#(This turned into a drabble I guess!?!?)

[666writingcafe]

Barbatos As A Lover (NSFW)

Before MC, Barbatos is too busy serving Diavolo (and getting used to his physical form after existing in a void for millennia) to worry too much about sex. Has he seen it in action? Yes, both in real life and in media. Has he heard it in the walls of the castle during Diavolo's parties? Yes. Has he actually experienced it for himself? No. But Barbatos is fine with that. He feels like it would distract him from his duties, and so doesn't indulge.

With MC, things begin changing after the human successfully seduces Barbatos during the tutoring session for the Advanced Speechcraft exam. Diavolo catches his butler staring off into space more frequently with a wistful expression, and eventually gets him to confess that he's daydreaming about MC. In typical fashion, this excites the Demon Prince, and he starts behaving as Barbatos' wingman (much to Barbatos' chagrin). MC acts oblivious, but in reality they're plotting a plan. They know that they have to get Barbatos alone and in a relaxed mood before they can do anything, and so they're waiting for the right opportunity to strike (which doesn't happen for a good while, because either everyone's up MC and Barbatos' butts, or Barbatos is in butler mode). Eventually, one presents itself in the form of concert tickets. MC won two tickets to see one of the butler's favorite Devildom metal bands on a Saturday night, and they decide to make a weekend vacation out of it, even going so far as to reserve a hotel room near the venue so that they don't have to travel very far (and can get away from prying eyes). The two of them leave Thursday evening and spend the entirety of Friday and Saturday morning getting to know each other, and it quickly becomes evident to both parties that there is some serious sexual tension between them. By the time the concert's over, they're about two seconds away from ripping each other's clothes off, and well...let's just say that they don't get much sleep when they return to the hotel and that they check out the next day noticeably disheveled and with marks and scratches that they didn't have before.

[forgottenarthur]

50. Writer's preference - "And what if it is not you?"

The barb stung and Arthur turned away as quickly as if she had struck him.

These walks had become something of a tradition between the Prince and former Princess over the rolling weeks. With the out of doors near unpassable, Arthur's mornings had shifted to a shorter indoor practice before dawn, followed by a brief repast and then a stroll through the Orangery with the Lady Aria. Though they still argued as often as they didn't, there was something free and flowing in these conversations -- a strange sense that no subject was off limits...And that every single one was somehow taboo. It was perhaps true that they had each been raised as royalty, but it seemed their worlds could not have been more different.

Today, the subject had fallen to that all-encompassing theme of his life, the most pressing topic in the empire, and the one least likely ever to be openly addressed: Roderick's line of succession. It was an ache in his gut, this, a hill he had run up all his childhood only to find a sheer rockface confronting him. Now, scrambling for footholds in the brutal cliffside, it was a race to the top against those he loved most -- a climb now far too high to risk the drop. It was success or the death of all meaning. But what was he to do? Throw his siblings from the sides? They too held on by meager fingertips and he could not bear to think of them dashed against the teeth of the unforgiving stone so far below.

Arthur's jaw clenched. He kept her pace, but he no longer looked at her as she spoke; heard her only as if from a great distance. What was there to say? Yet, her last words burned, searing like vinegar in his cuts, and he turned sharply towards her, a rush sounding in his head.

"What? You favor someone else?" he demanded, all effort at bluster or calm stripped away. Surprise seemed to register in his face and, pressing his eyes shut, he shook his head, realizing she meant this only as rhetoric and, with a look of defeat, he sighed; shook his head. "How should I know? It would be the end for me."

He didn't look at her, now, gaze straying upwards towards the gently nodding trees, branches heavy and sagging with fruit. He thought of the tart-sweet of them, tawny and opening with a kind of crack. Fibrous chambers of juice attended the tiny seeds at the center and this, then, was life. Even trees limned their children with sweet cushions against the harsh reality of the world around them. When he laughed, it was a bitter sound.

Sighing, Arthur shook his head. "Aria, I--" but he stopped. He'd not said her name so baldly before and he gestured, helpless, voice trapped within his throat.

Her eyes were dark: not mere chocolate, but something else as if the sea had leaked into them and tossed against stormy shores within her mind. Her face was set, but he could not read it. He searched for something written there, something designed for him to read: he wanted it. He knew the message he wished to read. A very simple message. He wanted to read it again and again, see it roiling within the storm of her eyes. But there was nothing. She was no harbor. She was, perhaps, another deathly drop.

Aria lifted her chin. "Go on."

"I don't know what will happen if my father chooses someone else any more than you do. But I do know I will be a threat to whoever is chosen, simply for having been in the running, and..."

And if it were Edmund who were selected, whom Arthur regarded as the most likely alternative, he would not expect to long outlive his father -- or even his father's choice. Enemies of the House of Calainon had a way of disappearing. Arthur was not altogether certain they even lifted a finger: they were witches, after all. Likely, all they needed do was wish for a thing, and their dark magic did the rest. Edmund might not wish him gone, perhaps...but Amira would not hesitate. He could not help but think that would make for a horrible ending, all the demons of hell rising at her command. His would be a silent end, he had no doubt, yet he knew, too, that if it were by Amira's hand, he would die howling.

If Aria had said something else, Arthur had not heard it. At last, she said: "And what if the Emperor doesn't choose? What happens to us all, then?"

Arthur stopped short, and Aria beside him. "Then it'd be war."

He walked out without another word.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Wildefire AU: Out of Sight

cw: adult language, implied violence, implied starvation, bruises, the prison industrial complex lol

° ° °

Sarah swore she'd had a plan when she stepped through the doors to the prison, but it had all gone to shit pretty quickly. 

Hugo had helped her fabricate an identity as a journalist, fake ID and online credentials and everything, and posed as the director of a web-newspaper to get her an interview with a low-level criminal at the Fielding Detention Center.

She was really there for Uriah.

Alexei had been the one who'd found the CEO—former CEO—shut up in one of the dingy cells. He'd broken into Fielding to try and collect information from a different inmate, but happened upon Fox instead.

"He's… he's just in some cell?"

"Should count himself lucky he's not in the Tower. Bastard's got enough enemies."

"Maybe we can use him."

Lex's expression had become unreadable when she'd said that, but Sarah could hear the way his heart sped up, the slight hitch in his breath.

She didn't want to work with that asshole either, but their resources were few and far between when it came to anything that could stand against Corp, and someone who'd once held power—someone who'd been betrayed by the rest of the city's leaders—could be a huge asset. Even if that someone was Uriah Fox.

If she could just talk to him, maybe he'd give her something they could use. As unpleasant as the man was, everything Sarah had heard about him told her he was petty as hell. He'd probably jump at the chance to strike back.

To Alexei's credit, he didn't try and convince her otherwise when she told him her plan.

Sneak in, have a chat, get lost before anyone important knows I'm there.

"Do what you want. As long as I don't have to look at him, I don't care."

She'd agreed at the time, but now, selfish as it was, Sarah almost wished she'd asked Lex to come with her. If things went south, it would be nice to have someone whose powers were good in a fight.

"Zhang is Chinese."

"Good morning," she said brightly to the guard at receptions. "I'm Andrea Zhang, with Skyline Weekly?"

She'd complained to Hugo about that one.

"It's the only profile on here that even remotely matches you. No one's gonna know."

"What if the guy who lets me in is Chinese?"

"Yeah, right."

Yeah. Right. He was white. Maybe in his thirties, with close-cropped brown hair. He regarded her with a bored expression, flipping through some papers on the desk.

"Zhang… Zhang… ah, here." He nodded to the door behind him. "That way. I'll buzz you in."

That easy, huh? Sarah figured she'd at least have to have one of those through-the-glass phone calls like on TV, but here she was, going into the prison proper without so much as an escort.

Certainly simplified matters.

Lex had already given her a general direction to look for Fox. She walked past the reinforced doors leading to the common area, cafeteria, and yard, all connected by this one long hall to give the guards easier access. Sarah peeked through the doors' embedded windows as she went, scanning the scattered groups of prisoners for any sign of Uriah. 

She wasn't all that shocked when she didn't see him. If he was here, it was because the rest of the Corp bigwigs wanted to forget him. Out of sight, out of mind.

She pressed on down the winding corridor, past more doors leading to cell blocks and supply closets and… was that the fucking room with the chairs and the bulletproof glass and the phones? They did have one, but the lazy-ass guard would rather send a journalist in alone than do the work to keep a civilian safe.

