#I'm not one of those who chases like a hound

[vinesinmyheart]

Balance Once Realized

Once, I was expected, overdue from my mother's womb.

Her languishing tears fell over an empty bassinet, cursing me out of her.

I was already too much,

Already not enough, before my lungs took their first breath.

One, I was a tiny girl, crafted of feelings and music,

Too sensitive to be just right.

Abandoned by the mother who'd once yearned to hold me close,

A trembling, anxious heart, my only friend.

My only protector.

I hadn't been enough for my father;

Only alcohol and self-destruction were his friends.

I'd never be right at all for my mother;

She'd never choose me. I wasn't the life she’d wanted.

I was made well aware:

I'm not good enough, I'm too much.

I learned in those days, the age when we're molded into vessels of human nature,

I would never be enough,

I would always be too much, so odd to everyone else.

Otherness burned into my pain like a tiny hand on a hot stove,

Until I befriended the loneliness, who knew I wasn't the right amount,

Who hurt and exhausted me.

The solitude and it’s pain were my constants,

Unlike anyone else.

As a woman,

I tried so desperately to be just right.

Just enough for my husband,

I danced on eggshells in lingerie.

I strived to be all things to my children. Exhaustion chased me,

A hound with a scent,

I often stumbled,

Wrecked by the expectations.

Yearning to be loved, longing to be just right for someone.

Never was I right. Not once.

Now I see myself, alone by choice.

Am I enough now? Am I too much?

Perhaps, but by whose standards?

Perhaps, I am too much.

It’s possible the oceans and deep seas of emotion that I swim freely in are too intense for some.

Maybe I'm not enough,

Not scaling mountains,

Or being a boss bitch,

Or sometimes even leaving the house,

Or getting out of bed.

I live so actively in my mind.

For me, I'm just right.

I enjoy a day spent in the alleys of my curiosity.

These days I’ve lost my taste for the excitement of acceptance.

Take me as I am, or leave me,

I am just right, with or without you.

A balance once realized can never be forgotten.

- E.M

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Hey honey love your work, I was wondering if you could do what the boys (so'lek, nor, eetu and whoever else) would be like as dad's (hcs preferably) if that's okay, ofc when you can 😁

Here you go, my dear 🥰 Hope you enjoy!

Characters: So'lek, Nor, and Eetu

Fandom: Avatar Frontiers of Pandora

Warnings: Short. Headcanons?? Fluff?? Idk poor warning labels lol

Taglist: @avatar-lover @taronyuhunter @neteyamsyawntu @awesomenessfeet @mooniequeen

~~~~~~~~~

So'lek:

Any child of his will have him wrapped around their little fingers. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

He is their personal jungle gym.

You know how male lions play with their cubs that also helps them create social and survival instincts? Yeah, that's So'lek.

Once those kids get older, it's easier to say "no" to them, and he's easily labeled as the Strict Parent.

He secretly loves the "new baby smell". His mate might not catch a break between children just from this alone.

I see his children growing up to be rambunctious and playful, the opposite of their father. I just think it's a nice contrast. He's gotta have a little bit of sunlight in his life, ya know?

Anyone remember Bambi's dad? The Prince of the Forest? That's So'lek. Go watch Bambi 2 and you'll know what I'm talking about.

Nor:

He's very unsure. Has no idea what he's doing. Poor guy just GOT here.

He will constantly ask other Na'vi around him, "Am I doing this right? How do I-? Wait, shouldn't I try-?"

This makes him the Helicopter Parent, unfortunately for any mate of his that will have to deal with that 🤣

Any small jump those children make off of even the TINIEST of steps will send Nor into a small panic attack.

LOVES holding babies against his chest. It's so warm and fulfilling. Everything else that was once so horrible about his life immediately melts away.

As the children get older, Nor is constantly hounding them about safety. He always needs to know where they're going and how long they're gonna be gone. Sometimes, if they're running late, he's immediately ready to start a search party. You can't exactly blame the poor guy for being paranoid.

Eetu:

The Fun Parent.

Eywa help any mate of Eetu's because they will have to simply accept the fact that he will be the fun parent to their children. No matter what.

Have you ever seen that viral video of the gorilla dad who constantly steals his child away to play while the mother chases him? That's Eetu.

Nefika has always insisted that Eetu should learn to slow down and teach younger Na'vi by telling them stories and warning them of the dangers of hunting. And now, he finally does. While he is still the fun parent, having kids has taught him to slow down.

His children and other Aranahe children LOVE his stories as well. Nefika grins like a cat who got the cream whenever she finds Eetu sitting still, surrounded and trapped by children, eager for more stories.

If Etuwa has kids as well, she and Eetu with take their little ones and go flying together. Flying is a must for any children of Eetu.

