#I WANTED TO DRAW SOMETHING FOR THIS ASK BUT MY BRAIN ONLY CONJURES COMICS AND COMICS AND C

[turrondeluxe]

Hey do you think Master Yip would ever interact with the new turtles in your AU? I feel like Mikey would want to visit him sometime.

He does! The tots know about him before he passes from age, his dog following him not long after.

When the tots are a bit old enough to withstand traveling, Mikey visits Master Yip rather frequently when he needs someone else to help with the kids And someone to talk to (calling April helps but someone actually being present helps Mikey even more).

The tots think Master Yip is quite fun! His dog Nori is really cool! His jokes are silly and he teaches them Chinese whenever they visit!

When the kids grow older they remember him fondly.

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[allthegothihopgirls]

SPEAKKK transfem carl im listening

basically she's inside my head and gnawing away at small pieces of my cranium as we speak.

i'm assuming this was in response to my isttvg AU post, which was just something that weirdly resembled the t4t rarl AU i've rotated around in my brain for YEARSSSSSSS. i can talk about my original AU ig, although it ventures far from just transfem carl.

so the only real major tv canon change that happens for transfem carl to consciously exist, is that ron's never killed by michonne. in this AU ron has wanted to run away from alexandria forever, to get away from his bigot dad and prevent suffocating within the town's boundaries.

ron being transfem and KNOWING IT is super important here. even more so the fact that he cannot express it whatsoever because of his father's influence, although he wishes to do so.

the canon rivalry between carl and ron doesn't exist in the same way. the two bond over their love of comic books, particularly one series with outdoor explorers who visit all these cool international landmarks. although it acts as a form of escapism for both of them (who for obvious reasons, this comes across as HIGHLY idealistic to), ron takes it to the extreme and fantasizes constantly about not only escaping the walls that confine him, but living these same kinds of adventures outside of them.

the two often play pretend to cater to these impossible lives they wish to live, where ron notably always insists on portraying a woman. i think that is what drives carl to inevitably notice that there's something running deeper there, and sparks that mutual realisation that they've both got something a little funny going on.

to me, carl is never able to have that realisation in himself, without witnessing second-hand ron's experience with transness. mainly because carl's always wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, and any ideal future that isn't being rick just doesn't exist as a possibility to him.

i think the first conversation the two have about their mutual transness, the one where they can't find the right words to explain anything, and only very vaguely try and broach the topic without really understanding what they're asking, happens just weeks before pete dies.

so then when pete is killed by rick, ron isn't angry, he sees it as an escape. he'll beg carl to leave with him, who has heard nothing but brief mentions of ron's plans previously.

and carl doesn't just shut that shit down, he's angry. he lashes out at ron because he just seems to have this fantastic ideal where he can live out to the fullest and never have to repress a single thing ever again. and carl will never have that. he's angry that ron can even conjure up a reality where he escapes, because all carl knows how to do is act in the interest of his own survival.

anyways THAT is what builds the rivalry they experience in canon.

so ron doesn't end up angry at rick for killing his dad. ron gets increasingly frustrated with the idea that the only thing holding carl back from running away with him forever, is rick. which ultimately isn't true, it's the practicality of staying inside the walls that draws carl in.

however because ron and carl don't really communicate from then onwards, ron has no way of knowing this.

so the shootout still happens. ron stands there gun in hand, the last of his remaining family being mauled in front of him, and this time he really begs carl to leave with him.

something about ron not having anything holding him back anymore, and how he could cut carl's ties right then and there by just shooting rick. he's coming off as crazed as he suggests that carl wouldn't even have to feel bad for requesting rick's death in the circumstances of the night, as he probably would have nothing left for him by morning anyways.

ron doesn't take no for an answer and shoots regardless of carl's refusal, and by the time carl gains his consciousness back, ron's gone and unaccounted for.

this is where anything that ron had potentially drawn out of carl in their time being friends, goes right back to where it was before. although this time it's conscious repression, rather than blissful oblivion.

he'll think about it all the time, but fail to stray from the clear-cut path which is being the successor to rick's leadership.

there's one time years down the road that ron does show up again out of curiousity. he's put his qualms to rest, and comes around just to see how carl's doing. except he only lurks from the shadows.

it's clear that ron was successful in whatever specific goals he had past just escaping.

carl spends a lot of time convincing himself that it wasn't ron he saw between the trees out on that run.

and then when carl is dying, more trapped inside alexandria's walls than he's ever been, ron is the only thing he can think of.

and it's one of the last thoughts he has, that he's never been himself, and he might have been if he just left when ron asked him to.

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

Hmmmm I’m curious about ask 10 or 7 :) also im actually working on a comic right now and while the drawing stuff I can handle the writing is something I know I can do but I’m much more intimidated by so I may ask others to pick your brain more 😅

From this ask!

7. Post a snippet from a WIP

"Care for another trick?"

He pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket in such a smooth movement, from another angle it would've looked like he conjured them up out of thin air. He shuffled them in a practiced movement, before extending his arm to Aether. "Pick a card, any card!"

"Lyney, listen." Aether laughed. "I love you like the little brother I never had, but can we please hold off on the magic tricks for a little while? I'm going to faint if I don't eat now, I am starving."

"Alright, alright." Lyney chuckled, tucking the cards back into his pocket. As he did, he grimaced slightly, unnoticeably slipping a hand in beneath his shirt to press against his stomach.

10. Do you work on multiple fics at the same time, or only focus on one?

I generally try to focus on only one fic at a time, otherwise it takes me quite a while to get them written! Though as you may have noticed, I haven't posted anything in a while aaand... That's because I'm currently actively breaking my own rule 😅 I'm working on 3 fics right now, which is why I haven't finished anything to post yet!

The fics I'm currently working on is;

A Cyno-centric one shot based on the prompt Side Effects/Adverse Reaction

The multi-chapter Cynonari fic I mentioned during Sicktember

And the fic the snippet above is based on, an eagerly awaited fic about Albether and Lyneylumi!

Also thank you so much for the ask!! I love answering questions, hehe. Ask as many as you want!! Sorry it took me a bit to answer this one, I wasn't feeling very well the past few days, but I'm back to feeling like myself again now and ready to be active again!

[itsclydebitches]

Me? Ignoring my 20+ other projects to start a shitty Good Omens fic bingo? It’s more likely than you think 

Defy

“Watch it!”

