space, made even more impressive by the fact that everyone seemed to be outside on the grounds, and Percy absolutely loved it. He hadn't seen some of these people in years, maybe even decades; apparently, two half-bloods reaching 60 years old - the first in centuries if he didn't include Nico and Hazel - was a big deal.

Of course, a gathering this size was sure to attract more vile attention, and someone had already spotted a couple hellhounds prowling around the wards, but whatever. Somebody younger could deal with it, someone who didn't have creaky knees.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a bright blue streak racing toward the steps of the Big House.

"Grandpa!" little Clio yelled as she catapulted herself into Percy's lap. As the oldest child of Percy and Annabeth's youngest child, Clio was their second youngest grandchild at only three years old. He figured her little brother was probably being passed around somewhere in the throng of people which was how she'd managed to slip away from her moms.

"Hey, squirt," he said, spitting out a piece of her wavy black hair as she got herself situated. "Are you having fun?"

She nodded vigorously. "Aunt Clarisse showed me where to punch someone so they go to sleep, and Aunt Rachel gave me paint tattoos!" She thrust her arms out to reveal both hands covered in roses and vines, and he stifled a laugh. That was sure to go over well with both her parents.

"That's so cool, sweetie," he said while rooting around in his pocket. "Hey, guess what I have!"

Somehow, her big grey eyes lit up even brighter. "What?"

"Candy!" She shrieked  at the sight of the shiny red Kit-Kat wrapper - her favorite, a trick he had picked up from his mom. He quickly unwrapped it and broke it in half. It was his birthday, after all.

A few minutes later found them playing rock, paper, scissors, both of them with sticky hands from the half-melted chocolate bar.

She giggled when he lost the fifth round in a row. "You suck at this."

His mouth dropped open. "Where did you learn that word?" Honestly, Percy couldn't care less what words she used, but kids always loved it when they thought they got away with saying a bad word.

This time was no different. "Uncle Magnus," she said gleefully.

His eyes widened in mock surprise. "Did you get to see Uncle Magnus today?"

She smiled and nodded.

Before he could question her further, Lucy, their youngest daughter, appeared at the bottom of the steps. "Dad, have you seen - oh, there she is. Clio, what did I say about running off?"

Mischief danced in his granddaughter's eyes. "Uh oh."

He laughed, knowing full well that the little girl was allowed to go wherever she wanted at Camp since no matter where she went, there would be a demigod, nymph, or some other mythical being ready to lead her back to her parents.

Then, Lucy spotted the Kit-Kat wrapper. "Dad! She's already had three cupcakes today!"

He stared Clio right in the eyes. "Uh-oh." She giggled again, and he looked back at his daughter who was glaring at him fiercely with eyes that perfectly matched her mother's. "She's my granddaughter, and it's my birthday. I can give her as much candy as I want." He started tickling her then and said a silent thank you that she was still small enough to lay down on his lap even while convulsing with laughter.

"Speaking of your birthday, there are a ton of people who want to talk to you down there." Her hands were on her hips, a habit she still retained from childhood. Anytime she wanted him or Annabeth to do something, this was the exact stance they got: pointed look and hands on hips. He caved almost every time, but then again, Annabeth had always been stronger than him.

Now, though, there was another one on his lap, giggling and wanting something completely different from him. "They can wait a little bit longer."

Lucy huffed but didn't say anything, just sat in the chair opposite him. "Where's mom?"

"I think I saw her with Aunt Piper," he answered. "Speaking of, where is your other child? And your wife?"

She waved a hand. "With Grandma." Of course they were. At 78 years old, Sally Jackson was as spry and magnetic as ever.  

In fact, she was coming up the hill with an infant in her arms.

"Mom, how do you always have a kid?" he said, and was pleased to see Lucy stand up to make a seat for her grandmother.

"Oh, no, don't get up for me. I just wanted to pop up here with the baby to say hello." She waved his little arm. "And to answer your question, son, it's grandma powers."

Again, he didn't question her, though he thought quietly that Annabeth didn't seem to attract children the way his mother did.

"Nana, El!" Clio piped from her place on Percy's lap, hands stretching toward her great-grandmother. Ever since her little brother had been born, she had been fascinated with him, constantly wanting to hold him and play with him.

Lucy gave her a stern look. "What do we say?"

"Please!"

Sally gave Percy a knowing look. It hadn't been very long ago when Lucy's older brother had done almost the exact same thing.

Tamping down the odd, bittersweet feeling, he got Clio situated to hold the baby: sitting up on his thighs with his hands under hers, a watchful eye trained on them between her wild strands of dark hair. "Go ahead, mom."

Gently, Sally lowered the baby into their arms. When he was secure, Percy allowed himself to fully appreciate the moment with his family. Four generations of Jacksons, all on the porch of the Big House. One mortal, one demigod, and two legacies. He never thought he'd see the day.

Of course, this party really was special for his mother. Mortals normally weren't allowed inside the Camp boundaries, but an allowance was made for today, just for his and Annabeth's family.

Sally leaned against his chair. "I remember when you looked like that at your sister."

"Mom, I was 17 when Estelle was born."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And? I had never seen you sit so still. You had that same look in your eyes when Paul handed her to you."

"Sure, mom." He knew she was right, but he would never reach an age where ribbing wasn't funny.

She squeezed his ear. "Hey, I wanted to tell you that we're probably not gonna stay super long."