~~~~~~~~~

Rules

Request

Main Masterlist

[atlantis-just-drowned]

"Hey now that Nevermore is on hiatus why not read the very beginning again to catch some small foreshadowing" Well my dudes...

Lenore and Annabel wake up near the sea like they've been transported to this world by some sort of maritime current, which is fucking cool because who doesn't like being yeeted out into an unknown world by the cold ocean (also the ocean is seen in many cultures as a threshold from life to death)

The orbs Lenore and Annabel are chased by are probably dead students but those are different from the ones we witnessed in the recent chapters in the infirmary after the ghost hounds attack. They have a sort of colored substance around them. Which means they either acquired it overtime, or there's a possibility this substance is a sort of deterioration caused by the world outside of the Academy

Also Poppets said those orbs were insentient but... Outside of Nevermore they speak and show sentience? Did Poppet lie? Is it regained over time? Is it one more difference between the dimensional rules of Nevermore Academy and those outside of Nevermore?

Don't fucking mess with me the Wild Hunt could have ripped Lenore apart sooooooo much sooner. If it's Theo I'm a firm believer he's coming back at the end of this season to get his sister the FUCK out of here

Poppet's introduction class seems to be confirming that a soul gets stuck in their ghost form if stepping outside of Nevermore

Holy shit I forgot Duke was introduced in chapter 3 (the mini-grey-him is fucking funny btw)

How many of you fuckers remembered Lenore has LITERALLY SAID THE GUN HAS NO BULLETS way back when we've seen it for the first time? Because I sure fucking DIDN'T

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Masterlist

The Hunger Games

Finnick Odair

You’re Losing Me

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s “You’re Losing Me.” How Finnick loses the best thing he’s ever had.

Haymitch Abernathy

Capitol Punishment Masterlist

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol

I'm Sorry

Moments of Haymitch having to mentor his ex-girlfriend

Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Heroes of Olympus

Luke Castellan

Follow Me

Luke's girlfriend is excited to finally become a year-round camper so she can spend it with him. But Luke has other plans for them.

Delicate

"Is it chill that you're in my head? / Cause I know that it’s delicate"

Competing With Gods

When Apollo is sent to camp as a punishment, he sets his sights on Luke's girlfriend.

The Way I Loved You

"But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain / And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name / So in love that you act insane"

The Final Quest

How a quest with the love of Luke's life turned him away from the gods

Asshole Instructor

Luke has been an asshole but he can't help it until he realizes the girl he likes could be gone any minute

Mine

"You are the best thing that's ever been mine"

Apollo

Immortal Danger

Apollo marries a half-blood without realizing how dangerous it can be

Immortal Danger II

Despite an extravagant wedding, Apollo is still confronted by those who want to end his marriage

John Wick

Forced Love Masterlist

Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with his boss' daughter.

Criminal Minds

Aaron Hotchner

Undercover in a Skin Tight Skirt

The BAU Chief isn’t fond of sending his scantily clad wife in as bait

That Skirt

Smutty follow up to Undercover in a Skin Tight Skirt

I Can’t Leave

When the reader is forced into hiding, she’s desperate to inform her fiancé and his son

Move On

Rossi tells Aaron he should move on

Moving on to You

Aaron finally tells his longtime crush about his feelings when he almost loses her (Sequel to Move On)

Sparring Matches

The BAU undergoes PT evaluations, that includes sparring matches. And in the ring will be the secret couple, tipping off the rest of the team

Home Sweet Home

Sometimes going home isn’t always a good thing. Especially when your hometown is obsessed with marriage and you have a secret boyfriend.