A pram hit the back of Aziraphale’s calves and the woman pushing it let out a string of curses. That more than the collision had him jumping out of the way, profusely apologizing for stopping in the first place. Aziraphale didn’t think his apologies meant much���especially now that the infant had started screaming—so he miracled up a free coffee at the next cafe she stopped at and a good night’s sleep for good measure.  

“Sorry, terribly sorry again...”

The woman gave him a dirty look as she swerved back into pedestrian traffic. Aziraphale shuffled off to the side.

Oh dear.

Well, best to re-tie his loafers, yes? Never mind another miracle he’d performed years back, ensuring those bows would never again come undone (not after he’d nearly face-planted in Crowley’s company). One could never be too careful after all. So Aziraphale bent and spruced up one shoe, then the other. While down there he found that the cuffs of his pants could do with some straightening and there was a nearly invisible speck of dust on one knee. Maybe both. His waistcoat was always askew and the buttons could do with some polishing, his hair was—

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed, lowering his hand from where he’d been patting his curls. “You look exactly as you always have, old boy, and it’s not worth putting this off a moment longer.”

That’s what he told himself anyway. It was quite another thing for Aziraphale to get his feet moving again, rounding the corner that would take him to the front of his shop. The feeling that had stopped him in the first place still hung heavy in the air and Aziraphale found himself fiddling with the buttons on his sleeve, more to waste another few, precious moments than out of any real desire to fix something.

There was a supernatural entity packed into the shop. Oh yes. Packed being the optimal word. Whoever it was had enough power to their name that it had seeped out of their corporeal form and spilled onto the street, drawing the humans’ gaze even if they didn’t know what they were looking towards. Could be a whole army of angels stationed among the books. Demons even. That might generate the sort of skin-prickling heat Aziraphale could feel now, growing hotter which each step he took towards the door. More likely though it was a single archangel.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale whispered, now just an arm’s length from his well-worn handle; the collection of dates and times meant to deter too many from popping in. The faded paper seemed silly now, given that he would have rather hosted any thousands of humans over one of his brethren. So yes, perhaps he should rethink this. Head back out for a second lunch. A long, mid-day walk. Anything other then opening that door.

He could call Crowley.

Aziraphale was stepping across the threshold before he’d even finished the thought. No. They might be on the same side now, but that only meant he couldn’t throw his ally to the proverbial wolves. If his celestial siblings had decided to attempt a second punishment there was nowhere on Earth—or Alpha Centauri for that matter—where he could hide and Aziraphale’s last act as a Principality would not be dragging his beloved down with him.

“Crowley always did say I was stubborn as a mule,” he muttered. 

There was something quite freeing about committing to a decision. It allowed Aziraphale to finally still his hands and lift his chin, determined to meet this challenge with at least half the grace Crowley had afforded him during his first trial. Or the sham of one based on the story he’d heard. That alone was enough to give him a burst of something resembling courage, propelling him through the door.

Aziraphale was so certain he’d be greeted by Gabriel’s smug smile that he nearly tripped over himself when he... wasn’t.

“Ah,” he said, arms splayed out in a comical bid for balance. “Hello. You’re getting tar on my favorite cushion.”

Pollution tilted their head, much like an owl spotting prey. They sat slumped in the chair tucked between the counter and the first bookshelf, long legs stretched out and yes, a small puddle of what looked like tar dripping down from their ear. It settled on the tartan pillow wedged behind their back.

“Sorry,” Pollution said and smeared the muck further into the fabric.

Aziraphale swallowed.

This was most definitely unexpected. Unprecedented. Other un-words that Aziraphale couldn’t hope to think of because his brain was currently the equivalent of an egg frying on the pavement. Yes, a Horseman would most certainly generate the level of power he’d felt outside and—wait. Scratch that. Two Horsemen, Famine stepping out from the shadows to stand at Pollution’s side. He gave a jaunty little wave.

“Hello angel,” he said.

Aziraphale winced, unused to the endearment coming from anyone other then Crowley. Not that Famine meant it in such a way. He might be able to fake it though, with that relaxed posture and easy-going smile. Aziraphale looked around, a bit wild, now expecting the other two to close in on him. When nothing of the sort occurred he was left standing in the middle of his shop with two of the most destructive embodiments to ever exist staring like they expected him to start this conversation.

So Aziraphale did the only thing worth doing when things went pear shaped.

“I’ll make us some tea.”

***

Humans were quite right that there was an art to this practice and Aziraphale had spent many centuries mastering it. He’d never admit it aloud, but he found that the routine of boiling, steeping, and adding produced a drink far superior to what he could simply conjure up with angelic whim. Whether that said more about his skill or miracles themselves, Aziraphale wasn’t inclined to say. Perhaps it was simply the act of engaging in labor before reaping the reward.

Whatever it was, routine gave him a good ten minutes away from the Horsemen, allowing Aziraphale to pick up such useful information as, “I haven’t been attacked from behind yet” and “Apparently physical manifestations of mortal failings do enjoy a good drink now and again.” Famine asked for milk and three sugars. Pollution wanted nothing in theirs. Between checking the milk’s expiration date and pulling down honey for himself, Aziraphale felt another urge to dial a long-memorized number. He needn’t even say anything. The fact that he’d called at all would be more than enough to get Crowley here in record time.

Instead Aziraphale hefted a tray laden with tea and molasses cookies back into the shop, hoping he wasn’t making another wrong decision.

“Here you are,” he said, marveling at how steady his voice was. “I fear I’ve never entertained Horsemen before. Or, ah...” Aziraphale’s gaze landed on Pollution, something wet and sticky now seeping out of their boot. “Horse... people?”

Famine chuckled. “‘Horseman’ is traditional and I hardly care for the labels humans give us. Do you?”

It felt like a dangerous sort of question. Any would have really, so Aziraphale kept his mouth shut and made a non-committed sort of noise in the back of his throat. He poured the tea and tried not to spill too much of it into the saucers.

Pollution was still staring. Then suddenly they leaned forward in their seat, a squelching noise filling the silence, showing too many teeth when they smiled. “He’s nervous.”

“He’d better be.” Famine spoke as if Aziraphale were no longer in the room. “We may not have had our Armageddon, darling, but I hope we’re not that out of practice.”

Two pairs of eyes slid his way.