He gave her an offended look. "It's barely even 2!"

"We are very old, son. Besides, we spent the whole day with you on Annabeth's birthday. This party is really for you demigods, anyway, and us old coots have to be in bed by 8."

So, maybe that was true. "Fine."

"Hey, I was wondering where you all were," Lucy's wife Gina said as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs. With dark skin and mischief in her eyes, she was a very distant legacy of Mercury that Lucy had met at NRU in college. "Percy, Annabeth wants to talk to you."

"Excellent." If there was one person he would always get out of his chair for, it was her. "Where is she?"

Gina picked Elias up, and Percy set his granddaughter on the ground, grinning when she took off toward the crowd with barely a 'bye-bye.'

"Last I saw, she was at the desserts table."

"Thanks," he said and started heading down.

On his way, he was stopped no less than a dozen times by various people wishing him a happy birthday, some a happy 44th anniversary of the end of the Titan War.

Finally, he made it to Annabeth and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Hey, wise girl."

"Seaweed brain!" She turned around in his arms and kissed him as if they hadn't seen each other less than a half hour ago.

"Really? In front of the food?" their oldest child Nathan asked. At 34, he had seen his parents kiss countless times yet always seemed to have the same reaction.

"Yeah, guys, come on, really?" the son of Hermes and hero of Olympus asked as he tore into a blue cupcake.

"Hey, Travis," Annabeth said, arms still around Percy's neck. Nathan had already disappeared to the gods knew where, maybe to go find his girlfriend of 10 years, and they probably wouldn't see him again for a while.

Travis waved his cupcake. "We're so old, you guys. We're all getting into our 60s! What the hell happened?"

Just as Percy was about to ask one of his oldest friends to take his crisis somewhere else, Connor popped up out of no where and said, "Okay, bro, let's go find Katie." He then led his brother away to presumably fall into hysterics in the safety of his wife's arms.

Percy and Annabeth looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Eventually, Annabeth sobered and said, "He's not wrong. When Leo asked Bianca-" Nico and Will's daughter "-to play 'Material Girl', she said, 'I'm not playing freaking Taylor Swift,' and kicked him off the stage." She gave him a pointed look. "We're old, babe!"

Percy laughed. "That was news, like, 8 years ago." It was also around that time he realized their one strand of grey hair had turned into several strands, and Shrek was considered a classic. "She might have a point about Taylor Swift, though."

Annabeth gave him her patented 'don't get me started' look, and he wisely shut his mouth.

"What did you need me for?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I just wanted you to see all this blue food!" She waved a hand toward it all, and he recognized at least a couple of his mom's dishes amidst the blue cookies, blue brownies, blue cakes and cupcakes, and blue pasta noodles. He was practically in heaven.

Annabeth handed him a cupcake and took one for herself, and soon they were walking hand in hand through the crowd that had somehow grown since he first stepped into it.

Most of the faces were vaguely recognizable, people they knew from being the two most famous and revered demigods of their generation. Others, he didn't know. He supposed they were the ones that wanted to see firsthand two demigods that had managed to live so long.

He really couldn't blame them for that.

The rest were people they knew well. Speaking of-

"Magnus, Alex! I'm so glad you guys could come," Percy said when he saw the young blond and his partner. Young was relative, of course. Chronologically, Magnus and Alex were only a couple years younger than him and Annabeth, but that was impossible to know just by looking at them. Both still looked the picture of 16.

There was something to be said there about their perpetual youth as a metaphor for the permanence of death while everyone else aged, but today wasn't the day to think about it. Besides, he liked to leave that kind of thing to Annabeth. Instead, he thought about the novel occurrence of Norse demigod einherjar in Camp Half Blood. There were some Egyptian magicians running around, too. Really put the whole Greek-Roman split fiasco in perspective.

"Yeah, we managed to slip down between meetings," Magnus said. Nearly 45 years later and the Chase Space was going strong, so strong, in fact, that they had opened up several more. It was wonderful, but it was also a lot of work. "Blitz is there now with Hearth."

"Ooh, where'd the blue cupcakes come from?" Alex asked.

Annabeth laughed. "Right over there in the pavilion."

Alex waved in thanks before dragging Magnus over to the food.

Percy turned to Annabeth. "You know what I just realized?"

"What?"

"I get a 10% discount at Burger King now." He was unreasonably excited for it.

She patted him on the back. "Good. You'll finally be able to join me."

If she thought that would rile him up, she was dead wrong. "Are you saying you want Burger King dates?"

"I'd go on a date anywhere with you." Somehow, she said it totally straight faced despite the cheesiness of the line. He appreciated it all the same. The next person they ran into was Grover.

"G-Man!"

"Percy! Annabeth!"

Man, had he missed Grover. The satyr was running an international project to get mythical creatures more involved in environmentalism, and they rarely had a chance to see each other anymore.

"How's the project going?" Percy asked.

Grover beamed. "It's going really well. We just finished planting a bunch of trees in France, and we're gonna go to Canada next to mess with hunters."

Not all of their business practices were strictly legal, but they didn't really need to be, anyway.

Annabeth laughed. "That sounds like a lot of fun."

Grover nodded.

They chatted for a bit longer until Juniper called him over to do something.

From there, they somehow made it to the activities section of Camp, and Annabeth dared him to race her up the climbing wall. She beat him, of course. Just like old times.