"You're Okay"

After Aaron and his agent are saved from captivity, she grapples with returning to her regular life with her husband when the only person she wants to be around is Aaron.

Spencer Reid

Erotomania

Spencer’s girlfriend has a stalker

Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon

Sandor Clegane/Robb Stark

Between a Wolf and a Hound I

Sandor Clegane was never naïve enough to think he could marry the king's daughter but it doesn't make it any easier to see her married off.

Between a Wolf and a Hound II

The new Lady of the North tries to cope with the fact that she is now married and has a responsibility to her husband.

Robb Stark

The Godswood

When the newest Lady of the North is chased into the woods, the lords of the north search for Robb Stark's wife

Cregan Stark

Wrong Person (College AU!)

Aemond's girlfriend has a group project with the man he hates the most, Cregan Stark.

Forgiveness

Cregan begs for his wife’s forgiveness when he accidentally injures her

The Wall

When Cregan is forced to bring his wife to the Wall, he tries to ensure her protection but does not hesitate to defend her honor when necessary.

Grey’s Anatomy

Mark Sloan

Haunted

Mark finally finds where his wife has been hiding

Twilight

Carlisle Cullen

Sorry to Meet You

The moral dilemma of the patriarch of the Cullen clan finally meeting his mate after 350 years

Attack on Titan

Levi Ackerman

Amnesia

When the Levi Squad goes out on a mission with a few rookies, accidents happen

Favoritism

Captain Levi wouldn't let his feelings for a scout under him get in the way of his professionalism, right?

Reiner Braun

Guard

When Reiner returns from his ten year long mission, he is assigned to protect the the woman he could never have.

[acowardinmordor]

I needed to warm up, so I did not plan, just wrote this, and I'm about to hit post without editing or rereading. This is Steve&Eddie more than its a slash

----------

It was a week after the rumors made the rounds about Harrington and Hargrove getting into a fight. Eddie would normally assume it was nothing but posting jock bullshit, and ignore it the same way he ignored what he overheard about cheerleaders hooking up with other cheerleader's boyfriends. Except a couple days after the rumors hit a peak, Harrington showed up at school looking like someone beat his face in with a plate.

That made a pretty strong argument for the rumors being true.

The guy avoided his old crowd, and despite his ex and her new boyfriend - if that rumor is true, there was some overlap - trying to include him, he kept away from everyone for the first two days.

Eddie put him out of mind, one less asshole to cause trouble, one less shithead to dodge. Not his problem. Until he found Harrington sitting at his table in the woods the next week. It made sense, sort of. The guy was obviously having a shit time, and like most of the locals that kept Eddie's business afloat, he was looking for a distraction.

Eddie was right, and Harrington bought some weed before asking about getting anything stronger.

"I don't know man, I just wanna like, not be in my body for a while."

"Fair enough, but I don't keep that on me.

Harrington showed up when told to, and bought enough shit that Eddie hesitated before handing it over. He gave the guy a whole speech about not overdosing and ruining Eddie's upstanding reputation. Whether he listened or not wasn't something he could control.

So, the next Monday, when Harrington chased him down, and, as best as Eddie could tell, tried to become his friend, Eddie's first thought was that it was a ploy to get his next massive purchase of drugs on discount.

But Harrington didn't buy again except for a bit of weed. He did stick around. Outright said he wanted to be Eddie's friend. Kept at it through January until Eddie, confused as shit, admitted that yeah, they were friends. Mostly friends at least. There was stuff that Steve wouldn't talk about; his headaches, his nightmares, his tendency to freak the fuck out if the electricity got weird. Maybe it was better to say that Steve was his study partner who he sometimes hung out with. Cause that was the thing, Steve was pushy about Eddie studying.

"You really want to come back for a third run at graduating, man? Fuck that. 85 is gonna be your year, even if I have to bribe the teachers to pull it off"

"Why do you even care Steve? Maybe I want to become a legend of terrible scholarship in this crap town."

Steve never gave a real answer about it, just kept pushing him, hounding him about his homework, and showing up at his trailer every morning to drag Eddie out of bed if he had to. Wayne thought the whole thing was incredible and gave the guy a spare key. Traitor.