“Oh! Yes. Very, very nervous. That’s me. Nothing but nerves I should say. I’m positively stuffed with them—like a goose!—and that  certainly isn’t changing as you both... ah, look at me like that. Tea?” Aziraphale desperately held out a cup.

He shoved it towards Pollution though and there was a cold, suspended moment as he realized it was the one filled with sugar and milk. Then Famine stepped between them and took it for himself.

“Lovely,” he said, downing half in one go. This close Aziraphale could feel Famine’s aura, the gnawing, bottomless ache that had opened up in his stomach. Instinctually he reached for a cookie only to find that the box was already in Famine’s hands. “I fear we didn’t come here for the goodies though. Rather, we have a proposition for you, angel.”

“...Proposition?”

“Something fun.” Pollution had taken their cup as well, though they didn’t drink from it. Their finger just went round and round the rim as a pungent smell began to emanate from the tea. “There’s a war coming. Your boyfriend realized it first. We want in.”

Back in the 1740s Aziraphale had the dubious pleasure of befriending three young boys, each too rowdy and smart for their own good. A bit of mischief had resulted, in its final act, with them yanking a prayer rug Aziraphale stood on—perhaps the only literal example of someone having the rug pulled out from under them. He experienced the same stomach dropping sensation now, the instinctual urge to bring out his wings.

“War?” Aziraphale said faintly. “But... we avoided the—”

“Yes, but humans always find a way, don’t they? Eventually. They’re more resourceful than all of heaven and hell put together.” Famine took another cookie, eating it with a pleasure that contradicted his purpose. “We’re not stupid, angel. We knew going into the war that it would end in our demise. All but Death’s, of course. Angels and demons don’t need to eat, you see. Erasing humanity means erasing me too.”

“And me.” Pollution’s voice had grown softer, though Aziraphale was hesitant to call it laced with anything like fear. “War would survive...”

Famine grimaced. “In a fashion.”

“But humanity,” Pollution continued, not seeming to hear the interruption. “What wonderful creatures. Even if they learn from those brats at the airbase and improve themselves, the two of us can still go on. Famine lives in every holy man of yours, fasting in the name of the Lord. I exist in all the children leaving sweet wrappers in forests and gum under their chairs. We might not be powerful,”

“But you’d exist,” Aziraphale finished. Famine inclined his head.

“And that’s just the pessimistic view. I believe that humanity will continue on as it has, now that you’ve given them that chance.” Famine’s grin was nothing like Pollution’s and every bit as unsettling. “Gorging themselves. Leaving the mess behind.” He finished off the cookies and obligingly dropped the box on the carpet, inciting a happy squirm from Pollution.

“I see,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t entirely sure he did. “So you need me to...?

“Do nothing. Nothing at all, angel. This was merely a polite acknowledgement. You and that demon started something when you stood at humanity’s side. Know that we have every expectation you’ll finish it.”

Famine clapped him on the shoulder as he went by and Aziraphale nearly buckled at the hunger that ran through him. Pollution followed, having taken nothing but leaving plenty behind. The stench was overwhelming.

“We’ll be in touch,” they said and left a smear of oil on the edge of Aziraphale’s sleeve, grasping it briefly like a child.

“Y-yes. Lovely to see you. Toodle pip!”

Aziraphale had his hands on the phone three seconds after his door closed.

“Crowley? Well of course it’s me, who else—? Never mind. I suggest you get over here quick as you can. No, no, nothing like that. Just... bring dinner would you? I hardly care, dear, just get lots of it. Yes, I’m alright. Quite ravenous though, I’ll explain later. Oh really, Crowley, there’s no need for that kind of... of... innuendo over the phone. I’m hanging up now. Yes. Right now. Goodbye, Crowley.”

A beat passed with the phone pressed against Aziraphale’s ear. Then Crowley’s tinny laughter filled the bookshop.

“Well I don’t hear you hanging up either,” he groused. All of it—the banter, Crowley’s voice, the utter absurdity of this little disagreement—helped to loosen the tension in Aziraphale’s shoulders; alleviated some of the stench from his nostrils and cleared out the air. He sat with a thump and listened to the familiar sounds of Crowley starting up the Bentley. It perhaps couldn’t hurt to stay on the line just a little bit longer.

“Best pick up a few bottles of wine while you’re at it,” Aziraphale said, staring at the empty cookie box. “I just had the most unexpected visitors. I fear we have a great deal to discuss, my dear.”

Crowley cracked another joke about Aziraphale’s visiting practices and that right there was their first miracle in a while. Because despite Horsemen and the presumption of inevitable war, even with the reminder of their newly minted side and all the consequences that came with it... 

One joke from Crowley made Aziraphale feel like it was all going to be okay.

[creideamhgradochas]

Thanks to the lovely @bitsandbobsandstuff for taking the time to answer these! Get to know more about lovely Kris, go give her a follow and then show her some love!

These questions are from this list. You should check it out, there’s 50 questions all together and they’d be great to ask your favorite fic writer!

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fan-fiction?

Looking back, my first attempt at fanfic was probably when I was 11-years-old and I couldn’t wait for the next ‘Babysitters Club’ book to come out, so I wrote my own story. I think it featured Stacey McGill and horses. I really fucking wish I could find it… But honestly, I didn’t really understand the world of fanfiction until I joined Tumblr. So outside of those little forays when I was younger, I’d say it was last year when I realised it was a thing I could do and people might be interested, so let’s say my 30s.

2) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

When it comes to fanfic, I prefer Reader inserts. They feel more inclusive and frankly, even as a writer it can be easier to imagine myself in the shoes of the reader character (so I can understand their thoughts and feelings and motivations), if I don’t have a specific name attached to them.

5) When is your preferred time to write?

Either first thing in the morning (coffee and morning air are excellent inspiration) or Saturday afternoons.

6) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Constant reading. I’m that nerd at the bus stop or waiting at the movie theatre or walking down the street with my nose in a book. I also try to draw on real life experiences/ situations when I can, it gives stories more texture.

7) In your Safe With Me fic, what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

I’m going to be cheeky and say it’s a tie – the dance scene in Chapter 8 and the trigger scene in Chapter 15. The realisations they both had within the few minutes of their dance together felt like such a great payoff for everything up until that point, and I loved imagining Bucky in that black suit (and I just love that song ‘Run to you’). The trigger scene was so much fun just to  resurface and/ or create all Bucky’s memories, especially the ones with the Soldier…they were like mini-stories of their own.

8) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Nope. Everyone has a different vision and every story is unique for a reason.