Next, they played a game of volleyball against some Roman legacies and won. The legacies were so excited to play with them that they didn't care a couple of 60 year olds beat them.

After that, they ran into Frank and Hazel.

"Hey, you guys," Hazel said. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks, Hazel," Percy said. He wondered how many times he had heard that phrase today. "How are you?"

She smiled wide, exuberance only multiplied with age. "We're good. We're moving into the new house next week."

"Awesome," Annabeth said. "We'll definitely be there to help."

Hazel clapped. "Thank you so much! We'll do dinner or something, too, alright?"

At 56 and 58, Hazel and Frank were planning to retire in a few years and had recently bought a house right on the Tiber River in New Rome.

"Sounds good," Annabeth answered.

They moved on, mingling throughout the crowd. They talked to a few people, mostly the ones they knew well, and played some more games. Percy was beat badly by Clio at cornhole, but he took the loss like a champ.

Eventually, they made it to the beach, and Percy wasn't surprised to see a black haired man in a bright orange Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts holding a trident on the shore.

Before he could say anything, Annabeth said, "I'm gonna go see if I can find Thalia."

With that, she disappeared back into the crowd.

"Son," Poseidon started. "It is good to see you."

A warmth seeped through Percy's chest. He and his father certainly had one of the best relationships between a demigod and godly parent in the entire Greek pantheon, and, for that, he was forever grateful. It had actually been one of the reasons Zeus loosened the rules about God's visiting their children.

"Thanks, Dad." Percy waited a moment. "Any particular reason you're here?" As good as their relationship was, Poseidon was still a god.

"Can I not just say hello to my son on his birthday?"

Percy just looked at him.

"Fine, I did want to tell you something." Poseidon fidgets with his beard, clearly thinking deeply. "I would like to revisit the subject of your mortality."

Percy supposed he should have seen this coming. He is, after all, Poseidon's favorite son that also just so happened to be transitioning into his senior years, but ever since it became clear that he wasn't going to try to overthrow Olympus with his considerable power, he had gotten used to not being asked to become a god. It had been nice.

"Dad, I don't want to be a god-" he started.

Poseidon held up a hand. "Let me finish, son." He sucked in a breath. "You know that when you were born, it was a huge scandal."

Yeah, he knew. He still had nightmares about the Olympian council voting on whether or not to kill him.

"Despite that, you became a hero of Olympus many times throughout your life, and you have come to be my favorite son. I value your life, which is not something I say lightly."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," he said sarcastically. "I value your life, too."

Poseidon gave him an unimpressed look, then shook his head as if ignoring his son's poor attempt at lightening the mood. When he spoke, Percy was surprised to hear a quaver in his voice. "I find I am deeply saddened at the thought of your death."

And, okay, Percy wasn't expecting that one. Death had always been a constant in his life, something ever present and surrounding. If he hadn't become accustomed to the thought of it, his life would have been much harder. He wasn't looking forward to it, obviously, but he wasn't afraid. It was a miracle he had lived this long, actually.

"Listen, I know I'm getting up there, but I've lived this long. Mortals today can make it to over 100." He didn't need to mention that fighting was getting harder every day, or that his knees creaked and his back ached constantly. He and Annabeth would probably retire to New Athens soon, anyway.

"I am aware, but I just want you to know that when you do die, you and Annabeth both have a place in Atlantis."

A generous offer, but they had decided long ago that Elysium was the place for them. They didn't want immortality or godhood. The only thing they ever wanted was to live their lives, and they had done that, were still doing that. They would go to Elysium happy.

"Thanks, dad, really," he said. "I'll pass that along to Annabeth." He turned, unsure what to do next.

To his surprise, Poseidon pulled him into a bone crushing hug, one his now 60 year old body would take at least a few minutes to recover from.

Poseidon pulled away. "Go, be with your family." He looked down and rubbed an eye.

Percy has to admit that his eyes were getting misty at this point, too. "Love you, dad."

"I love you, too." Poseidon turned to gaze out at the glittering sea, so Percy started making his way back to the party.

Poseidon stopped him with a word. "Percy?"

"Yeah, dad?"

"Happy birthday."

-

A few hours later when the sky was dark and Artemis was high in the sky with her chariot, Percy sat in the stands at a campfire, Annabeth next to him. Most of the guests had left or retired to their cabins, having to put the kids to bed or comply with camp curfew.

Some, though, were still up, and Percy couldn't help but think they made a formidable crowd despite the average age.

Carter and Sadie Kane were seated right next to the fire, experimenting with spells to see which ones could influence the hearth's magic. The flames were already so high and vibrant from the party that their magic wasn't doing much, though.

Farther down the steps were Magnus and Alex who had decided to stay the night rather than go back to Boston. They were talking to the Stolls, Clarisse, and Katie Gardener, which could only bring trouble.

Thalia and Reyna were mingling around the crowd, looking young as ever, as was Apollo, surprisingly. Or not so surprisingly, considering his own adventures as a mortal. Meg McCaffrey was also walking around the fire, throwing things in to see how fast they would incinerate.

Piper and Shel - another mortal, he noted - were talking to Jason and Leo toward the middle of the stands, and Hazel and Frank were roasting marshmallows by the fire with Grover and Juniper.