They got closer. Eddie finally met the kids Steve babysat. They immediately decided that Eddie was much cooler than Steve, and ragged on him constantly about it. They were close. They were. Fell asleep at each other's places. Spent half their time together.

Close, but not close enough for Eddie to get answers about why the fuck Steve had bruises and burns and scrapes sometimes. Bad ones. No matter how many times he said it, Steve didn't get those because he got distracted while cooking. It drove Eddie crazy sometimes. That was a lie. It drove him crazy all the time. Steve would tell him about how shit his parents were, but wouldn't admit why the fuck he needed stitches at the top of May.

"You did it."

"I think you'll find that you're the one that did it, Steve, I was an unwilling kidnapping victim in your quest to get us both across that stage."

It wasn't graceful, literally or figuratively, but Eddie got his diploma in 1985. Steve gave him what he said was a small part of his grad present from his parents. A thousand dollars. A thousand goddamn dollars. It was enough that Eddie didn't put the dots together right away. A small part, plus Steve's crappy job at the newly opened mall.

It was weird. But Eddie let it go, because Steve was his friend, maybe could have been best friends if the guy would stop pulling back whenever they got too close. He let it go, and he let Steve push him towards the goal of getting the fuck out of that town, and he promised he'd call when he got to Chicago.

It didn't really click for Eddie until he heard about the mall burning down from Wayne, that Steve never promised that he'd call too. The guy was there, and when Eddie called and demanded to know if he was okay, got another partial answer, another dodge, another thing for the list of shit his friend wouldn't talk about.

They fought about it. Loud enough as Eddie shouted into the phone that his neighbor banged on the wall. Maybe Eddie crossed a line. Maybe he crossed it a long while back. He didn't know. Eddie kept calling until September, but on the rare times that Steve answered, it was awkward and curt and terrible. He stopped trying when Wayne told him that Steve never stopped by, or even waved when they crossed paths.

Steve wanted it over, and it was so fucking weird. The guy slammed into Eddie's life out of nowhere, shifted it, changed the course, cause there was no way in hell Eddie would have graduated if it wasn't for Steve forcing him to try. The guy did all that, and nine months later, was gone again. Out of his life.

It was a week after new rumors reached him in February of 86 that a package arrived. His uncle called outside their normal plans, and said it wasn't sure yet, that there wasn't any proof, but Steve was missing, and some of those kids of his said he'd saved their lives. Said that he wasn't going to come back. Wayne didn't really understand what it meant, but passed on a message from those kids that they'd answer when he called.

Eddie got a box a week after finding out that Steve was gone, full of letters. Long, detailed, apologetic letters. The first was dated in December of 84, written after Steve spent a weekend 'out of his body' just like he wanted to be. The promises at the start didn't make sense. Steve said he'd save him. Steve said he'd make sure he got out. The apologies got more complex. Something about keeping Eddie away from friends he'd never make. About being selfish. About keeping secrets and lying when all he really wanted was to tell Eddie everything.

It was so fucking weird.

The last one was dated a couple days before things went bad in Hawkins, longer than all of the others. Monsters and nightmares and death and chance to make it right. Apologies for not doing it better, doing it sooner. For not wanting to risk it, for pushing Eddie away. Promises that Steve would call him as soon as it was over, that he was only writing this just in case. That it wouldn't ever be sent, and he'd burn the whole box after they won. Then he'd drive up and apologize in person, explain it in person, fix it, because Eddie meant more to him that Steve had ever let show, and he wanted to make it right.

At the bottom was a post script.

"Eds, If it doesn't work out, call this number, and ask for Robin. She knows the whole thing. She'll help. So will the kids. I hope you never read this. So I'm sorry if you are."

[ghostlyglimmer]

The Black Dog of Amity Park

CHAPTER 1

Summary:

After a fight with her parents, Sam Manson seeks solace in Amity Park’s old, neglected cemetery, rumored to be haunted by the mysterious church grim dubbed 'The Black Dog of Amity Park'.

Notes:

I'm super excited to finally bring this giant AU that's been rattling in my brain to the world! I hope you guys enjoy! Church Grims are my FAVORITE spectral entity. I find them to be so comforting.