9) Who is your favorite character to write for? Why?

Clearly, I’m such a sucker for Bucky Barnes. 😊 His character has been through so many things over his lifetime, you can take him in a hundred directions and they can still feel true to source material (both MCU and comics). He can be a battle-weary soldier or a sassy little shit, and it all links back to some iteration of his personality at some point in his life – whether pre-WW2, Winter Soldier days, or now. I’d like to branch out and try others (or maybe other fandoms) at some point, but I’m content with him for now.

11) How did you come up with the title for the Safe With Me?

I knew I wanted the title to be a line of dialogue, because I like the symmetry of finding titles inserted in a story, and I knew I wanted it to be something ‘safety’ related, since that was the theme of the story. In Chapter 3, Bucky gives the reader a little speech at the end, telling her he’ll do anything he needs to protect her, and after re-working that a little, I came up with the ‘you’re safe with me’ line, and that became the title!

12) How did you come up with the idea for Safe With Me?

I wanted to try a series for a long time, but was always  so intimidated by the idea - I’m blown away by the writers on here who do so many series, the time it takes is nuts. For SWM, there were certain themes I personally wanted to find in a story - what it means to be safe, how sometimes evil people can live right next to you, the importance of mental health...all those concepts were used as foundations to the story and the colour was created around them. Sometimes things went in the direction I wanted, sometimes they took unexpected left turns as I was writing - I think you really have to be okay being led by your gut sometimes. Things like lemon drug or Tony’s tech or changing the purpose of the trigger words were random ideas that fell into place. My brain is a weird place to be sometimes.

14) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

I’ve thought about doing something else with ‘Bless me father’ (still the strangest, weirdest, dirtiest story I’ve written) maybe a prequel or sequel, but still mulling over ideas.

16) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

There are so many on Tumblr I love, but three in particular I would point out.

@a-splash-of-stucky: Elsa is a literal poet. The way she writes, the images she conjures and phrases she uses, are beyond gorgeous.

@justreadingfics: Ally can set up a scene like you wouldn’t believe. I am also in continual awe of someone who can write so beautifully when it’s not their first language.

@4luvofall: Cristina nails the dialogue every single time. Her characters are always a little sassy and a little funny, and I want to go drinking with them (and her). Outside of Tumblr, my favourite book is A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and I would be happy to read Harry Potter every day for the rest of my life.

17) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

No stories, although sometimes I’ll read old dialogue or descriptions and roll my eyes a little! I think it’s important to read your old stuff and recognise how far you’ve come or how your style has changed.

18) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

I have a writing playlist that is mostly Sigur Ros and Sleeping at Last, with a heavy dose of movie soundtracks like Lord of the Rings. But sometimes, I put headphones in and just listen to silence.

19) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

I’ve gotten a little emotional at points, but never full on cried. I have sobbed like a baby while reading though, good lord.

20) Which part of your Safe With Me fic was the hardest to write?

I think the club scene in Chapter 12 was the hardest. The idea was to use the scenery and secondary characters and music to build the tension through the course of the night, until everything collapsed. Finding the right flow and making sure it didn’t feel too rushed was really hard, it took me a long time to work through.

21) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

I tend to make an outline. For one-shots, it’s never long – just listing out the key points and scenes I want to hit. For SWM it was long – the outline was more than 15,000 words. Admittedly, I’m somewhat Type A, so I need structure to function. 😊

23) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Probably my first Stucky story, ‘The language of a kiss’. I was hesitant to post it – it wasn’t long after I read ‘Not easily conquered’ which was one of the most mind-blowing literary experiences of my life. I love the story and have gotten lovely comments on it, but I think AO3 tends to be a better place for Stucky stories, Tumblr leans more toward Reader insert.

25) Are any of your characters based on real people?

Yes! The reader for ‘Safe with me’ was based heavily on yours truly! Most of her dialogue came very easy because it’s how I speak in real life (full of F-bombs and insults that rarely make sense). Some of Bucky’s dialogue and sass was based on my husband, the way those two bickered in the story was pretty close to real life.

26) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

Some of the compliments I’ve received for ‘Safe with me’ have been genuinely unbelievable. Several people have said the story inspired them to write again, which I’m so excited to hear. The biggest compliment though, was probably someone telling me the story helped ease them through a depressive episode in their life. That hit particularly close to home and I can’t express how happy I was to hear that.

29) Do people know you write fan-fiction?

My husband and a few close friends. The first time I told my best friend, who is not remotely into fandom, I gave her ‘Safe with me’ at chapter 12 and she read the entire thing overnight and by 8a the next morning I was getting texts saying “are you awake and if so are you writing because you can’t do this to me.” Hearing someone with no interest in Marvel say that was pretty fun.

30) What’s you favorite minor character you’ve written?

Definitely Riz in ‘Safe with me’. I picture him hanging out in his little kiosk in downtown Manhattan, playing Candy Crush and watching the world go by. He has to have some great stories.

31) What spurs you on during the writing process?

Deadlines! I work so much better under pressure. If I ever had to write a thesis, I would wait until two days before it’s due.

33) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

I think it was the ‘Worth Fighting For’ series by @serzhantkris. The plot was based on Mulan, and followed the reader who took her brother’s place in the army during WW2 - she went though basic and got deployed and captured as part of the 107th. She was a feisty and amazing character, and I’m always a sucker for 1940s Bucky. The story is broken out across the three Captain America movies and it is seriously breathtaking – sweet, cheeky, full of action, and completely heartbreaking.

34) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

I think I’m going with angst. I like being able to dig into something and maybe cause a little pain in the process. 😉

[littlespoonevan]

Evak Fic Rec

So!!! A couple of people asked me to make an evak fic rec so I went digging through my bookmarks to find some gems!! This is by no means all the fics I love but I figured twenty is a good place to start. There’s no order or ranking to these, just some fics that are very dear to my heart and the WIPs that i’m keeping up with right now so please enjoy, and let me know if you want me to make another one at some point?! To all the writers of these stories, thank you for sharing them with us <3 Happy reading, friends!!! 

From the black of your eyes by sonhoedesrazao

Lørdag 17.12.16.

The Way He Looks at You by anna_sun

It first happened in the safety of Isak's own bed, the cluster of butterflies that seem to clog his lungs when he really looked into Even's eyes. They were laying mindlessly, limbs and hearts tangled into each other's, the only effort required of them being when they wanted to kiss. Though, even that, in itself, was effortless. When Isak looked up, he was welcomed by the sight of Even's full lips ready to be kissed, and he wasn't about to kiss them good-bye.