Just behind Percy and Annabeth, Nico and Will were loudly discussing the latest Marvel movie with Rachel, a debate Percy and Annebeth would surely find themselves drawn into sooner or later.

For now, Percy took a moment to admire his wife. Annabeth, whose hair was more grey than blonde now, who had laugh lines and worry lines, who had never looked more beautiful. She wore all signs of her age like badges of honor - because they were.

He still couldn't believe they had made it this far.

A soft whoosh drew Percy's attention to his left. Beside them, the god of wine had formed out of nowhere, still in a leopard print shirt and looking the same as he did when Percy was 12.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" he said. Percy noticed that the cup in his hand didn't smell like alcohol despite his sentence having ended several years ago. "Mortals, Egyptians, Norse, Romans, and Greeks, all around Hestia's hearth. I never thought I'd see the day."

Percy and Annabeth exchanged an amused glance. "Hey, Mr. D."

"Yes, hello, Peter and Annabelle." He took a sip of whatever was in his cup. "I hope you realize the magnitude of what is in front of you."

Saving them from answering, Chiron trotted up next to his old colleague and said, "It truly is a wonder." He looked straight at Percy and Annabeth. "And it's because of you two."

Percy felt his face heat up, and one look at Annabeth showed hers doing the same.

It was true, though, he realized. None of these people would be here without them.

"I've been doing this for a very long time, and it is rare that any of my students live past their teen years, yet here we are in front of so many that have lived over half a century. I wonder - how long will this last?" Chiron shook his head. "I don't know, but I pray it is permanent."

Dionysus nodded. "Well said. I trust there is room in Cabin 1 for me?"

"Of course."

With that, he stood and walked down the steps of the amphitheatre toward the cabins, away from the fire and the remaining party.

The wine god had gotten much better since the wars and even sometimes acted like he cared, but there were still the rough edges. Percy found that he liked him much more, now.

He was leagues better than a lot of other gods.

Chiron continued. "I'll leave you to the party, but I want you to think about the impact you have had on our worlds." He looked at them sadly. "We will never forget you two."

Once again, Percy's eyes had gone a bit misty, as had Annabeth's. She squeezed his hand. "We're really lucky, you know."

"Yeah," he agreed. They were.

"Hey, I was waiting til the end of the night for this. Come here." She picked up his hand and dragged him to the bottom of the steps, right by the fire. He followed her curiously, sure what else could possibly be happening today. They'd already sung happy birthday, and presents had been sent to their apartment out of necessity for sheer volume.

She looked up at the crowd. "Hey, guys! It's time."

He looked at her, suddenly scared. "Time for what?"

She didn't answer, and he was forced to wait while all of their friends climbed down to the center of the amphitheatre looking way too excited.

Then, Clarisse came around from the side with a small blue cake that looked like a brick with a single candle stuck in it, and he knew exactly what was going on.

"Come on, guys, aren't we too old for this?" he said nervously, slightly afraid that if any of these 50-60 year olds attempted to carry them, they would throw out their backs.

"Nice try, Jackson," Clarisse said. She handed him the plate. "Make a wish."

Even the non Greeks and the rest of the Seven seemed to know what was going on.

"Yeah, Percy, we all wanna see you two get dunked,” Grover said.

Percy turned a betrayed look to him. "G-Man?"

Travis spoke up next. "C'mon, hurry up!"

"Yeah, let's go!" He wasn't sure which one said that.

He looked at Annabeth next. "You're okay with this?"

She smirked. "I organized it!"

Of course she did.

Percy threw his head back and laughed, then blew the candle out without thinking too much.

A cheer went up around the crowd. "To the lake!"

"Wooh!"

And that's how they found themselves being lifted up onto everybody's shoulders and thrown into the lake, having the second best underwater kiss ever.

Tomorrow, they would go home to their apartment in Queens and return to their everyday lives, but they always knew Camp Half Blood would be there to return to, because this place, more than anywhere else, was home.

They were home.

#percabeth #percabeth fanfic #sally jackson #poseidon #my writing #my fic #pjo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #rrverse #pjoverse #grover underwood #magnus chase #alex fierro #magnus x alex #camp half blood #chiron #dionysus

[mikaelia]

«Aftertaste»

Ice and flame that seemed to pierce my soul, changing body temperature each time. The seemingly cold stare of amber irises explored every curve on my heated flesh with fierce lust. The tips of the eyes and eyebrows of my other admirer usually retained a hint of a smirk, not to mention the sweetness of Wei Ying's speech coming from behind me.

- There's no need to be nervous," Lan Wanji whispered, running his phalanges over my cheek. - Our hearts and souls are in your hands.

Something pinched in my chest at his words, which had a deep meaning. Lan Zhan was not inferior in beauty to Wuxian, for his dark hair and light eyes matched his pale skin perfectly. The outline of his back and waist were smooth, graceful, and yet strong.

- Don't be angry, our spring peony," Elder Ilin said, and then kissed my shoulder. - The mere sight of you has clouded our judgment. Isn't that a wicked thing to do?

- Not at all, Wei Ying," Wanji pulled me to him by my chin. - The forbidden fruit is so sweet.