She shouldn't have expected anything less from the prison system in this city. With that level of neglect shown to citizens, how badly were they treating the inmates? Sarah had to push aside her disgust.  She had a mission. Even beyond the task of meeting Uriah, she needed to take down Corp. Once the city was free from their grasp, she could worry about the state of the prisons.

The further she went, the emptier it seemed to get. She was passing single cells now. The one she peeked into was practically featureless. A grate in the floor probably served as the bathroom, but other than that, there wasn't even a mattress. And there were a ton of similar doors.

Fucking hell, did they put every prisoner in solitary? It was completely inhumane— nope. No. Later.

Sarah closed her eyes, sharpening her hearing. Listening for movement, for heartbeats, would be quicker than checking every single door.

Of course, she picked up the usual annoyances. The sharp buzz of the fluorescent lights above her, the roar of the AC unit, even the slight hum of electricity traveling the building's inner wires. But somewhere in the muddle of sound, she could hear it.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

A heartbeat. Just one, so that was either a really great sign or a really bad one. She kept her eyes closed, running a hand along the wall to keep from running into anything, and followed the sound.

It grew louder and louder, until she had to re-dull her hearing to avoid being deafened by it. This was it. Fox was on the other side of this door.

And shit, there was only a single, small window in the door, high enough that she'd have to stand on her toes to peer in. And while she'd be able to hear him, he probably couldn't hear her. Did that mean she'd need to open the door? What if he tried something? Surely the asshole was desperate enough to—

Her thoughts were cut short as her ears picked up a small gasp inside. No, not a gasp, a wince.

Well that was almost to be expected. Someone like Fox was bound to incite a lot of brawls with his smarmy, self-important attitude.

But when she stood on her toes to get a look inside, she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

Lex had told her Uriah was here. She'd never thought to ask what state Uriah was in.

The blond man was curled up in the furthest corner of the tiny cell, thin arms wrapped around his bare chest, head tucked against his knees. A good chunk of his hair was matted with dried blood, and his skin was covered in purpling bruises. She couldn't see his face, but she could still pick out the bruises lining his jaw, color trickling in towards his mouth. Something inside her twinged, and Sarah decided she'd allow it. She didn't have to like Fox, but right now, it was pretty easy to pity him. Poor guy'd had the rug ripped out from under him, only to find a flight of stairs at his back.

She sharpened her hearing again, kneeling to get eye level with the doorknob. It was locked, as she'd expected, but good hearing was for more than just eavesdropping, and careful listening paired with a bobby pin made for quick work of the lock. She could hear Uriah's heart rate suddenly speed up as she turned the handle, and immediately softened her ears against it.

He lifted his head as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, pulling it closed if only to escape notice. His eyes were wide—well, one eye was wide, the other was practically swollen shut—and his face was gaunt and bloodied.

Sarah let out a breath. "Uh. Hi."

"S-Spyglass?"

"Ah, so you do remember me." She crossed her arms, then remembered she wanted to get him to cooperate, not scare him, and uncrossed them. "It's nice to know you at least knew who I was when you sent an assassin after me."

Uriah raised a shaking arm, as if to shield his face. "Please— I'm sorry, I—I know sorry doesn't m-mean anything, but please, please don't hurt me—"

Shit, that had probably sounded vaguely threatening. "No, no. I'm… I'm not here for revenge or whatever." She sighed. "I… actually had a few questions for you."

"I'll tell you anything you want, I'll comply, please don't—"

"I'm not trying to hurt you," Sarah cut in. Had she sounded threatening again? Was it possible to not sound threatening to the poor guy right now? She tried again.

"I have some information I really need. I won't hurt you if you can't answer my questions, okay? They're just questions."

She waited for Fox to nod. He never took his eyes off her.

"First, do you know of any fail-safes in place for the Hero CEOs? Backup plans that let Corp get away scott-free if we do manage to pin something big on them?" Like how they used you as a scapegoat? She didn't say that part out loud. If that wound wasn't still fresh, it was constantly being re-opened in this environment.

Uriah nodded, but didn't actually say anything. She tried to keep her voice soft as she prompted,

"Like what?"

"I… I don't know, I… I can't remember. E-everything I had, everything good, was on my personal network."

"Network?" Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"Computer. A—a specific computer."

She sighed. "Which I don't imagine you currently have on you."

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop." Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you know where this specific computer is?"

"Still at Titanium. In a—a vault."

"That I presume you know how to access?"

He nodded.

"Tell me." It would be a fucking doozy of a mission, but that computer could be a gold mine. Secrets, conspiracy, fail-safes… Corp's dirty laundry. If they could break in, maybe Hugo could hack the network.

"There's a code."

"Of course."

"A-and a fingerprint scanner."

"Of. Course." Fucking of course. Because there had to be something there special enough that Uriah Fox would just have to be brought along. It was entirely possible he was making that part up in a bid to get free. If Lex were here, he'd suggest just cutting off a finger, and she'd be hard-pressed to ignore the idea.

But despite her annoyance, despite knowing the truth of Uriah Fox, that he was a power-hungry, horrible man who was willing to send assassins after literal children to keep his reputation, she felt kind of queasy at the thought of hurting the trembling thing he'd become.

She… she needed time. She needed a new plan. The info about the computer was great, but she doubted Fox would be able to offer much more in this state. 

As she opened the door, peeking outside, Uriah piped up behind her.

"Where..?"

"I need to think. Thanks for the answers." She stepped out—

"Wait! Please… please, take me with you."

Her stomach sank, laden with equal parts dismay and pity. Yeah, his situation sucked, but the idea of keeping him around, of bringing him back to the team… no thank you. If the fingerprint bit was true, they'd find a way to synthesize it, and they shouldn't need Fox to get into the laptop.

"Sarah, please—"

"Using my name won't help." She did look back then, and wished she hadn't. Fox was on his hands and knees, looking up at her with teary, pleading eyes.

"You're a hero. Y-you save people."

Real heroes save everyone. Hadn't she told Lex that? Did it make her a hypocrite then, to want to turn her back on the person responsible for so much of her misery? Who'd killed her old team leader, who'd tortured one of her friends for a year?

Maybe it did. But it still felt justified.

"I was a hero," she said. "You made me a rogue."

She pulled the door closed behind her, dulling her hearing to lessen the sharpness of Uriah's pleas, and began to briskly walk back down the hallway.

With the uninspiring security, she probably could've walked right out the front doors without signing out, but Sarah stopped by the desk again anyway.

"Zhang," the guard mumbled. "Done so soon?"

"I got what I needed," Sarah offered, clutching the pen a little too long after signing her name in the visitor log. "I… heard a rumor while I was inside."

"A rumor?"

She set the pen down. "Yeah. Supposedly Uriah Fox is in here somewhere." What was she saying? Was she about to threaten the guard into treating Fox better?

"Is that what you heard?"

"It's what I heard. Though I didn't see any sign of him, so I don't know how true it is."

His eyes darted to the pen at her fingertips. "Off the record?"

Sarah nodded. "Off the record."

The guard leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, Fox is here, all right."

She feigned surprise. "Really? What did he do? I heard it was something about embezzlement?"

"Something like that," the guard agreed.

"Where is he?" Sarah ventured. "Like I said, I didn't see him."

"He's been in solitary for a while now," the guard replied.

A while. How long was a while? How long had it been since he'd been thrown out? Two months? Three?

"What did he do?"

"Existed." The guard chuckled. "They put a man like that---who's spent his entire life stepping on other people---in a cell block filled to the brim with men who've been screwed over by him and others like him. What'd you think would happen?" He thumbed through the stack of papers on his desk idly. "The first few weeks, it was all we could do to keep him alive. It's a miracle he's still kicking, honestly." He leaned in, conspiratorially. "Between you and me, there's at least two guards on staff who have beef with the guy, and I know they've been paying him visits."

Sarah grit her teeth, trying to make it sound casual when she replied, "And you aren't stopping them?"

"Why would I? It's Fox."

It's Fox.

That was her logic, too. Why would I? It's Fox.

Why would I?

Because real heroes save everyone. And whether Uriah likes it or not, I'm still a hero.

She forced a smile, rolling the pen back to the guard. "Well, have a great day," she said, not waiting for him to reply before turning on her heel and marching out the doors.

Whether she liked it or not, she'd be back. And Fox would be leaving with her.

She'd be back.

° ° °

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams

and @whumpwillow @turn-the-tables-on-them this one's for you guys lol

[forgottenvalentina]

" how long have i been asleep? " (cassimir x valentina)

"How long have you--!"