The late summer sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving Amity Park cloaked in twilight. The soft glow of streetlights barely illuminated the cracks in the sidewalks as Sam Manson stormed out of her house, her boots thudding against the pavement. Her parents' voices still echoed in her head, dismissing her individuality and belittling her ideals. For years, they had tolerated her "phase," but tonight's argument had gone too far.

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her gloved hand as she made her way toward the Amity Park Cemetery. It was her refuge, a place where the living rarely ventured after dark. The rumors of the Amity Park Hound—a spectral, black dog with glowing green eyes—kept most people away.

But not Sam.

The cemetery greeted her with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Wrought iron gates creaked as she pushed them open, revealing rows of headstones in various states of neglect. Weeds choked the pathways, moss clung to the stones, and several markers had fallen over, left to decay in the dirt.

Sam frowned, a pang of sadness swelling in her chest. "This place deserves better," she murmured. It wasn’t right for the final resting place of so many to be forgotten like this.

She crouched down beside the nearest headstone, her hands brushing away the weeds that clung stubbornly to its base. The name etched into the stone was barely legible, worn away by time and neglect. "Don’t worry, Mrs. Peterson," she said softly, as though the name could still hear her. "I’ll fix this."

As she worked, her voice filled the empty graveyard. She spoke to the names on each stone, offering quiet reassurances and apologies for the neglect they’d endured. Pulling weeds, scraping off moss, and even propping up a toppled headstone, she poured her frustration and sorrow into her labor. Each sniffle betrayed her emotions—anger at her parents, sadness for the forgotten dead, and a strange sense of peace she found in their silent company.

Unbeknownst to her, glowing green eyes watched from the shadows of the treeline. Danny, the Amity Park Church Grim, stood with his hackles raised, his black fur bristling. His haunt had been plagued in recent years by delinquents looking for a thrill, knocking over headstones or leaving graffiti in their wake. He’d been ready to chase her out.

But this girl was different.

His ears perked up, his fur relaxing as he watched her. She wasn’t here to destroy anything. Quite the opposite—she was cleaning. She cared. Her small hands worked diligently, carefully, as if each stone belonged to someone she had loved. Her quiet voice carried on the wind, and Danny tilted his head as he caught the sniffles between her words.

She was crying. Why?

Danny's glowing eyes softened, his tail beginning to wag slowly. He liked this girl. For the first time in years, someone was showing his haunt the respect it deserved. She wasn’t just fixing stones—she was honoring those who rested there, as he had once done himself.

Sam paused now and then, brushing her arm across her face to wipe away tears she hoped no one could see. The sniffles reached his ears, and Danny tilted his head, his curiosity deepening. He wondered why this girl would come here, alone and upset, to do something so kind and so utterly thankless.

From his place in the shadows, Danny didn’t move closer. He didn’t want to interrupt or scare her. Instead, he settled in to watch, his large, dark frame blending with the treeline. His glowing eyes followed her every motion, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a strange warmth in his spectral heart.

This girl wasn’t like the others. She cared for his haunt, cared for the souls who rested there. And though she didn’t know it, she’d earned the silent protection of the Church Grim that night.

[rodolfoparras]

this post made me GO BARKING CUZ GODDDRD

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-NyXRVONi9/?igsh=MWlkOTQ0MDVjaTlzbA==

and I bet with my 2 pounds hands that he's the type after one round of intensity he'd say harder and JUST OUTRIGHT TOO LOUD FOR HIS OWN GODDD CPENCPEJPDEKPD and like. jealous Logan. I'll never get over that.

You just came back from an event while logan was gone doing.. his own stuffs (probably out killing or something), wearing a dapper suit in tuxedo (plus points if there's any red accessories on you or yellow even). It was nothing really, or so you thought, until logan is just straight up staring at you from the sofa (you didn't realize he had come home) and especially eyeing your tie he suddenly spoke out,

"Don't take those off."

He'd make his way towards you, and before you could remark on when the fuck did he just come home, he already kissing your lips hard and needy and hot, taking the tie himself and put it on him, unbuckling your belt to tie his own wrist before parting from the kiss and he held the end of the tie to his mouth. No words but only a gesture for you to take it like a leash, and you immediately knows what kind of mood he's in.

"I saw how y'all look at you, like hounds waiting for orders."