Every single time, he did it only with the promise of more. The lingering touches, the fingertips softly drawing patterns on warm skin, the kisses. They all meant the same to Isak. They all meant infinity.

Sincerely Yours by Joana789

Sometimes, Even’s mind feels like a mess, and it seems like no one in the world can sort it out, especially not Even himself.

But there are no rules, with Isak.

while the earth spins by cosetties

In this universe, boys he liked couldn’t like him back. They were straight, they had girlfriends, and reading more into it only led to disaster. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to be them.

Loving Isak by Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells

Five of the people who grow to love Isak Valtersen, and one who's loved him all along.

Love Me Harder by tech_ftw

In which accidentally being added to a group text has unexpected consequences. Like falling in love.

soft by ramis

Isak is the softest boy Even knows.

pitch black, pale blue by ufologies

“I wish I could stop thinking for a while.” Even didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper but it did and Isak lays back down, wrapping his arms around Even and pulling him close to his chest. Even lays his head down on Isak’s chest where he could clearly hear his heartbeat and tries to focus on that instead of the rush of negative thoughts in his head. Isak body feels warm against Even’s and he relaxes against him, feeling like he was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

we're two little people in this big ol' world by cosetties

All Isak wants is a nice, romantic weekend alone with his very attractive boyfriend. Too bad his friends have a different idea.

("Then, Even will do something gross, like spill cheese on Isak’s favorite gray hoodie, or treat all of Isak’s best pens like goddamn chew toys, and scratch that. Isak’s the luckiest guy in all the worlds, all the universes.")

sleep is the daughter of love by spikettes

When Even Bech Næsheim is sleeping, you let him sleep, no matter the consequences.

(Alternately, if you use Isak Valtersen as a pillow, he cannot be held responsible for any mess and/or dishevelment done to your person.)

Get Rid of Her by cuteandtwisted

"Even was angry and Emma was tugging at Isak’s sleeve demanding attention. Even had never been angry at him before, not even when he spoke recklessly of his mother’s mental health, or when he threw up on the older boy’s bed that one night he got too drunk and couldn’t make it home."

Or: Even still transfers to Nissen in his third year, but Isak and Even get introduced through their parents. FriendsToLovers AU in which Isak calls Even 'bro' a couple of times and is forced to watch old-ish movies with him in hipster movie theaters.

Magnetisation by eiqhties

He thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about how he shouldn’t have left Sonja like that. Shouldn’t have been so mean, so wild, so thoughtless. He thinks about it, but he wouldn’t change it, really. Wouldn’t trade in anything, swap out anything.

True or False by iriswests

Seven moments between Isak and Even (+1 with Sonja), ranging from the ages of four and six to the ages of seventeen and nineteen, respectively.

Or, the childhood best friends AU no one asked me for.

won't you be my livewire by itjustkindahappened

It’s 1:54 in the afternoon on a gloomy Tuesday when an angel enters Even’s classroom.

alternatively, "i've been tryin to grab your attention in class for over half an hour by poking you and throwing things onto your desk and you're refusing to acknowledge me and gdi all i wanted to do was tell you that you look cute and now it's gone too far and i can't go back"

would it be a sin if i can't help falling in love with you? by cosetties

“I mean, I already have a thing with – “ Isak waves his hand in the air. Conjuring up a girl should be way easier than this. Magnus had a girlfriend at Bakka for three months, and Isak doubts that she ever existed. All Isak has to do is make up a name, but his mouth dries up. He clears his throat. “A thing with – “

“Even,” the guy says, extending his hand for Emma to shake.

(Or, the fake relationship AU.)

Sideways and Slantways by iriswests

Isak gets stuck in an elevator with the one person he's vowed never to speak to again. This eventually prompts a conversation long overdue, but not without the memories flooding his brain like a broken dam first.

Show Me Where My Armor Ends by ikerestrella

"Oh, do you also need tissues?" That's what the trespasser says when he goes home and finds him in the bathroom. He's grasping at least ten tissues in one hand, while the other rubbing up and down his denim jacket. The trespasser raises his head, mouth shaped into a comical "O", and extends the boy his paper-ridden hand. The next second the boy has his shovel pointed at him. "Get out of my house."

OR: A very loosely-based The Little Prince AU where Even, the cool astronaut who travels around the universe with a self-made spaceship, accidentally lands on a baobab-covered asteroid and—as he definitely does in every parallel universe—steals some toilet paper, and gets caught red-handed by Isak, the sulking blonde boy who lives alone on the little planet.

How In My Silence I Adored You by dahlstrom (WIP)

In a parallel universe, the rest of the boy squad actually shows up at the first kosegruppa meeting and Isak stays for the love games. Thus, his first interaction with Even is quite different (no paper towels were harmed in this scenario). Also heavily hints at Vilde/Eva. 

in better light, everything changes by TimeInABottle (WIP)

"I just checked the revue website and blackmailing people for smoking weed wasn’t listed under the Kosegruppa description"

Isak accidentally texts a stranger (Even) while trying to text Sana.

Lost Boys (Not Ready To Be Found) by kittpurrson (WIP)

Even is a disillusioned media studies student who wishes he hadn't screwed up his film school applications. Isak is a prickly bioscience student who figured leaving his mother's house for UiO would magically fix all of his problems.

AKA a college AU, wherein Isak and Even meet later than they were destined to, but still save each other right back.

[planar-echoes]

Thick-Headed Mage (Unknown Plane) By Matt Cavotta

What are they doing in here? An upscale mage’s emporium is not the place one would expect to see a couple of goblins. Oh, look at them. They’re perusing the wares as if they have a clue as to what any of this is for. I chuckle to myself and continue picking up the components on my list. I give the awful duo no more thought... Until I happen to catch a couple real words among the gibberish they spit and bark to each other. “Echo magic.”

You know, the reason that I understood those words is because goblins have no magic lexicon of their own. They steal our words and, as I suspect, they just steal our spells as well. They can hardly figure out how to use a fork and knife, let alone how to channel and convert mana into magical matter. I guess if they were to stumble upon some arcane secrets, they would end up foolishly buying into echo magic too.