Valentina turned stormily towards the window. She'd just prodded him awake with the end of a broom she'd snatched from Eithne in confronting her. The upstart little minx had remained firm. But Valentina was about to hear it refuted.

Whatever happened -- even if he had, indeed, caved in a moment of weakness (men were horrifically weak in such matters, after all, it could surely be forgotten, erased, perhaps in time even...forgiven) -- she would still hear it put to rights, at the very least. Yet, upon being poked awake through his bedsheets, Cassimir hadn't darted up in horror, as she'd somewhat vindictively hoped, he'd grumbled something into his pillow which had nothing whtever to do with the matter which most preoccupied her, a fact which made fury an incandescent glow upon her alabaster face, shining in the dark of his room.

With an exasperated growl, Valentina stormed to the end of the room, ripping the curtains away from the windows to allow brilliant sunshine to pour in. She watched him flinch from the light with some modicum of satisfaction. She hadn't raised him to be a fool, but now he was showing: even her beautiful boy was his father's child. She hurled the broom down upon the floor before marching back to his side.

Exhaling slowly, Valentina knew well she'd need to manage herself in order to best manage him. She strolled forward, seating herself upon his bed, a touch more serene than she'd been mere moments ago. Still, she made no bother to conceal that she was cross. A little of that would do her argument good, she had no doubt.

"A most alarming bit of scuttlebutt has reached my ears." She paused, letting her words soak in. "Is it true that you wish to throw away you entire future?" Valentina leaned forward, cradling her son's face in both her hands. "I want to give you the world. That's all I've ever wanted." Her hands dropped away, she straightened. "But there are others who wish to take everything away from you. My son, you do not know the whiles of women. You are a good person who sees the good in others, even when it is but a shadow of hope -- a callow reflection of your good in another. Nothing more. Do not be taken in."

She paused. "Though I know you could never be so foolish as to be beguiled by so obvious a counterfeit of goodness as that which your eldest stepsister flounts about," she began, coolly arching her brow. "I have nevertheless heard it said that you have promised away all your life and hopes and future to that conniving little slattern. Tell me the truth, my darling, darling boy," she added, placing her hand upon his, eyes and voice turning now to pleading. Tears prick her eyes and she was glad. Let him see what he had done to her. "Tell me this is an awful mistake. Whatever may be, we can still make all things right."

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

I lowkey (highkey) reeeaaaaallly wanna see Nice Eclipse's Moon come to our dimension.

It's probably gonna be an episode, and I can only see it going to ways: he backs down, or he doesn't.

Just think: Solar's (calling him Solar like @ayy-imma-ninja [tthey're at this tumblr so go check'em out if you haven't already {you prob already have tho let's be honest}, I'll probably just end up calling his Moon S.Moon cuz I'm lazy, sorry for the terrible formating of this by the way, I'm terrible at organizing my thoughts...this is why I type in the notes guys] does because it gets very confusing for me, I hope they don't mind if they see this, not gonna tag them cuz I don't wanna bother anyone with my dumb lil ideas) Moon stumbles through the ballpit and rights himself after the initial disorientation, eyes zeroed in on his kill. He scans the Daycare and identifies his target at the security desk. But guess who else is there...?

That's-that's him, right there, talking to Eclipse.

Of course, it isn't really him, he'll probably reason. That's this dimension's Moon, the one Solar seems to be so enamored with. He doesn't talk to Solar, not unless he has to, not after what he did to Sun.

But watching some version of himself talk to him...they're both at at ease with each other, or as relaxed as they can be with whatever seemingly serious hushed conversation going on is about. Still, they're civil with each other, actually bordering on friendly, familiar, even. And seeing that, S.Moon realizes...

This Moon is so much happier than he is.

But of course he's happy. He still has his brother, even after everything they've been through. His brother was lost before they had ever hoped to have gained anything, dead before their lives together even started.

Why does this Moon get to be happy? Why doesn't he deserve that same fate that S. Moon has suffered through? They're the exact same model, the exact same person.

But we're not the same, a quiet voice whispers in the back of his head.

He hates that it sounds like Sun.

I don't think S. Moon is really impulsive enough to actually start a fight. I do think, however, that he has quite a temper, so he probably wouldn't back down if the pair were to suddenly notice him in the ballpit and call him out (yes I'm using this as a way to continue the situation hush I am weak). So. I think the scenario would probably play out as Solar seeing S.Moon in the pit and going 'oh shit I'm gonna die' in that hardly surprised drawl of his, and then our Moon comes out and goes 'uh NOPE not gonna happen'. Which means we've got a battle of the Moons. Yippy-ki-yay. S.Moon probably confronts our Moon, argues with him. ('Why are you defending him? He's the reason our brother's gone!') Cue Solar feelin guilty while Moon goes 'nah dude this guy's different this guy's in my house so back off'

smalll scuffle to continue the plot cuz I HAVE A POINT WITH THIS I PROMISE-

Small scuffle, almost gets into a full-on fight, but who should come to his brother's aid but Sir Sunrise himself. He'd rush in, probably try to calm down this stranger who's he's trying very hard to ignore because it reminds him of the Old Moon so much.

(Remember, S. Moon's not the only one to go through the loss of a brother...)

And S. Moon just...stops. He's still, save for wobbling optics that quiver as they take this Sun in with disbelief.

He hasn't seen his brother in so long. He looks-he looks so different-tired and worn out and far too anxious, more so than he used to be. S.Moon reaches out...

...and then pulls back.

This isn't right. It's him but it's not, it's not him. This Sun has a brother, a family, friends, a life. This Sun has been broken, but he's healing in a way S. Moon never will. And with that all, there's something else he senses...

This Sun is happy.

...S.Moon wonders if his brother would be as happy with him as this one is.

He forces his optics of of the yellow animatronic in front of him and the orange one eyeing him warily.

He then walks back to the ballpit and teleports away without a word.

Solar observes quietly. Another careful prompt from Moon, asking if he thinks S.Moon will come back. It's a soft attempt at reassurance of a presence caring for him at the same time as it serves as a cautious probing at his feelings. He doesn't say much of anything, just shrugging, telling the blue animatronic that he doesn't know what his Moon'll do next, if he'll come back.

But he does know. He knows that there's one thing about every Moon that never changes regardless of the dimension: he always honors his word. And he knows his Moon won't come back.

He can piece together why pretty easily. Seeing this perfect little family that Solar has found and somehow earned a place in further confirmed his cut ties with him. It also cemented something else: S.Moon may never know what family is like. He had that chance with Sun, then Solar, and he blew it. Seeing that bond here, something he can never be a part of...

He knows that he's the outsider now.

That silent staring match between them said it all. S.Moon won't come back. The one and only kind thing he'll ever do for Solar. He'll go back to his dimension, silently aching for a future that he can't have, a world that isn't his. He'll work on his Sun. It's not Sun anymore, either, really, just an empty shell. Moon's no fool. He's probably realized that Sun's gone for ages, he won't come back. He knows that what he works on tirelessly, slaving away at night after night, skipping charges and sacrificing anything, perhaps even the metal plating on his endoskeleton if it comes to it, it's all for the sake of nothing but a hollow corpse, a husk of a brother long gone.

Moon doesn't have anything left to work for.

A part of Solar wants to go back and help him, save him. Maybe he will, someday. But he's making his own decisions now, choosing his own happiness. So he lets Lunar drag him away from the Daycare and his messy thoughts with a question of if he wants to watch more cartoons or maybe play Minecraft if he's not up to it?

Tired optics soften at the gesture and allow the smaller animatronic to lead the way.

He's home now. He's let go.

Eclipse moves on.

Well that accidentally became a drabble instead of an analysis. Oops.

...also I'm gonna tag @sunnyinajar because you seem to like my lil blurps abt tsams? I mean I'm sorry for tagging if you don't you don't have to like it I hope you do but if you don't uh that's okay um I'm gonna save this before I lose confidence and delete it-

[achancetobehappy]

anyway back to thinking about her getting to experience being outside for the first time. just those first several weeks processing and acclimating to this new body and.. getting back on her feet.

but yeah. going outside for the first time. walking in nature for the first time. hearing the birds sing and the wind rustle the leaves and the crickets chirping, all these new sounds that she never heard before. all these strange new scents she's never experienced and getting to see real flora and fauna, not just in a text book. getting to have multiple days where she gets to go outside and she's just in shock and awe.

thinking about her feeling like she's in a dream, being totally out of it while her company leads her along. until finally she stops one day, suddenly becoming overwhelmed by the sharpness and vividness of this new reality surrounding her, closing in on her so very suddenly and without her control. it hitting her all at once, and leading her to fall to her knees with a sob.