"Should I remind you how I'm the only one to make that cock of yours feel good?"

Cut to the chase of you tearing his bloody white beater and shorts, logan already locking his legs around your waist to make sure You're focusing on him, rubbing his hairy ass against your crotch.

"Just get on with it, I'll heal. I know you're fucking tired dealing with those motherfuckers at work right? Take it out on me, you wimp. I'm your one and only fucking dogs, so either you make me behave or I'm gonna go kill those shitty bitches who keep staring at you."

You entered him dryly, using his own precum as lube, and fuck him like your life depends on it.

but sure that's not enough, never is with someone as resistant and stubborn and bratty like logan. You have to make sure he's dumb so he won't even think why he's eve jealous in the first place.

so you make shift of what you could hold, or grab from the bedside drawer while he's distracted by how you're pounding his tight cunt

cock ring, your boxer a gag the first round, your hand busy pinching and playing with his chest, vibrating attached to his tip, lighter burning his skin,

you don't stop after he had came, oh no, you both know it'll never be enough

after 3 orgasms for himself from overstimulation, he'll go dumb

"Fuck, just like that! Harder, use that big cock!" "Spit on me, let me come please!" "Too much, haa, fuck me, Sir!" "I'm your only whore, mark me with your cum!" "Fuck~!"

By the time you've ruined him for hours, you tie the belt around his neck to piss into his mouth with come filling his ass, the plug used as a stopper,

"See? I'm your only toy, others won't be grateful like I am right now."

I'm just saying you know

-🪂

SUGAR BEE????????? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HELLO?? WHY ARWNT YOU POSTING THIS OK YOUR BLOG THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING LOVE?3??44!!3!3!3!3!3 god I neee to fuck that man so bad he almost tears into pieces ppslslslslslslslsls

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

will emberdawn ever find silverhawk and lynxfire (i don't remember if it was you or another person who had this name for the son, i follow a lot of rewrites 😅)?

if so, how do they react?

Okay!

1. Yes I am the Monster Emberdawn person! You remembered correctly!!!

2. Well... Yes.

Part of the reason Emberdawn agrees to help Bristlepaw is Bris' promise to assist Emberdawn with finding her family.

Silverhawk is the first to see her, and at first, he almost doesn't recognize her as she towers over a large boulder, swiping her massive hooked claws at bat flying around the Dark Forest. (Someone with a fear of bats is nearby, I didn't send a bat to hell)

And... I forgive him for that. For goodness sake, she looks like a monster! 7 feet tall with a jaw that hangs open... She hardly resembles a cat anymore.

Then, he hears her voice. It's raspy, croaking, but familiar after all these years.

He steps up towards her, standing in front of the murky, still lake. Softly, he calls Emberdawn's name. Emberdawn, focused on catching the little bat, puts a massive paw onto the boulder, stretching up higher to try to reach it.

"Emmy? Is that you?"

She freezes. Her large head swings downward, jaw brushing the forest floor.

"Emmy, it's me. I'm here."

"Sil... Silverhawk..."

"I'm right here, Emberdawn. I'm not going anywhere."

He reaches out a paw, touching the one she has set on the ground. His paw is barely the size of one of her toes now.

"You... You've gotten into some trouble, haven't you? Kept looking for me for so long, you... Oh, my poor Emmy..."

She lowers herself down, and touches her nose to his. Her huge paw comes down and one of her claws gently traces a scar he recently attained from fighting with another demon.

"Hawwwk. Silverhawk. Lynxfire..."

There's a moment of quiet, before Silverhawk resolves to guide Bristlepaw and her gaggle of Dark Forest demons (and her dad, and a few kittens) to the deepest part of the Dark Forest, to break through the barrier into what lays beyond it all.

Unbeknownst to them, another group of angels is coming, with bared teeth and claws.

One of those angels is Lynxfire.

He and the other angels, ordered by Npui Gmjhiu to chase down the cat who intends to upset an ancient hierarchy undisturbed for as long as Starclan has existed.

He charges through the slick undergrowth, ignoring the roaring hounds and ferns that seem to cling to his sparkling pelt. When Npui Gmjhiu gives an order, it is to be followed.