A chill felt along my spine, a thin trickle of the emperor's smile flowed downward, and then... hot breath scorched my skin and my heart, and my beloved Wuxian ran the tip of his tongue over it, licking the wet line and securing the gesture with a light kiss. The fierce pleasure worth their bodies acquiring movement that felt so distinctly inside me. My knees jerked every now and then as the two enchanting men filled me up. From the expression on Lan Zhan's face, it was clear that he was enjoying the pleasure of having his cock rubbed not only by my vaginal walls, but also by Wei Ying's penis. I shrieked involuntarily as the guys stood up and held my weight. I rolled my eyes, opening my mouth and letting out a long moan, which Elder Yilin interrupted by turning my head toward him.

- No noise is forbidden in the cloudy depths," Wuxian said as he pulled away from my lips, then grinned.

Their movements took on bright colors that allowed stars to appear in my eyes. My sweet moans that these young men desired were overlapped with kisses that were like honey. Wanji's lips covered mine, inexperiencedly engaging me in a heated dance of tongues while Wuxian left bright marks on my shoulders, licking away the blood. Those marks said I belonged to him, which meant, "Whoever touches mine will pay with his life," making the excitement just over the scale, and the temperature of our heated bodies would have made the thermometer explode.

"What a variety," I thought to myself for the first time when, in anticipation of coitus with the renegade who had taken the dark path, his trembling close friend Lan Zhan walked in and caught a piquant picture. We expected a short: "squalor," but the emperor's smile made itself known as Wangji approached us. The most revered disciple of the Gusu Lan Order had succumbed to my charms and Elder Yiling's words, which were thrown in a provocative style.

- Let my sister climax," I pleaded breathlessly, as the young men quickened their pace, rubbing their cocks against each other inside me.

The ease of penetration was enviable, given how excited I was to release my lubricant. Lan Zhan closed his eyelids, squinting slightly as the movements picked up pace, and only Wei Ying was out of breath as he reached his peak. Whoever caught us would not have believed a lie about Qi energy transfer, because such a picture would be horrifying if a witness saw a lady grooming two men at a time. A ragged mooing that mingled in the spacious room with the breathing of the young men. Liquid flowed down the shafts of their penises, which made us all realize, "reached the limit," and then my body collapsed. Lan Zhan pressed his lips to mine, sealing the process with a gentle, inexperienced kiss, and near my ear came the elder's whisper, "Wake up."

#mo dao zu shi #headcanon #wei wuxian #lan wangji

[scotianostra]

On July 3rd  1883, the Clyde shipyards suffered their worst accident when the SS Daphne capsized at her launch.

The SS Daphne was a 460-ton steamer to be used on the Glasgow-Ireland run. The ship was launched from the shipbuilding yard of Messrs. Alexander Stephen and Sons at Linthouse, Govan. Within three minutes she had capsized with over 200 workers finishing the internal fittings still on board. 124 died as a result. As was usual in the launching of ships two anchors and cables were employed to check the way on the vessel after she had entered the water. On this occasion the checking apparatus failed to function. The starboard anchor moved some six or seven yards, but the port anchor dragged for about sixty yards and the current of the river catching the ship at a critical moment turned her over on her port side.

A joiner who survived named Kinnaird wrote:

“I was busily engaged on the deck, and felt the vessel moving on the ways, and nothing occurred until she had taken the river. Then an extraordinary scene happened, and tremendous shouts arose from those on board. I felt the vessel toppling over to the right and in a moment every person on board was hurled into the water. The shrieks and cries were terrible. I, along with some others, scrambled on to the bottom of the vessel, which was turned upside, and retained a hold. In a few moments a man came round with a small boat, and asked me to jump into the water. I did so, and was rescued. There would be about twenty persons besides myself who clung to the bottom of the vessel, and also succeeded in getting into the boat. Round about I could see a large number of people struggling and shouting in the water. Prior to the accident there were so many men and boys on deck that it was difficult to move about. I believe that over two hundred people were in the vessel. I cannot possibly describe the heart-breaking scenes which I witnessed.”

An enquiry was held and the yard owners were exonerated from any blame, leading to claims of a cover up. One of the outcomes of the disaster was the limiting of personnel aboard to only those necessary for mooring the ship after the launch. The ship was raised and repaired at Govan Dry Docks and emerged as the ‘Rose’.

Such was the scale and tragedy of the disaster that there are two SS Daphne Memorials in Glasgow. One is located in  Craigton Cemetery the other one in Elder Park  representing the loss to those communities involved.(As seen in pics 3 & 4.)

The following extract is from The Paisley & Renfrewshire Gazette, 7th July 1883 & 14th July 1883.

A PAISLEY VICTIM OF THE DISASTER

Robert Baylis, aged forty-three years, a carpenter, is amongst the unrecovered dead. He resided in Paisley and was known amongst his fellow-workmen as “Paisley Bob”. He has left a widow and seven children, the youngest an infant. When his wife heard of the accident she hurried to Govan, but could not find him in his lodgings. He was one of those upon the ill-fated vessel. The poor woman stated that her husband left home on Monday morning. He turned back three times saying that he could not understand what was wrong but he felt ‘sweer’ to leave, as he felt as if something was going to happen to him.

The Daphne still lies in the bed of the river, and no search was made on Thursday for the bodies, which are still lying in her hold and engine room. About thirty of the victims who perished on Tuesday were buried on Thursday, and a number were buried yesterday. The method fixed upon for raising the Daphne is to close up all apertures, pump the vessel dry and bring it on a level keel by means of pontoons. These operations will necessarily occupy a few days.