"I'm.. sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I should be happy, shouldn't I? My whole life, I've wished dearly for this moment. I've wanted nothing more than to finally get to see this world. I should be happy. I should be happy. So... why am I crying?"

and for the first time, she tangles her fingers in the grass, the dirt staining her knees and her gloves, the sun soaking her fur. it hits her right then that she never thought it would actually happen. she could convince herself of her hope, back on the ark, for her grandfather's sake, that one day she would overcome this illness and be able to live happily with her family on earth. but she always knew deep, deep down that she was doomed from the start.

and i just think about that a lot. that moment of realization. that moment where she finally just breaks down under the reality of everything that's happened, everything that had to happen, in order for her to get to this point. it's a bittersweet realization. she's here, she's alive, despite it all. she has a new life to discover. but her happily ever after came at a great cost.

[urwendii]

The Mai Mae and Ossë Roadtrip in Middle Earth Serie.

Part 4 / ?

"Is there anything that can be done to prevent such an outcome?"

Night had fallen over them in a thick curtain of grey clouds that hung menacingly above their heads but rain had not fallen yet and in such they had time to build a hasty camp with dead woods gathered at the edge of the forest. Maedhros sat by the fire, a book opened on his lap, his right wrist holding it open and adding another log of wood with his left hand.

Ossë for once seemed to be in a quiet contemplating mood and lounged on his side, pale blue hair mingling with the carpet of dried needles. The Maia of water seemed uncaring of the state as his gaze went from Maedhros to Mairon who sat further with his back turned to them.

It had not been a good day for Mairon as they had laboured on the edges of Eregion's ruins and deeper into what had once been the Gwaith-i-Mírdain territory and their great forges.

Maedhros had not probed, whatever had happened there between Tyelpe and the Maia was bad enough that Mairon had retreated into sullen silence through the entire day.

Maedhros had seen the tapestries, had heard his nephew's anguish in the Halls and knew the story of the Rings but looking at the closed off Maia he guessed there had been more to the story of Annatar and Celebrimbor.

Turning from Mairon's distant figure he gazed at Ossë who had let out a strange tired sigh at his initial question.

"Thing is," begun the Maia "Námo loves fucking people's minds over. I think he gets a kick out of it. Like Irmo."

"His Doom for us turned out exactly how he predicted. Even Galadriel, the least concerned of the remaining Noldor with the Doom, was affected in some indirect ways."

Ossë's gaze turned sharp as he stared toward the former Dark Lord's direction.

"Was it her Doom because of some unfortunate fucked up actions in Alqualondë," as usual Maedhros' guilt forced him to bow his head. Ossë was the Teleri's patron "or because her actions put her in direct opposition with our dear Mairon?"

If he heard his own name Mairon made no move to show it.

"So you don't believe in this Prophecy? We Eldar had turned afraid of the mere idea of it. How can we not, immortals as our souls are, dread the Finite ending?"

Maedhros had learned pain and heartache in Beleriand, to such a degree it had scarred his own Fëa so brutally there had been nothing left of Maitimo by the end. Darkness he had known when he had hung on the cliff of Thangorodrim for three decades, darkness darker he had experienced when Fingon had perished so far from him and Darkness Everlasting in the Halls as what remained of his spirit curled and recoiled at the memories of all the lives he had taken, the fire of the Silmarils burning his flesh and fëa alike in a searing pain so dreadful he had barely felt the fumes of lava as he casted himself to his (deserved) ending. 

But even then, there had been a hope that Fingon will be born again, untouched as he was by the Oath, and if Maedhros would throw himself in the Void then the better part of himself would still love anew, his Findekáno so brave, so lovely.

So how come he could not fear such an end, for Arda remade implied the destruction of a world where Findekáno has been Returned, safe and loved.

"I think of this more as an allegory than a physical technicality." Ossë finally replied as he sat up and crossed his long legs. "But do I believe there will be some huge battle against that fucker?" There was no love lost in Ossë's eyes as he spat the word meant for their Enemy of old.

"Melkor will fucking return, of that I am sure. The way it was done..." He clicked his tongue as Mairon had leaped on his feet and walked away, head bowed. The clear blue eyes followed the other Maia for a minute until they refocused on Maedhros.

"It was not done properly, it was too hasty. He's still there, you know, behind these doors."

Doors can be opened. Just thinking of Moringotto set Maedhros' spirit on fire. Despite the Healing and the long years, revenge still burned bright through his fëa and hröa but without the dragging weight of the Oath it was easier to manage. Still, if battle there would be, Maedhros expected to find himself on the front lines with a mighty sword in his left hand.

"Eönwë will not say anything but if you see him growing restless and slightly unhinged that'd be your cue." Ossë added with a dry snort.

Maedhros had tried to avoid thinking of the Herald of Manwë, shame still strong as he recalled these last days and yet despite his stern attitude (which Maedhros expected was mostly directed at Mairon and Ossë.) Eönwë had displayed no evidence of resentment toward Maedhros and his folly in the aftermath of the War.

"Mayhapp this is only the deserved repentance to go through the next ages knowing of Arda's impending doom." He mused. There was the sound of displaced air and shuffling of pin needles as Ossë let himself fall back on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.

"Who knows. All things end after all. It should not change our plans." Mairon had come back with them with dry woods in his arms as he quietly took a seat around the fire. Ossë had a little smile on his face as he gazed upward at the stars.

"Sometimes it's enough to believe things begin again in an infinite circle."

Maedhros pondered the words as he stared at the stars twinkling above them. He thought about Fingon safe in Valinor and realised that as long as he consciously loved him, then in its own way their universe would last.

[bellamyroselia]

For Pit, father's day is an odd thing to picture of but so is mother's day. The concepts aren't foreign to him, but because of his upbringing he finds both of the days as weird to think of. He understands why both of them exist because being a good, loving parent to your children is always worth celebrating - he simply had no reasons to think of these days as anything important back then. Pit doesn't even remember ever having a mother, and for the longest time he didn't remember having a father either.

Well, at least that's who Pit assumes the golden-haired man from his dreams is. The young boy couldn't really think of him being anything else but his father; he too had wings and blue eyes like Pit's, so there seemed to be some connection between them. Even if it wasn't by blood, the man had certainly acted as if he was Pit's father, therefore making him worthy of the title in Pit's eyes. He had after all called himself lucky for having Pit in his life. But all that did was make his sudden disappearance even more weird to Pit; just what had happened to him? It seemed like he had every intention of coming back to Pit and based on Palutena's reaction in one of his memories, it had been unexpected to her as well. It clearly couldn't have been Medusa's doing, she had executed her plans when Pit had been much older, so what had caused it? Clearly his father had known he was marching into something since he had been wearing that fancy armor, but what had he been fighting against? And would it even matter anyway because of what Medusa had done to angels? Had he too been turned to stone like all the others or was he still out there somewhere? And this was him completely ignoring the tiny chance that his father simply just looked like an angel and wasn't actually one; angels were rarely if ever allowed to wear something of that high quality as his battle armor had been, and it looked like it had been made specifically for him. Why was an angel wearing something so ornate, Pit didn't know nor did he have any guesses that made even a lick of sense. Eventually he had come to accept that slight chance, as outlandish it had felt like; he knew that wings weren't exactly uncommon among the divine and their servants, so maybe his father was just one of those people. Pit had after all heard few offhand comments from Palutena that even some gods of extremely high status like Ares and Hebe had wings, something their children also possessed (presumably their servants as well, though he hadn't thought of it enough of to ask about it back then). Now what made them so different from angels, Pit didn't know why.

(In fact, the more he tried to think of it, the less he understood it. Thankfully it seemed to be a common opinion, as even Palutena couldn't give him straightforward answer about it. Apparently there was something more fundamental that separated gods from angels than simply having wings, though that never stopped some gods from having angel children. When Pit had asked her to explain that, Palutena had simply shrugged her shoulders and told him that she was equally clueless about that matter.)

Lost in thoughts, Pit can't help wonder how Palutena could react if he told her of these newly awakened memories. Part of him does wish to break the silence and talk things straight with her, but at the same time he feels like now isn't the time for that. Compared to what she has to worry of, Pit feels like everything he worries of is so meaningless and trivial. It feels so unimportant and not worth discussing when there are still so many troubles in the world, all of which have to be dealt first before he can focus on his own problems. Time's a limited resource and he just doesn't have enough of it.