Back at the Institute, we call them “dog spells.” You see, echo magic is like a dog, you feed it once and it keeps coming back for more attention and table scraps. In the long run, it’s a complete mind and mana hog. Of course, in the short term, the spells require very little skill or connection to the land. Now that I think about it, “dog spells” are perfect for goblins – who are just as likely to grovel and bark for table scraps.

You know, there was a time when a goblin mage was a rare thing. These days it seems like they’re running about all over the place, lighting things on fire, pretending to be real wizards. The good thing about goblin mages is that they’re blundering hacks. Since I am pretty sure that goblins have not evolved mentally, I can only assume that magic has evolved, evolved into something much more accessible – too accessible, if you ask me. Then again, with the timeline looking more like a scribble these days, it could just be that many versions of the same two or three goblin wizards keep popping into the now from one of the infinite thens. I don’t think about it too hard; goblin wizards are as unworthy of thought as treefolk sprinters.

But then I walk by the pair and, ugh, the stench. There they are, huddled over the frozen lava beads, stinking up the place. One of them, the one that seems to be the “brains” of the pair, gives the other a sharp smack in the head. I quickly shuffle by with my nose in the air to avoid catching the waft as I pass. You know, if I were to conjure a deathly cloud of noxious gas, it would be because I had made all the proper incantations, traced the proper runes upon the earth beneath my feet, and channeled the power of land and æther to bring forth a controlled plume. All goblins have to do is eat and then wait a few minutes. I am a wizard. Goblins are scum.

As I make my way by, I put them out of my mind. I have work to do and I need not be distracted by their comic wretchedness. Before I can turn to the next aisle, they scurry past me, actually bumping against my leg with their foul, callused skin. What’s worse is that they swipe the last of the diamond powder! I quickly recheck my list. Diamond powder. I feel my muscles begin to clench up and my mind cloud with rage. What could these two jokers need mana powder for? Oh, of course, to “feed the dog.” There is no way I am going to let them foil my plan just to waste the powder on echo spells.

“Excuse me, sirs,” I say, choking back the bile that slithers up my throat upon uttering the words. “I was just about to obtain this diamond powder when you barged into my leg, keeping me from it.”

“Too bad. Too slow,” one replies. Then it whacks the other on the top of the head with the pouch of powder. Take a breath, take a deep breath, I tell myself. Control. Intelligence. Success. Rage is for... well, for their kind. I gather my thoughts.

“I am working on a very important summons for a study at the Institute. Without that powder, I cannot complete it. Please,” (I want to tear my own tongue out). “Please, let me purchase the...”

About the point where I have a vision of myself gripping a hand saw and raking it across my own outstretched tongue I realize that the foul little duo has already slithered away to pay.

“Sir,” I call out to the proprietor. “Please, you must allow me to buy the diamond powder! I will pay double.”

“Sorry, sir. I have already taken payment for the powder.”

Control and intelligence are not bringing me success right now! I pay for what I have already gathered and huff out the door. I see the goblins shambling off down the street. Perhaps control and intelligence did not bring me success here in the mage’s shop... my eyes pinch, my brow furrows...but they would undoubtedly do so in a contest of spellcraft. My eyes widen. Yes. I will take the diamond powder from the lowly goblins once I soundly swat them with the power of high magic. I will teach these dogs a lesson about magic you don’t find in reeking mountain warrens.

I hustle down the steps and out into the street. I don’t want to lose sight of them – they could easily get lost in a crowd of much larger, and less stinking, folk. I take heart in the fact that, should I lose sight of them, I can always follow my nose. The thought was worth a chuckle, but was, ultimately, unnecessary.

They make their way straight out of the center of town and toward the hills in the distance. At this point, I assume that the goblin that keeps smacking the other is the “wizard” and the one with all the scars is the unfortunate pupil. I consider which one I will focus my attention upon once the duel gets heated. In the end, I guess it doesn’t matter. The two of them together do not amount to a single human wizard. I have a little chuckle at the thought of how many goblins brains it would take to equal my own. It would be a pile as big as a wumpus, I bet – and that’s working on the assumption that their brains are the size of tomato seeds.

When I finally walk them down we are a good mile or so out of town. This is good. I do not want to draw any attention to my little revenge duel. It would not go over well with the others at the Institute.

“You, stop where you are!” I bellow. “I will have my diamond powder now. I challenge you!” These words of challenge are common for wizards – real wizards. They are not hostile, but rather just the invitation to a test of skills. The goblins will probably not understand, requiring a little more provocation. Again, I laugh at myself as I treat these animals as if they were actual learned mages. No matter, this duel will be over soon.

Surprisingly, they seem to understand the challenge. I am spared the humiliation of “speaking their language,” the language of rage and savagery. I delight in the fact that they give me this opportunity to show how a noble mage conducts himself in challenge and in victory.

In pure Institute fashion, I make no aggressive move. Instead, I ready a simple unsummons. The Institute teaches, as I have stated earlier, that control and intelligence lead to success. Counterspellmagic, they teach, is the perfect early move. In one simple spell I control the magic on the field and I learn what sort of spells my opponent aims to use against me. Control and intelligence. Still, I ready the unsummons. I feel a little sly, given that I already know what sort of spells these hacks plan to use against me. Dog spells. Ha! A simple unsummons can thwart all the plans of an echo mage. While they are busy minding their mana and the spells they have already cast, I can create threats of my own or just sit back and ready another control spell.

I see the two of them bickering at each other. They keep pointing off in the distance then back at me. Finally, the other one gets a whack in the head and he produces a small stick and some other trinkets from a leather pouch. Then they get to work. As they prepare their “magic,” they keep looking over at me, scowling and growling. I am not worried. I assume that it will take these two wickless candles a long time to get to where I have been since moment one. I am sure they are puzzled by the fact that I have not come out and summoned an attacker – aggression and violence are all they know, after all. Besides, I already have the answer before they even produce the question. Still, I watch in amusement as they labor over a summoning circle. I do cringe at the fact that they immediately use up the diamond powder to draw it upon the ground. Strangely, I do not mind. The powder, as it turns out, is not my quarry after all.

They draw the circle, and then another circle inside of it. Then, here’s the best part, the one starts jumping and bounding about performing the most crude and, quite honestly, embarrassing summoning ritual I have ever seen. The other one stands close by, shouting... something. Encouragement? Ridicule, most likely.