As for those who were killed, there are memorials dedicated to them on either side of the Clyde; at Victoria Park to the north and Elder Park in the south.

124 people died including many teenage boys, it took more than a fortnight for the bodies of the dead to be recovered

#Scotland #scottish #shipbuilding #The Clyde #tragedy #shipping tragedies #history

[thethrillof]

Fic sentence: Bedtimes were difficult.

-

The Pale King was unused to the concept itself. When his lady wife called him to rest with her, he did. When he was too exhausted to continue, he settled in the edges of the White Palace and suffused his existance with the calling prayers of his people. When the whole of Hallownest settled to sleep, his Watcher kept a steady eye on the proceedings of its heart and told him through its rest.

The Hollow Knight was as untiring as he. For seperate, uglier reasons.

The Gendered Child was not, which was the cause of the entire dilemma.

“We must rest,” he lied. “The hours have been long, and you need to settle the same.” The retainers she drove to exhaustion had already done so, in shifts.

“NO!”

This was the concequence of her growing, it seemed. Where once she napped after activities ceased, now she resisted. “We cannot allow you to run when We sleep,” he chided without heart. She wasn’t listening, and would take off running if he continued his sentence.

And so he swooped and lifted her into his arms, clasping her against his chest in a way that kept her fangs away from anything but catching his robes. The sound of tearing brought less displeasure to himself and her mother than allowing her to try biting through his shell.

The routine was familiar enough. She had made it further away from her Palace room than most visits. His Palace was built from his Dreams and Soul and the Ore peeled from the rotting tail of his ancient body, and it obliged to shift its halls to bring them closer.

Perhaps the Child could tell. More likely, he had not paid enough attention.

In either case, she attempted something new.

Not in how the Deepnest’s Midwife had warned him of before she broke from her egg, nor an antic that Herrah only half-warned him to give her daughter greater amusement.

The Gendered Child hissed, deep in her throat.

Not a hiss of a spiderling, which he had already known of.

The hiss of a Wyrm erupted from the lone between his arms.

Ancient instinct he thought he discarded with his corpse threw his arms wide and body backward, desperately taking flight from the sudden threat. His wings flared blindingly, turning this hiss into an upset shriek as his Kingslight blinded the Child in his mindless reaction.

To his terror and shame, her pained eyes recovered before the Pale King did from his wild fear.

It was sensible, and horrific. His Child, his one living creation, was meant to be safe. His Hallowed Nest was meant to be protected from the outside. The White Palace was to be impossible to breach.

It was sensible, and yet he could not put it behind him with such trite reminders. It was foolish to be lost in panic so. He had left it all behind for something better. He was safe, if not from the Oldlight, than from rampaging Wyrmkind. After all his built protections, after so many hideously Infected under his rule, and after his work with the very antitheses of himself to create horrors to save them all, that was nothing.

Bedtime, that night, was postponed as he waited out his lingering shivers along with her abundance of energy.

When the time came for the Princess to return to Deepnest, he did not tell her mother she had not rested, and she did not tell her of his terribly bright wings that stung her eyes.

#jules writes #goodbyenorthernlights

[schwarzwaldcr]

@r-edfield || continuation of x

There are some things even she is not used to. She can put up a steely face and accept that it is a thing that happens, a thing that she cannot stop. But that is not the same as being used to it.

Death is a thing she is intimately familiar with, given her history with it and of witnessing it in various ways, some more gruesome than others. And although she can warn against it, she cannot control it, and most certainly cannot contain its inky anchors when someone tempts it and it answers.

To say she is used to Disassembly is a lie.

She can tell someone to push forward until she is blue in the face and still, they can turn and they can run. The Threshold is a vicious thing and it does not act well with intrusion, especially in so short a time. A catch-all, like antibodies attacking a foreign invader in a body, and what is a Zone but a body so vast it is hard to comprehend the monstrosity of it.

So when the other in their small group turns tail and runs with such speed as a though caught on fire, she reaches a hand out to try and catch them ... and fails. There is a flutter of panic in her when she realizes her reach is still too short, and it is hardly more than morbid reflex to turn and try to stop them with words to no avail.

The way time stills when they hit the ripples against reality, the way their body branches out fast enough the shriek of surprise and agony is stilted into the tiniest squeak, the spray of what's left into the ring of the Boneyard, across rocks and passes and the skeletal remains of scrubby trees...

The Wolf can only lower her eyes in some sort of reverence to the reminder that although she can try, she is still only human. Barely big enough to change the minds of men, and never enough to change the courses of instinct in others. It also helps keep the acidic taste of bile of seeing a human body like it should never be seen from rising and burning the back of her throat.

The remaining gore of such a display misses her almost entirely. Maybe splashes the toes of her boots. She likes to think this is the memo from the Zone to her now, of how weak she is against its influence. Of her place in its unspoken hierarchy. She is twined with it in ways most humans are not, understands it on some other level others can barely understand. She is not better than they are, though. She is still just human, and this can also happen to her if she's not careful.

Her personal monologues and humilities are broken by the sound of the landscape near her stirring in panic and she is suddenly brought back with the memory she is still not alone. There is one more, and she is quick to whip her head around to see him shrink and retreat from the Threshold. While she is relieved to see him backing away from it, she knows by the splatter pattern across his body and face that he was staring directly at it, if the vacant glazed eyes and erratic breathing didn't alert her first.