For a moment his thoughts stray to Dark Pit and he can already imagine the other angel yelling at him and begging for him to be selfish for once in his life - he knows it's inevitable once he gets to know of the dreams, Dark Pit's going to yell at him for not coming out to the clear immediately, but Pit doesn't think that he's allowed be selfish quite yet. Not when the Underworld army is still causing trouble and he's not even sure of what may have happened to his father. Once things have calmed down a bit and he has some ideas of where to start looking, he can be selfish. There likely wouldn't be any harm of Dark Pit knowing a bit sooner than others, though - it's simply a matter of how much sooner, because it can't be that much sooner. He's going to be the first one to know, but only once everything has calmed down a bit.

Pit still isn't completely sure of how he's supposed to deal with father's day moving forward. Maybe one day he could actually have something worth celebrating; if nothing else, at least he'd have some closure. It would be good enough. But now all Pit has to focus on is to think what he's eventually going to say to Dark Pit when he tells of the golden-haired angel to him.

[doctorbrown]

Marty manages to wrestle the door open, holding it with his foot to step inside and then kicking it closed. He peers out over the stack of things he has in his arms— a sheet cake that looks homemade and two wrapped boxes, one in striped paper and one in polka dot paper— and grins.

“Happy birthday, Doc!”

❝I told you he was gonna show!❞ Verne grins triumphantly as the front door swings open, jumping up from his seat to offer his assistance to his clearly struggling uncle at the front door.

❝I never said he was gonna miss Dad's birthday, I said—❞

❝Yeah, yeah, whatever.❞ Jules rolls his eyes at the obvious dismissal and steals one of the leftover pieces of bacon from his younger brother's plate in retaliation.

Emmett and Clara exchange a knowing glance, smiling at each other in that way that makes Jules avert his eyes and focus on the stolen bacon as if every answer to all the world was charred into it.

❝Let me help,❞ Verne says, strategically stepping out of the way as Marty takes a few steps inside. Emmett, sensing the kind of impending disaster that only an overeager child could bring, hurriedly jumps out of his seat, taking advantage of his long legs to cross from the adjoining room into the foyer before Marty, Verne, the walls, or a combination of all three could be covered in frosting.

❝I'll take it from here, Verne.❞

❝But Dad!❞

❝You just want Marty to think you're cool!❞ Jules shouts from the next room, hitting the nail on the head.

Verne, in his attempt to call up a dignified, elegant retort, manages only a childishly indignant, ❝Not true!❞

❝Boys,❞ Emmett says, his attempted stern tone falling short around the grin he levels at Marty, wise to his youngest son's fondness for his best friend.

❝Marty, why don't you let Verne and I bring that to the kitchen?❞ Emmett hadn't noticed his wife materialise in the doorway with that feline-like grace of hers, but he was grateful for her intervention all the same, as well as her infinite wisdom in knowing how to get the boys to cooperate.

❝It's a lovely cake.❞ She smiles as she lifts the sheet cake from the pile of gifts in Marty's hands and Verne follows with minimal prodding only after being assured that Marty was planning on sticking around for a while.

❝I'm sorry about the boys,❞ he says, finally able to give Marty his full attention and, in turn, the two rather large and colourful boxes balanced in his hands. ❝They're at that age now where they're constantly at each others' throats and Verne is always looking forward to you coming around—❞

❝Anyway, thank you, Marty.❞ He knows better by now than to launch into his usual spiel of how he didn't have to get him anything for his birthday—especially when Marty had pointed out on numerous occasions how hypocritical that was, seeing as he'd never let an occasion go by without having some kind of thoughtful gift already chosen for him—so he accepts the boxes pressed into his arms without any further comment on the matter.

One of the boxes, the one wrapped in striped paper, has considerably more weight to it than the other one, so much so it catches him off-guard. The expression on his face must say it all, for Marty grins in that just trust me on this one, Doc way of his and says, ❝You'll find out when you open it, so hurry up!❞

Emmett guides him toward the living room where either Clara or one of the boys has already tidied up what was left of their late breakfast and sets the boxes down on the table. Marty plops down onto one of the plush chairs, leaning forward expectantly, and though curiosity pulls Emmett's hands towards the striped box, something tells him that one is best saved for last.

Einie slowly lifts his heavy frame out of his dog bed and ambles over to the humans to join in the calmer festivities.

The polka-dot paper tears easily enough and Emmett laughs as he pulls the green shirt out of the box, admiring all the scientific paraphernalia strewn across the fabric. It's bold and vibrant, combining two of his favourite things, and Marty could've just given him this and he would have been over the moon.

But there's a second gift and by the time he gets the wrapping paper off, his eyes have gone wide. Uncharacteristically, he has no words to properly convey the appreciation he has for either his friend or the incredibly thoughtful gift. He pulls the clock out of the well-kept box and inspects the train model itself, suddenly flooded with memories of a life left behind in the Nineteenth Century, of dust and dirt and malady easily treated by today's medical practices, of the home and the life that he and Clara had built...

❝This doesn't look too far off from what the Train looked like before all the modifications to turn it into a time machine.❞ And if the clock functioned as it should, if he was a betting man, he'd wager it sounded exactly like the trains of those days, down to the deafening whistle.

He looks to Marty as he sets the clock down and smiles, pulling his friend into a hug. ❝Thank you, Marty. It's a wonderful gift.❞

A shuffle of feet across the floor interrupts the moment, followed by a startlingly bright flash of light. ❝Aw man, you opened 'em already?❞ Neither of them needed to see Verne's face to know he was pouting, not with that tone. ❝What'd you get, Dad?❞

[allylikethecat]

Matty/George and no. 36 🥰

on anon so there's no pressure if you don't feel like it!

Oh my gosh this is so exciting no one has ever actually sent me a request for one of those prompts I reblog before. Thank you so much!! I hope this is what you're looking for? It's probably not since it's not what I intended to write but alas it is what has happened and I hope you like it! Please let me know!

❤️Ally

Kiss ... to give up control 

Matty was drunk. The world was moving around him in slow motion, like a montage in a movie, panning across the party, highlighting the short skirts and high heels of glistening bodies, drinks spilling on the floor as people moved to the beat. Matty could feel the hyper pop bass in his chest, deep and pulsing as George worked the crowd. This wasn’t his scene anymore, he didn’t know if it ever truly had been, or if he had just wanted it to be. He was too old to be here, bringing up the median age ten years with his presence alone. The gray in his hair was au naturale instead of a stylized fashion statement. He didn’t wear glitter anymore. He wondered if he should. 

There was a new drink in his hand, he wasn’t sure what number it was, some kind of toxic, neon concoction sure to leave him bent over the toilet later from the sugar alone, to say nothing of the paint stripping alcohol content. He hardly drank liquor anymore, and he was paying for it with the way the colors blurred before his eyes, like a watercolor painting. 

It’s what he wanted though. He wanted to stop thinking, his head had been too loud lately. His thoughts a flashing neon sign, buzzing in an off rhythm reminding him that he was a bad person, the grave he dug himself becoming deeper and deeper each time he tried to course correct. At the rate he was going the cadaver dogs wouldn’t even be able to find his body, buried abandoned under the forest floor of his own creation. His doctors wanted to adjust his meds. He wanted to bring himself to take them in the first place, the pill bottles collecting dust in his bathroom, the seals unbroken. 

He wanted to step outside of his body, he wanted to see the world from the outside, he wanted to see if there was a way to salvage the situation, if there was a way to salvage the sad life and times of Matthew Timothy Healy or if he was destined to be a footnote in music history, consumed by a persona of his own creation. He didn’t know where he started and his character ended. He didn’t know if he wanted to. He wasn’t sure he was going to like what he found. He took a sip of his drink. It burned all the way down. He wanted to give up control for a little while. He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to be, he just wanted to exist.

Matty stumbled forward, spilling his drink, the bright liquid splashing against the cuff of his button down, causing the fabric to stick to his wrist uncomfortably as someone pressed themselves against his back, grinding their hips against his ass. He turned, eyes flashing with liquid confidence, ready to tell them to fuck off, the words “respect for your elders” curled against the tip of his tongue when he looked up, making eye contact with George. His set must be over, Matty thought dimly as George spun him around the rest of the way and tugged him close, slotting their bodies together front to front, his fingers digging into the new meat of Matty’s hips possessively. 