There is a flash within circle. It burns away to reveal...I’ll give you one guess – another goblin. This one is armed with a pointed stick. Ooooh, very frightening. It just goes to show how stupid goblins are. You give them access to magic and the wide world of possibilities it opens and what do they create but the same dumb thing they would be creating on a boring night down in the warrens. I stand tall and show no fear. The new goblin glares at me, then charges as the summoner barks out some buffoonish goblin command. I move not a muscle. I pay the attacker no mind. Instead I watch the mage, waiting for him to jump and bound about again, calling up more mana to feed his attacking dog. Once he does, I will flick my unsummons from the tip of my finger and send it whimpering back to its hole. A-ha, there he goes.

Just for fun, I wait until the goblin gets close enough to really taste its rage. Then, just... when... he... lifts... his... stick. Poof. That was too easy. Maybe I should consider a different tactic for his next spell. Hmmm... What! Another summoning flash takes me by surprise! I turn my attention to the summoning circle and... how? Another goblin materializes from the flame. How did they channel enough mana? How did they feed both dogs? It must be the diamond powder! That powder should have been mine!

I backpedal quickly. This one does not bother to wait for an attack order. I try to come up with a simple spell I can cast on the run – something that could keep this goblin at bay while I get more powerful magic ready. Before I can think of a proper defense, plain old defense is all I can come up with. I quickly recall my first basic summon spell and, against my better judgment – I speak the word and put my hands together, making the trivial little flapping motion. With little fanfare, it appears. I should be safe for a moment while I find a real answer. The contraption manages to click and grind and flap its wings once or twice before the goblin smashes headfirst into it.

The ornithopter shatters and falls to the ground. Almost without thinking I snap off another unsummons, but not before I feel the heat of another summoning flash. Somehow the goblins are accessing enough mana to stay one step ahead of me. I have to look away a moment, to call up another spell. My mind washes and I see the faraway seas. I feel their power and I look into their depths. I do not trust what I see. It is not countermagic. It is not divination. It is not even a formidable denizen of air or sea.

With two more goblins barreling toward me, I question not the vision and begin summoning the a wall of ice. Before I can cast the spell, before I can even begin feeling the humiliation of summoning a wall, I feel upon my face another flash of heat, and then another. Through the ice’s rippling translucence I can see the two goblin forms streaking off to find a way around the wall with two more following closely behind. Then, all too clearly, I see a fifth goblin – a rabid, weathered looking creature wielding a most peculiar implement. I see every detail of the iridescent, multi-lashed scourge it snaps back and forth. I do not fear the creature so much as the fact that my view of it is not diffused by a thick slab of ice. It does not bother to attack me. Why should it, when the other four goblins have just cut straight toward me... now that I am unprotected. I run.

It is a good thing for me that goblins should have such short legs. I outrun them easily. Or maybe they decided to turn to some easier prey, or on each other. Goblins are bullies and cowards like that. Whatever the case, I make it back to town and am clear of danger.

I catch my breath and begin to collect my thoughts. Control. Intelligence. Control. Intelligence. Yes. Yes, I must use what I have learned to take command of my situation. I must take what I have experienced and use it to achieve success. Today I saw the power of echo magic. The others at the Institute will never believe me, not until I can prove it. I will get to that later. For now, I must find some diamond powder. I am sure that it is the key to unlocking this mystery. The goblins stumbled upon something. They bumbled into a discovery. Diamond powder has some natural affinity for echo magic. Of this I am sure.

I will study the relationship between echo magic and the diamond powder. I will find and master the secret upon which the goblins stumbled. Then, amid much fanfare and adulation, I will unveil my discovery to the Institute. But first I will seek out the two stupid goblins and use their own trick against them. They will see how a real mage does his work. They will see how a real mage crushes an opponent. They will see me, a man, do this how a real mage does it – alone. Without some sniveling little sidekick to carry my things and feel the back of my hand.

[njawaidofficial]

18 People Who Probably Shouldn't Be Allowed To Meet Celebrities

https://styleveryday.com/2018/03/08/18-people-who-probably-shouldnt-be-allowed-to-meet-celebrities/

18 People Who Probably Shouldn't Be Allowed To Meet Celebrities

“Trying to disentangle my candy from an Emmy award winner’s arm hair was decidedly not a highlight for me.”

1. “I saw Nick Jonas and his girlfriend at the time, Olivia Culpo, on the streets of New York City and went to get a picture with them. I had no clue a paparazzo was filming across the street, so it was interesting when I came home to find the moment my skirt blew up from the subway grate was on YouTube. Now 160,000 people have seen my ass… Thank God I was wearing boy shorts that day.” – hayleyrae

2. “Gary Sinise does a lot of work with the USO and can often be found traveling the world visiting various military bases around the world, meeting the troops and performing with his band. He came to our base in Naples, Italy for July 4th, 2003. I was hammered thanks to the free-flowing margarita machines, and when our group got our turn to meet him and take pictures, I greeted him by hollering, ‘LIEUTENANT DAN, YOU GOT NEW LEGS!’ He must have heard this a bajillion times by now, so he was not amused, but tolerated it until I crowded in a little too closely for the picture and forgot about the sticky AF Ring Pop that was on my hand. It promptly adhered itself to his arm hair. Trying to disentangle my candy from an Emmy award winner’s arm hair was decidedly not a highlight for me.” – Sandra Navi Young, Facebook

3. “When I was about 10, I had the chance to meet President Obama through my dad’s work (he works at the air force base). When I met him, the first and only thing I said was, ‘That tie doesn’t look good with your grey hair.’ He laughed and tousled my hair, but I still think about it to this day.” – cassiej48d97d62b

NBC / giphy.com

4. “On Christmas Eve one year, Paul Rudd came into the store where I worked for a gift card. Desperate for something clever to say to him, I said, ‘Has anyone ever told you you look like David Schwimmer?'” – alih41dd2a5e5

5. “I went to the gym one day after work. The place was basically deserted, and I was excited because I really wanted to de-stress without feeling self-conscious. About five steps outside the locker room, I see Joe Keery from Stranger Things. I LOVE that show, and I loved him in it, but something about seeing him standing there in workout gear checking his smartphone kind of broke my brain. I forgot his name, his character’s name, my name, and how to walk and talk. Instead of saying something, I stopped dead in my tracks and kind of…yelped? I was so mortified, and of course because the gym was empty there was nowhere to hide. I kept running into him – by the water fountain! By the treadmills! I was so self-conscious I left after about half an hour, and frantically texted my best friend the whole way home. We agreed it was one of my more awkward moments.” – Emily Mason, Facebook