He has seen the fury of God, and it has reminded him of the same thing. That he is human. That he is powerless here. It's in the way he slides down when his back hits a broken retaining wall and he simply crumples at its base with a clatter of equipment.

"Red...?"

His call-sign, his name, is barely above a whisper. When it doesn't get a response, she is careful to turn and move toward him, steps slow and deliberate so they make noise when they shift the terrain or shuffle against the ground. Being silent and sneaky would do no one any favors while he is panicking. He might lash out if she's not careful and while she knows she can take it, it might hurt him more. This is not the first time she has seen or handled traumatic distress, and while this is the first time she's seen it in him, it is best to be prepared.

It doesn't take her long to bend next to him, slowly lowering the Ruger to one side and searching his face for some sort of reaction. "Red? Can you hear me?"

No response, she focuses on the way his chest heaves. He's beginning to hyperventilate, the breaths coming quicker and more erratic. Drawing her lips thin, she makes a decision. One hand reaches forward cautiously, her fingertips against his chest and her entire palm is soon to follow, covering where his heart thuds in his chest, and she whispers into the small space between them, quiet and almost intimate. Something just for him to hear.

"Alright, Red. We are going to count it together. Count your breaths with me, alright?"

There's something there now, a small response, a tick of his head in her direction. It's a motion most would take for granted, but for her, it's a sign he's there again.

"Ready? Eins ... zwo ... drei ..."

Little pauses between the numbers. Spoken in German so he can focus on the difference, and it seems to be working much to her relief. The tension has left him and the uneven breaths have slowed, he's fallen into tempo with it now, and she reaches forward with her free hand to carefully wipe the gore from his face. At least, what she can reach.

She's relieved when halfway through 'eight', he opens his eyes again and finds hers. She sees a little of the conflict he's feeling and can only guess at what it is, but has a small inkling to it. He's not used to losing himself in front of people. It's something he'll have to get used to if he plans on coming back, and something he will realize all good stalkers who can call themselves 'veteran' truthfully are intimately familiar with such events.

She won't force him to talk about things just yet, since the Boneyard is no place for a genuine heart-to-heart, but her free hand leaves his face to rest on the hand he's placed on her, a small show that she hears him and his gratitude well and clear. If you want to talk, I'm here, it says. Stability in a place where nothing can be considered such, where one questions the fabric of existence around them. She is still Wulf, and her ears are open.

"...Feeling a little better?"

It's a tentative question, but she wants to make sure he won't relapse on their way to find shelter. Which requires them to move fast; staying in Boneyards for too long isn't pleasant, and not just because of the memories of what makes them.

#RP #r edfield #V: Resident Picnic #casually blarfs an entire novel on you woops #i have Feelings okay!

[whileiamdying]

Emily Brontë’s WUTHERING HEIGHTS; Chapter XXIX

The evening after the funeral, my young lady and I were seated in the library; now musing mournfully—one of us despairingly—on our loss, now venturing conjectures as to the gloomy future.

We had just agreed the best destiny which could await Catherine would be a permission to continue resident at the Grange; at least during Linton’s life: he being allowed to join her there, and I to remain as housekeeper. That seemed rather too favourable an arrangement to be hoped for; and yet I did hope, and began to cheer up under the prospect of retaining my home and my employment, and, above all, my beloved young mistress; when a servant—one of the discarded ones, not yet departed—rushed hastily in, and said “that devil Heathcliff” was coming through the court: should he fasten the door in his face?

If we had been mad enough to order that proceeding, we had not time. He made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his name: he was master, and availed himself of the master’s privilege to walk straight in, without saying a word. The sound of our informant’s voice directed him to the library; he entered and motioning him out, shut the door.

It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; and the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall: the splendid head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful one of her husband. Heathcliff advanced to the hearth. Time had little altered his person either. There was the same man: his dark face rather sallower and more composed, his frame a stone or two heavier, perhaps, and no other difference. Catherine had risen with an impulse to dash out, when she saw him.

“Stop!” he said, arresting her by the arm. “No more runnings away! Where would you go? I’m come to fetch you home; and I hope you’ll be a dutiful daughter and not encourage my son to further disobedience. I was embarrassed how to punish him when I discovered his part in the business: he’s such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him; but you’ll see by his look that he has received his due! I brought him down one evening, the day before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and never touched him afterwards. I sent Hareton out, and we had the room to ourselves. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and since then my presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not near. Hareton says he wakes and shrieks in the night by the hour together, and calls you to protect him from me; and, whether you like your precious mate, or not, you must come: he’s your concern now; I yield all my interest in him to you.”

“Why not let Catherine continue here,” I pleaded, “and send Master Linton to her? As you hate them both, you’d not miss them: they can only be a daily plague to your unnatural heart.”

“I’m seeking a tenant for the Grange,” he answered; “and I want my children about me, to be sure. Besides, that lass owes me her services for her bread. I’m not going to nurture her in luxury and idleness after Linton is gone. Make haste and get ready, now; and don’t oblige me to compel you.”

“I shall,” said Catherine. “Linton is all I have to love in the world, and though you have done what you could to make him hateful to me, and me to him, you cannot make us hate each other. And I defy you to hurt him when I am by, and I defy you to frighten me!”