Matty dropped his drink, the heavy cocktail glass shattering as it hit the ground, sending the thick razor shards in all directions, crunching under Matty’s boots as they swayed. His hands groping at Geroge’s shoulders as he pressed closer, as if he tried hard enough he could crawl into George’s skin and they could become one. He buried his face into the divot between George’s pecs, his own patterned buttoned down nearly open to the navel, the valley of which was at perfect eye level as he breathed in the sweaty musk that was so purely George. George’s hands snaked under the gauzy fabric of his shirt, untucking it from his slacks as his blunt nails scraped against the delicate skin of his flank causing him to shiver.

“What did you think?” George asked, his voice hot against Matty’s ear, the timber of his voice vibrating through his chest, straight to Matty’s lips. Matty whined in response, his head felt heavy from both the alcohol in his veins and the haze of being so completely enveloped, so completely consumed by George.

“That good?” George asked, with a chuckle, that went straight to Matty’s dick. Distantly, he was impressed it still worked with how much he had to drink. George knew that Matty hated the synthetic hyper pop beats, knew that he hated the clubs George played under a false name, knew that he would be there anyway, drinking uncomfortably on the fringes of the crowd supporting him full heartedly. 

George tilted Matty’s head back, bringing their lips together, licking at Matty’s teeth, at the sickly sweet cocktails he had been drinking, probing for the ever present tang of tobacco even though it had been over an hour since his last cigarette. Matty moaned against George’s mouth, a soft low pitch sound as his eyes rolled back and his head lulled, loose and entirely at George’s mercy. George pulled back, breathing heavily, knowing that Matty was slipping away, knowing they were standing in a crowded room, knowing he needed to take Matty home. A string of saliva connecting them before Matty’s tongue darted out, hot and slick, stained purple from the cocktails to lick as his lower lip, as if searching for the remnants of George left on his skin.  

“We’re leaving.” George said and Matty nodded sluggishly, the lights were on but no one was home as he slipped further into the haze.

George knew that sometimes Matty needed to get out of his own head. He knew that sometimes he needed to stop thinking, and that sometimes he needed someone else to be in control.

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

tragic. you’ve fallen for a ship from a small fandom and the only person who regularly makes posts/writes fics for them does so in a way that is both out of character and not to your liking

[cursedfortune]

Fingers danced between the strings that made up their very soul, bypassing the fear and rage in favor for something far less harmonious. There was hardly a competition when it came to her will against theirs, bullying her way forward to weigh the worth of them both. If she had proved weaker, the audacity she had would have backfired against her.

But how often was the will of a mortal stronger than that of a witch?

"Discord."

With a delicate pluck of a single string she reverberated throughout them absolute chaos. It was no longer them versus Mortem, it was their soul versus their body. The sound of her voice haunted them from somewhere deep within, her soul slipping away from their own. One step back as her fingers curled inwards, palm striking their chest directly the next moment to stun the body from pursuing her.

And then nothing.

The witch halted herself, watching as her arms fell down to her side. Curious as she felt their blood rushing, adrenaline coursing throughout their body. Redness, sweating, a pained look within their eyes. They should be feeling every joint on fire as their stuttered to breathe. Every heart beat one of agony as their soul and body rejected one another. Falling prey to her power, to her cruelty.

Mortem watched without the faintest bit of remorse as they suffered. In their unknowing, unable to comprehend what was transpiring - but she knew, she knew well. She had watched this very thing happen before to another, not by her hand but something else. Something so unexpectedly miserable. Consider this her own flavor added to her arsenal now. A deserved punishment to a once ally turned enemy. Did they think she would let them go? That they'd be the exception? She had been waiting for the moment they'd no longer be an asset, for this fragile alliance to fall through just enough to give her reason to spill blood.

Flesh ripped itself apart, both from the clawing at their chest to their very soul shredding through their body - until finally it broke loose. How ghastly.

Mortem eyed her hand, fingers flexing experimentally a few times. This was not an attack she liked to use but it was one that was deserved for a specific few individuals. Her friend suffered unimaginable agony for months like this, they could manage for a few terrible minutes to know all the suffering they contributed putting the knight through.

Black eyes softened a moment. Iris wouldn't approve. But she was dead. She didn't need to approve... she just needed to rest in peace. The witch would handle the rest as promised, as she always did.

[darkspace7]

[That Which Protects The Falling Rain] Pt.1

[A Sort of Synopsis, if you will]: Okay so the other day I was just faffing about and watching some videos discussing some of the Bleach Brave Soul character design choices as you do and then I got to thinking about how there were so few decently good fics featuring our good man Ishida and then that somehow led into wondering why there weren’t hardly any detailing the situations of how one would even come about to wear those alternate costumes in the first place and then that somehow devolved into contemplating time/dimension travel and fusion (as in literal fusion –not crossovers- although those are nice too…) fics and what-ifs involving rather creative semi-roll swaps and we all know that canon is basically just a suggestion at this point so anyway-

Here’s my-

“Through An Exceedingly Convoluted Series Of Events Spanning The Course Of About Roughly Two Weeks Uryū Ishida Gets Yeeted To An Alternate Timeline/Dimension Thing With An Imprint Of Ichigo Camping In His Soul As A Sort-Of Bastardized Zanpakutō And Now He Must Wage In Shadow Espionage Bullshit Because At This Point Aizen Is Still A Problem And Tipping Off The Quincy While Everyone’s Even Weaker Than The Timeline They Left Would Be Bad. (Also Having Two Instances Of The Almighty + Antithesis In The Same General Vicinity Is Apparently Bad For The Continued Existence Of Reality) And Somehow Not Potentially Fuck Everything Else Up Even Worse Than Last Time As Well As Try Not To Have A Complete Nervous Breakdown In The Mean Time.”

-AU…

But that’s kind of a mouthful so imma just call it [That Which Protects The Falling Rain] AU

So yeah…

As you can obviously tell from the prior blurb this is more or less canon divergent starting from the point that Ichigo got his powers back after the timeskip (which –in my completely honest opinion- was a bullshit arc anyway for a number of reasons that I refuse to go into at the moment) with the main kicker of it all being the things that happened with the whole Quincy ordeal went significantly worse off than in canon and basically a bad time was had by everyone.

[Unwind the World and Your Nightmare’s Gone]

Turns out that if you have a crumbling pillar that props up what is an already heavily destabilized world murked on top of everything else tends to accelerate the wholesale destruction of everything in existence. The first of this was quickly realized when Hueco Mundo, the Wandenreich, and the Soul Society all crashed and began to bleed into one another. This mockery of a union only served to further tip the scales to such an extreme that Hell itself –which at this point was still puttering along as the sole remaining pillar of reality- began to develop cracks in the framework before eventually just giving way entirely. And thus things started to bleed indiscriminately into the World of the Living.

Which, I don’t need to tell you, was bad news bears.

In the chaos and calamity people were dying in droves and –because the reincarnation cycle was wholly and utterly fucked- they were staying dead. The very few individuals that had been smart enough to dip when the water hit the wall or were (un)fortunate enough to dodge the first fires of the literal apocalypse managed to bunker down, sustaining themselves on the heavily overly-saturated reishi of the atmosphere as they waited for the inevitable end tailmarked on the hands of the three souls that still carried on. These three –the False King tainted with the spark of divinity, his Heir who sought to put an end to his reign, and the Hybrid who felled God Himself- who fought on even though everything and everyone they had once stood for having fallen ages before them; their hands grasping for that last pyrrhic victory because what else is there at this point?

But –much like the moon for which his blades were named- even the powers of god-slayers must wane and on the field of battle enemies will use any fault to their advantage. And so, with a decisive slice of the blade, the False King went Off With His Head and the prodigal son made his way back home like the rest of his children. But it was here that Yhwach, made a Mistake™.

For all that Ichigo Kurosaki was a hybrid of both Quincy and Soul Reaper, he was also part Hollow as well.

And Hollows are poisonous to Quincy.

But the imprudent ruler was past caring at this point -was confident he could weather the poisoning of his soul- that he just had to stop for a moment to allow the restless stubborn child to settle down and from there he could then adapt and adjust. But to do such a thing on a battlefield where there was still one other active combatant left (no matter how you have dismissed the other boy as being a non-threat at this point) was pure hubris in of itself.

Enter: Uryū Ishida.