6. “I was working at swanky hotel and restaurant and Hugh Jackman had been staying there with his family for a few weeks filming a movie. I’d just pulled a 12-hour shift so my mind was mush, and I ended up serving him at a table. I went to pour him some water automatically, but forgot I hadn’t asked him if he wanted any and tried to stop myself. My tired mind had already started the process of pouring. I basically poured a bottle all over his leg, where his phone was sitting, while asking, ‘Did you want water?’ He was such a damn nice guy that he just looked up at me and said, ‘I usually prefer it in my glass.'” – charlies46d587761

ABC / giphy.com

7. “The company I work for has a lot of actors coming in on a daily basis, and Steve Buscemi was scheduled to come in one day. At the time I was drawing a blank trying to conjure a mental image of him because for some reason I tend to get him, Willem Dafoe, and Christopher Walken mixed up. I had Google Image searched him, gotten up, and was getting water or something, when I saw the receptionist leading him right past my computer. Of course, he glanced at the screen full of pictures of his face.” – zombie93

8. “My best friend and I went to Tampa Bay Comic Con in 2014 just to meet Evan Peters. When it was my turn for a photo I asked him to do the prom pose with me, and he put his arms around my chest and hugged me from behind. He definitely should’ve put his arms around my waist, but I guess he didn’t know that, so for a moment in time, I spaced out, forgot Evan was a major celebrity and readjusted his hands, not realising they were pretty much touching my boobs. If that wasn’t bad enough, I got a text message from my mother right before the photo was taken while Evan was hugging me from behind. He jumped a little, laughed and said, ‘Oh! Uhh I think you got a text!’ My phone was in my back pocket and it had vibrated on his crotch when the text came in!” – sarcasticsierra

9. “I attended a taping of Mike and Molly, and after filming, we got to meet the cast. When it came to meeting Melissa McCarthy, I told her that I identified with the characters she portrays and ‘it’s coming out of me like lava’. What I didn’t follow up to say was that I laughed the hardest at that scene in particular. She was repulsed and said, ‘That doesn’t sound pleasant.'” – kimberlyd4f5b81ae2

Warner Bros. Television / giphy.com

10. “I was at a Miranda Sings show a couple of summers ago with my mom, my sister, my sister’s best friend, and her mom. We were waiting in line to go in and we saw a bunch of girls taking a picture with a tall, attractive man. My sister’s friend’s mom informed me that they were taking a picture with Liam Hemsworth. I had no clue what Liam looked like, I just knew he was famous and wanted to get a good Instagram, so I chased him into the lobby and took a very awkward picture with him. I used my default celebrity meeting line, telling him that I loved his work. He looked confused, but thanked me, and we moved on. It was only after I posted the photo on Instagram that I realised how weird this was. What would Liam Hemsworth be doing at a Miranda Sings show? Why was he walking in with a random blonde girl and not Miley Cyrus? Apparently, other people shared my confusion, because some girl commented on my photo to inform me that I had in fact met Robert Graham from The Bachelor.” – caylai2

11. “One time my friend and I were on the subway and a guy came on and sat down next to us. I told my friend that I thought it was Ansel Elgort, but she wasn’t sure, so when it got to our stop I said to him, ‘Has anyone told you that you look like Ansel Elgort?’ He responded, ‘Yeah I get that a lot.’ As I got off the train I heard someone else say to him, ‘Is that because you are Ansel Elgort?’ He chuckled and said yes. Cue facepalm.” – jblass

12. “My friend invited me to go meet the original cast of Hamilton in New York City. We were admitted directly on to the stage in the theatre, and immediately we saw a man in a ponytail, centre stage, talking to at least 10 people. We walked over, and my friend is basically tripping over herself, stuttering words of admiration about the man. In my head, I’m like, ‘Why is she being so weird? Who is this guy?’ He was so warm and sweet. He introduced himself as Lin, and my friend is literally ready to pee herself. Instead of telling him my name, I asked him where Leslie Odom Jr was. It wasn’t until 20 minutes later that I realised I shrugged off a conversation with one of the most prominent playwrights in modern history, Lin-Manuel Miranda.” – cpacheco

ABC / giphy.com

13. “My husband and I had the lucky opportunity to go to a food and wine weekend at a luxury glamping resort in Montana. Laura Prepon from Orange Is The New Black was there as well. My husband indulged too heavily in the wine part of the weekend, and proceeded to spill her own drink on her.” – kelseyu4da6cfd12

14. “A couple of years ago, I met Michelle Williams (the actress, not one third of Destiny’s Child) after seeing her star in Cabaret on Broadway. I made sure to head to the stage door to meet her, and while she was graciously signing my playbill, I was mesmerised by her legit, make up-free glow. I just stared at her, dazed, and said, ‘I. Love. Your. Skin.’ It was totally creepy. I felt like Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs.” – natalieh49b5c843e

15. “I saw Emma Watson at the Beverly Hilton the day before the SAG Awards about five years ago. I smiled at her politely without realising who it was, then made a sort of squealing sound when it clicked and instinctively began to follow her and her friend throughout the hotel. I spent the next 45 minutes peeking into hotel room windows to see if I could find them and get proof that I’d met her. I was eventually escorted off the premises.” – phoebeg4870dc518

Warner Bros.

16. “I was picking up takeout from a place in the Pacific Palisades with my friend and I accidentally opened a door into a man’s face. I immediately apologised, he shrugged it off, and my friend and I got into our car. The first thing she said was, ‘Dude, that was Ben Affleck.’ Apparently I slammed a door into Ben Affleck’s face. Not my finest moment.” – victorias4e1b807b6

17. “I met Peter Dinklage at a brewery in Asheville when he was filming Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. I got up the courage to talk to him and he was so nice! He made some comment about being there with Daniel Day Lewis, and gestured to the person to his right. It clearly wasn’t Daniel Day Lewis, so I kind of laughed and continued taking a selfie of the two of us. It wasn’t until I saw the two later that I realised it was Sam Rockwell. My boyfriend, who was with me, brings up the fact that we dissed Sam Rockwell at least once a week.” – Megan Williams, Facebook

HBO

18. “I brushed shoulders with The Edge and immediately vomited.” – annet4c7172ded

Note: Some submissions may have been edited for length and/or clarity.