“You are a boastful champion,” replied Heathcliff; “but I don’t like you well enough to hurt him: you shall get the full benefit of the torment, as long as it lasts. It is not I who will make him hateful to you—it is his own sweet spirit. He’s as bitter as gall at your desertion and its consequences: don’t expect thanks for this noble devotion. I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do if he were as strong as I: the inclination is there, and his very weakness will sharpen his wits to find a substitute for strength.”

“I know he has a bad nature,” said Catherine: “he’s your son. But I’m glad I’ve a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff, you have nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery. You are miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him? Nobody loves you—nobody will cry for you when you die! I wouldn’t be you!”

Catherine spoke with a kind of dreary triumph: she seemed to have made up her mind to enter into the spirit of her future family, and draw pleasure from the griefs of her enemies.

“You shall be sorry to be yourself presently,” said her father-in-law, “if you stand there another minute. Begone, witch, and get your things!”

She scornfully withdrew. In her absence I began to beg for Zillah’s place at the Heights, offering to resign mine to her; but he would suffer it on no account. He bid me be silent; and then, for the first time, allowed himself a glance round the room and a look at the pictures. Having studied Mrs. Linton’s, he said—“I shall have that home. Not because I need it, but—” He turned abruptly to the fire, and continued, with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a smile—“I’ll tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there: when I saw her face again—it is hers yet!—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it up: not Linton’s side, damn him! I wish he’d been soldered in lead. And I bribed the sexton to pull it away when I’m laid there, and slide mine out too; I’ll have it made so: and then by the time Linton gets to us he’ll not know which is which!”

“You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!” I exclaimed; “were you not ashamed to disturb the dead?”

“I disturbed nobody, Nelly,” he replied; “and I gave some ease to myself. I shall be a great deal more comfortable now; and you’ll have a better chance of keeping me underground, when I get there. Disturbed her? No! she has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen years—incessantly—remorselessly—till yesternight; and yesternight I was tranquil. I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers.”

“And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have dreamt of then?” I said.

“Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!” he answered. “Do you suppose I dread any change of that sort? I expected such a transformation on raising the lid, but I’m better pleased that it should not commence till I share it. Besides, unless I had received a distinct impression of her passionless features, that strange feeling would hardly have been removed. It began oddly. You know I was wild after she died; and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit! I have a strong faith in ghosts: I have a conviction that they can, and do, exist among us! The day she was buried, there came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak as winter—all round was solitary. I didn’t fear that her fool of a husband would wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business to bring them there. Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the sole barrier between us, I said to myself—‘I’ll have her in my arms again! If she be cold, I’ll think it is this north wind that chills me; and if she be motionless, it is sleep.’ I got a spade from the tool-house, and began to delve with all my might—it scraped the coffin; I fell to work with my hands; the wood commenced cracking about the screws; I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down. ‘If I can only get this off,’ I muttered, ‘I wish they may shovel in the earth over us both!’ and I wrenched at it more desperately still. There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. I relinquished my labour of agony, and turned consoled at once: unspeakably consoled. Her presence was with me: it remained while I re-filled the grave, and led me home. You may laugh, if you will; but I was sure I should see her there. I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to her. Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door. It was fastened; and, I remember, that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance. I remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying upstairs, to my room and hers. I looked round impatiently—I felt her by me—I could almost see her, and yet I could not! I ought to have sweat blood then, from the anguish of my yearning—from the fervour of my supplications to have but one glimpse! I had not one. She showed herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me! And, since then, sometimes more and sometimes less, I’ve been the sport of that intolerable torture! Infernal! keeping my nerves at such a stretch that, if they had not resembled catgut, they would long ago have relaxed to the feebleness of Linton’s. When I sat in the house with Hareton, it seemed that on going out I should meet her; when I walked on the moors I should meet her coming in. When I went from home I hastened to return; she must be somewhere at the Heights, I was certain! And when I slept in her chamber—I was beaten out of that. I couldn’t lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was either outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, or even resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a child; and I must open my lids to see. And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a night—to be always disappointed! It racked me! I’ve often groaned aloud, till that old rascal Joseph no doubt believed that my conscience was playing the fiend inside of me. Now, since I’ve seen her, I’m pacified—a little. It was a strange way of killing: not by inches, but by fractions of hairbreadths, to beguile me with the spectre of a hope through eighteen years!”

Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet with perspiration; his eyes were fixed on the red embers of the fire, the brows not contracted, but raised next the temples; diminishing the grim aspect of his countenance, but imparting a peculiar look of trouble, and a painful appearance of mental tension towards one absorbing subject. He only half addressed me, and I maintained silence. I didn’t like to hear him talk! After a short period he resumed his meditation on the picture, took it down and leant it against the sofa to contemplate it at better advantage; and while so occupied Catherine entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony should be saddled.

“Send that over to-morrow,” said Heathcliff to me; then turning to her, he added: “You may do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and you’ll need no ponies at Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, your own feet will serve you. Come along.”

“Good-bye, Ellen!” whispered my dear little mistress. As she kissed me, her lips felt like ice. “Come and see me, Ellen; don’t forget.”

“Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean!” said her new father. “When I wish to speak to you I’ll come here. I want none of your prying at my house!”

He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my heart, she obeyed. I watched them, from the window, walk down the garden. Heathcliff fixed Catherine’s arm under his: though she disputed the act at first evidently; and with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley, whose trees concealed them.

#Wuthering Heights #Emily Brontë #Project Gutenberg