Armed with a silver arrow crafted from the bodies of his kinsmen that he lifted from the corpse of his estranged father and the sheer and utter spite of someone who has seen every single last one of their friends and family be killed and subsequently has no more fucks to give decides in his exhausted state to pull an Ichigo and lets the fly.

It hits.

At long last, the Old King was dead.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because the being named Yhwach was a great number of things, however, unprepared was not one of them. Being able to see possibility after possibility was indeed a great boon when it came time to sketch out an action plan for such eventualities. Case in point, when faced with the surefire destruction of your own physical and spiritual being it is perhaps okay to latch on to and borrow another. And what better source than your treasonous Heir not a stone’s throw from where you currently were?

Long live the king.

Or so you thought bitch.

Turns out neither did the Quincy child nor the rebellious echo of the hybrid boy much care for his attempt at bodyjacking. So unanimously they decided to say –fuck that- and pull off their own sort of deus ex machina using Uryū’s Shrift in conjunction with Ichigo’s kind of admittedly bullshit hybridity powers to throw a wrench in things and swap the Fate of not only himself the other late teen’s echo as well so that in the end it was Ywhach who would be the one subsumed.

And by some fucking miracle, it worked.

They successfully managed to topple the Quincy King from his position to allow for Uryū to then supplant himself on the vacant throne as the King as the remainder of Ichigo’s unique spiritual signature securely subsumed the rest of Yhwach’s essence and then somehow used it to stabilize the burgeoning fuckery that was now his (and apparently Ishida’s???) soul.

Long live the King (and his new and only somewhat unwilling headmate) indeed.

Just in time for reality to start falling apart.

With the weight of the final battle having finally given way to bone-deep exhaustion he –(or, rather, was it they now? Truth be told, neither boy was entirely sure what to make of their current situation and the sheer number of existential issues that simply arose from their paradoxical state of being. But then again that sort of thing wasn’t exactly a new thing when it came to his whole impossible existence now was it? Hell, he’d had so many ‘impossibles’ tossed at him that at this point the very word was starting to lose all meaning, honestly. And this current bit of what-the-fuckery was just another layer to the botched clusterfuck of a cake now wasn’t it? ‘…Good god Kurosaki do you think you could save your little existential crisis for later? Neither of us have the energy for it and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m pretty sure that at least one of us currently has a fucking concussion.’ No, fuck you man, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the world’s fucking ending. This is a good as time as any, man. ‘I just want somewhere we can get a chance to rest.’)- leveraged their worn body up on unstable legs in search of an unbroken spot where they could do just that.

Sometime along the way he had noted the larger of the orange-haired hybrid’s blades among the debris and stopped to examine it. (Or rather, having sensed the echo of their wielder contained within, it had lowered itself to allow him a chance to look upon its glory. At least, that was the impression that it seemed to be giving off anyway. Yeah, like a pair of stray cats you rescued from out behind the dumpster on trash day, his Zangetsu was. But even to the end they tried to help in their own way… ‘‘Slaying Moon’ huh? What an apt name for such a blade.’ Blades. There’s two of them. Ah, that was right. But if so then where…?)

Even now, their wicked sharp edge gleamed obsidian in the light as he subconsciously let the blade rest behind in the crook of his back. Feeling the small clasp as sword seemed to latch onto his presence as if magnetic. Readjusting his glasses he glanced around and let out a soft noise when their eyes alit upon their prize.

(He did not look at the body sprawled out upon the ground as they knelt down and gently pried the shorter blade from stiff fingers. He did not look at the severed head with too blank eyes as he slid the other half of his blade carefully into the waistband of his belt.He did not look at his own corpse resting at his feet-)

He stood.

Continuing on, he trudged along aimlessly, stumbling from wreck to wreck in an attempt to avoid the ever encroaching void that slowly but surely ate at what was left of their worlds. (They decidedly ignored the shadows that lapped at their feet. The way they danced inexplicably without a clear source of light. Twisting and writhing along the rolling dark as if they were but a thousand –familiar- eyes held back behind closed lids –theirshisoursmine- as they waited there. Dreaming.)

He stumbled.

They walked on until eventually they happened upon a surprisingly stable section of what appeared the Royal Realm and what was even more astonishing was the fact that out of everyone who could’ve somehow managed to dodge the apocalypse they had the misfortune to run into Aizen of all people. And it seemed that the ex-captain was just as enthused to see them.

(Wow, yeah, no. Not surprised that you survived because you’re pretty much a damned cockroach at this point. But I am genuinely kind of surprised that you decided to stick around instead of –I don’t know- having the good sense to bail when everything started going to shit? You’d think he would. Like, scurry away to lick the wounds and that sort of shit, right? ‘Right, absolutely riveting commentary Kurosaki. Such a shame that I’m the only one who’s forced to listen to it.’ Grimace. Urgh what god did I piss off to get stuck with you assholes? ‘Probably the two we just killed.’…Ah. Right.)

“Hm, that’s certainly a pleasant expression.”

(…I wanna kick his fucking ass. ‘What? No!’ Just a single boot shoved right in his smug bondage-wrapped face. ‘No.’)

Thoroughly exasperated and just utterly done with everything and everyone at this point Uryū decided this was as good as they were going to get and sort of collapsed at the foot of the broken throne with an undignified grunt, shifting the massive knife from his back to a more comfortable spot upon his lap as to allow himself to prop their body up against a slab of rubble. The youth let out a groaning-sigh.

Aizen –having meandered over to join him- watched with a keen interest.

(The subtle shade of black bleeding into the much younger man’s sclera, the downright monstrous inferno of tainted Quincy-Reaper-Hollow reiatsu coupled with the unnatural way that the writhing shadows almost seemed to linger protectively around the bloodied child before him, and while truthfully he was rather near-sighted ((destroying his last pair of glasses in a spur of dramatic theatricality had genuinely been one of his sole regrets, especially considering later when it became wholly apparent that the hōgokyu refused to let itself be used for something as banal as correcting one’s eyesight)) he’d have to have been blinder than Kaname to miss the ease at which the other had hefted that particular blade around. Also, the singular horn was kind of conspicuous and worthy enough for him to lift a brow.)

“Your feats never cease to push the realm of possibility, why I’m honestly starting to think you don’t know the meaning of the word Kurosaki.” He watched with sharp eyes, observing how even the shadows surrounding the youth seemed to freeze. Fascinating. “Or perhaps you would prefer some other form of address more suited to the body you’re currently occupying?” A dark eye crinkled with wry amusement, “Maybe even something more befitting to that of royalty?”

 (He’s not going to let this go is he? ‘Ugh, no.’ …Fuck it.)

And so the one-who-was-once-many resigned themself to a litany of awkward conversation as they waited for the world to end.

And what a back and forth it was. Some of the more notable highlights included: In depth discussions on one’s particular choice of eyewear – {“So, wait, hold on. You’re saying you actually needed those glasses and that the whole debacle with the Winter War you were essentially fighting half-blind the whole time?!”

“In the barest sense of the term, yes. Why do you seem so surprised? Did you perhaps forget that one of my compatriots was blind? It is a perfectly reasonable method to use one’s spiritual sense as a sort of complement to innate abilities during combat, as I am sure that one of your newer parts is undoubtedly already aware.”

“…Newer parts?”

“The misguided Quincy child that you once called your comrade and presumably the original owner of the patchwork monstrosity that you now call a form.”

(‘…Okay, yes, while losing your glasses during a fight does fucking suck I’m far-sighted and also mainly focused on archery so it’s not so bad but “patchwork monstrosity?” Rude, much?’)

“My, what a frightening expression.”

They flipped him off.}

–To the eventual reluctant admittance of what had occurred during their final battle versus the late Quincy King-

{it was in general agreement that the whole thing was a collective load of bullshit, however Aizen did find some note of ironic humour in the new fusion’s predicament much to said being’s annoyance.}

–To why the traitorous ex-captain was even there in the first place-

{“And where exactly would you have intended me to have gone, hm?” The man gestured broadly at the wanton destruction that surrounded them.

“Should I have squirrelled myself away like the scarce few remaining beings that tried to do so before everything fell to ruin? Don’t make me laugh. Why, I would even dare to say those poor unfortunate souls have been all but eliminated when the world pillars sang their swan song and even if they managed to survive that don’t you think the void would have consumed them much like everything else at this point?” Sōsuke leveled a dry look, letting his head fall back against the remains of a broken pillar wearily.

“So I figured this was as good as a time as any to try my hand at usurping the throne, you know, seeing as the current Soul King was indisposed.” A flicker of genuine consternation flashed across the man’s face. “But, it seems that crossing into the realm of transcendence is still not enough just so long as you’re still missing a fundamental piece of the equation.”

“Wow. So even after going through all of that you still weren’t –what- Quincy enough to take the crown? Heh, sucks to be you I guess. Wh-hey! We already have a concussion you didn’t have to throw a rock at me you ass.” With a huff, they rubbed at the new welt on their head. “Geez…”

“But seriously, I can’t believe with all that bullshit you pulled trying to get the magic death marble to make you god it couldn’t even manage it in the end.” As the hand dropped to the blade in their lap, they gave a faint scowl and then turned to face the other. “And really, what’d it even matter at this point? Figure we could use it to prop up reality –or at least what’s left of it anyway- and keep it from imploding or something?”

Aizen let out a somewhat undignified snort, “The Quincy have finally brought around your inclinations of royalty, I see. You’ve even started using the royal we. But yeah, sure, why not. Go ahead and take a stab at being the Soul King for a bit, I mean I’d say you can’t possibly be worse that what’s going on right now but somehow I think you would manage it just to spite me.”

The young being let out a snort of his own as they rolled with the bit, “No, we’d totally be an awesome Soul King. Way better than the last one and Not Unstable At All. Heck, we wouldn’t even abuse whatever the bullshit powers we had on top of everything else so we could –I don’t know- turn back time and fucking unmurder everyone. Oh! While we’re at it why don’t we try taking a crack completely unknotting that clusterfuck you guys call a politics around here. Because, honestly? Responding to every new thing that shows up on your doorstep with ‘treat it like shit’ and/or ‘try to kill it with extreme prejudice’ tends to piss people off and is probably why y’all had so many enemies.”

They nodded, sarcasm just oozing from their tone. “Yeah, all of that would be just so fun. Don’t you think?”}

Who could have foreseen that such a benignly one-off comment could have could spurred such further chaos?

(Well they probably could have. But –in their defence- they weren’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the time; what with the existential fuckery that they were still coming to terms with alongside the previously mentioned concussion that made it so when Aizen ((who had went suspiciously quiet after his little haha-funny-but-not-really joke)) proceeded to pitch the Idea™ to them it didn’t really seem to tack on as being anything worse than what the apocalypse that they were already were going through was.

But as now they found themselves trying not to squirm with a hand splayed awkwardly over the violet gem embedded in the other man’s bare chest as the other looked on with what seemed to be deep-set amusement they could not help but think to themselves: they really should’ve known better.)

(‘This is so stupid.’ There’s no way this would ever work-) Astonishingly, the gem beneath their hand began to glow.

(…Are you kidding me?)

“Huh, it seems like the hōgokyu was actually able to grant my wish after all.” The other murmured, ripping the fusion’s attention away from the entrancing glow only for them to watch as the man before them slowly began to crumble to dust before their very eyes.  “Rather roundabout way of doing it though, if you ask me.” Sōsuke snorted, dark eye flicking up to meet the other’s disbelief. “Listen well Ichigo Kurosaki and Uryū Ishida, this will be the last time we meet one another as things are. Don’t squander the opportunity you’ve been given as it’s highly unlikely you will get another one.”

“…Understood.”

“Good.” The other seemed…actually kind of relieved? That was all they had time to think before his body was gone and it was their fingers clutched around the hōgokyu as it then took their wish (to fix this oh god don’t you dare drop something like this on us and then leave us aloneyou utter bastardplease I don’t want to be the last one left after everything I don’t want to be aloneand just like that there went another person that he failed to protect just like everyone elseplease I just want to fix this make it like it never happened!) and moulded it and then unwound the world from its crumbling spool, unwound them, unmade him and now he-

-Was-

F

 a

  l

   l

    i

     n

      g

but only for an instant before world reformed around himself and he was forcefully slammed into (his/their/whose?) body.

He blacked out.

[quietwingsinthesky]

me when a fic idea has way too much to it to fit a single drabble:

[yuriko-mukami]

Based on the Misunderstanding interaction with @mukami-kuron-mrsadisticcat

Sinking...

Yuriko gasped as tears ran down her cheeks. Her legs shook for a moment before giving in, making her slide into the sitting position in the hallway of the silent manor. Not even footsteps reached her ears anymore. Only the echoes of the sudden rage remained, haunting her thoughts, for she did not understand what she had done wrong. How could a single friendly question flip the whole situation upside down?

Burying her face to her knees, Yuriko shivered. She tried to swallow the tears, to hold back, but the more she fought back, the more sobs shook her shoulders as her mind sank into a whirlpool of dark thoughts.

Maybe she would be rejected in this family too? Maybe it didn't matter how much she tried... how well she tried to do. It could be that one by one the members of the Mukami family would push her away, even though she was trying her very best to make everyone feel good around her.

What if... what if they would end up hating her? Where could she even go? She didn't have another home... This was the place she belonged. She had left everything behind to live with Ruki and the other Mukamis... but... now... Had she done a wrong thing?

I didn't mean to pry... I wasn't going to compare... Why...? Why? Why does Kuron not see it? And why is he so mean about Ruki? He said so terrible things...

Quivering sobs filled the air of the hallway as Yuriko wrapped her arms around her body, swaying herself back and forth as if the movement could give her the support she was yearning for. Was there anything she could have done differently? Anything she could do now to change the turn of events for the better?

No... She would not dare to approach Kuron again right now. There was no way... Perhaps later... or not. Maybe he hated her because she had... tried to be... friendly...

I can't understand... I just can't... What did I do wrong? It's like with Dad. I always tried but he just... Nothing was ever good enough. Was Dad right? Maybe I'm worth nothing... a mere nuisance. Will I ever be accepted?

Yuriko should probably have gotten up and roamed to her own room but she couldn't make her legs move at the moment. And... in the end... what did it even matter if she just stayed here. Was there even anyone else around...?

[vounoura]

Does post game Ithren have any hobbies? Other than being a begrudging cat mum.

for a long time afterwards, she...drifts, a lot. everything at the moment is a lot to take in and process, so as her sensitivity very slowly comes down to 'normal' levels she mostly drifts from task to task and new experience to new experience.

It's a lot of manual labour, at first; the burn of muscle is weird and unusual and a little disconcerting as a feeling when you've never felt it before, but it's probably the first sensory barrier she breaks through. The old house she moves into with Shadowheart slowly comes together, day by day, bit by bit, the holes in the walls patched up and the doors that stick replaced. Ithren, until now, has only ever had hands that were meant to destroy things, and the sense of pleased contentment that comes with watching something come together, looking at the results of something you've created is...well, it's foreign but it's nice.

(It's precious to her.)

The interest in new things, in experiencing every new thing she can handle, comes quickly, though it ebbs and flows from being manageable to being overwhelming from day to day. Shadowheart wants flowers, and so they plant them, and she's never had to be this delicate with a living thing before. She feels the flow of soft dirt and the brush of petals over her fingers as they dig and more than once drifts, in wonder that she can feel it at all.

(Later, while they are in bloom, they become one of her favourite things to just look at.)

She likes being in the slow flow of nature, when her recovery allows it. When she can handle the touch of grass, the warmth of the sun, the scent of wildflowers, the light breeze - she likes to sit out there, sometimes for hours, not really thinking but just content. Sometimes Shadowheart joins her, and sometimes they nap there, down in the grass. Sometimes she brings wine, and they laugh an afternoon away, or take walks through the fields of wildflowers. They have a deck with a chair, and when the evening draws in Ithren sits out there too, even in the chill, sometimes with a blanket and sometimes with one of the cats nestled nice and snug in her lap, or Scratch lying heavy on her feet.

(She tries a shopping trip with Shadowheart down to the closest market once and - and even months later it is still too much. The crowd, the noise, the brush of other people's limbs against yours and the yelling and the - it is too much. The overwhelming settles as irritation and Shadowheart brings her home early, settling nice and quiet in a dark room under a blanket, and she decides that she much prefers the easy silence of their own home to anything else.)

Ithren takes a long time to find her hobbies, but I suppose her hobbies are trying new things and otherwise relaxing. Bhaal took almost everything that wasn't immediately necessary to being a weapon from her when he cast her from his body, and the gift Withers gave her in restoring it is not one she intends to squander - so sometimes she takes to things a little more zealously than she can actually handle, but well.

That's how we learn, isn't it? Her war is over, and she has time.