Important to note: Silverhawk and Lynxfire met during the Great Battle, and Lynxfire made Silverhawk realize that the entire plan was stupid.

The angel crashes face-first into Mapleshade, toppling the fat tortie over and making her kittens squeal with fright.

At the sound of the kittens, a hulking huge paw slams down near him, smacking his fellow angel and sending them crashing into a massive tree, sparkling white blood flecking the ground.

The monstrous creature snarls, its claws hook under Lynxfire as it pulls him up, higher and higher, until he's staring into its pitch-black eyes, the orange pinprick pupils staring at him.

The shade of orange is all too familiar.

"...Mom?"

She stares at him, before placing him down onto her bony shoulders and smashing her paws and subsequently massive claws down onto his fellow angels, each movement she makes jostling him heavily, yet Emberdawn keeps her shoulders stiff enough to keep him safe on her spiny back, like he's a kit having a Badger-Ride, not riding on the back of his monstrously mutated mother in the depths of The Place of No Stars.

Truth be told... She'll never go back to how she used to look. She'll probably be able to speak again, but the damage has been done. You can't undo years of trauma and pain, and the effects it had on her body as she warped and twisted through the effects of The Mist are indeed permanent.

But... She can be happy. They all can.

[kindaorangey]

half blank, half apocalyptic [armand playlist]

half blank

i'm your man (mitski)

this song is like. a thesis statement of sorts for the playlist. every line is armand. but here's the key stuff:

"i can feel it gettin' near/like flashlights comin' down the way/one day you'll figure me out/i'll meet judgement by the hounds"

i find it interesting that armand let daniel interview louis a second time, even though he had so much to hide. on the one hand, he believes himself powerful enough to retain control of the situation; on the other hand, there's only so much he's willing to do to make sure louis stays - louis is suspicious of armand before the story begins and armand knows this, thinks daniel will help put those suspicions to rest if he can make it through the interview without being found out. far from exerting complete control over louis all the time, armand pulls the strings from time to time from the cover of shadow. so, by letting daniel come for the interview, he inadvertently bring about the unravelling of his lies.

"people always gave me love/others were never to blame after all"

there's a tendency among trauma survivors to swing from understanding themselves as a victim to viewing themselves as solely at fault for the damage done to them, and as evil. of course, these extremes are both kind of true for armand - he is a victim, and he is kind of evil and responsible for his own suffering. but the pendulum swing is what i'm talking about here - in the wake of his lies being revealed and louis leaving him, that sense of guilt bleeds into everything he might otherwise see himself as innocent for. this is my fault, therefore all of it has always been my fault.

geyser (mitski)

"you're the one i want/and i have turned down/every hand that had beckoned me to come"

rewatching s2 it's crazy to me how much armand throws himself at louis in paris, how quickly he's ready to let his coven turn on him just so he can chase after his manic pixie dream boy

"i will be the one you need/i just can't be without you"

as much as armand molds louis into someone who would want to be with him by lying to and gaslighting him, he also molds himself into someone louis would want to be with. he plays the victim, he's subservient to louis, he lets louis sleep with hundreds of other men even though he's clearly not thrilled about the situation. and i think he enjoys playing this role, but a lot of it is not good for him. louis makes a mess, armand cleans it up.

off to the races (lana del rey)

THIS ONE'S ABOUT MARIUS!!!! DON'T COME FOR ME!!!!!! listen i feel so self-conscious putting a song that is so quintessentially modern LA on a playlist about a 500-year-old vampire. but there really isn't anyone that captures the concept of this song better than ms. lana del rey.

"my old man is a bad man, but/i can't deny the way he holds my hand/and he grabs me, he has me by my heart"

"he knows me/every inch of my tar-black soul"

"light of your life, fire of your loins/tell me you own me"

"i'm not afraid to say that i'd die without him/who else is gonna put up with me this way?"

the power imbalance, the slight awareness that this relationship is unhealthy, but committing wholeheartedly to it because you sincerely believe there's nothing better you deserve, and nobody else would treat you better. it's armand and marius.

me and my husband (mitski)

"i steal a few breaths from the world for a minute/and then i'll be nothing forever"

anyone else constantly thinking about lestat calling armand "nothing"?

"i bet all i have on that furrowed brow/and at least in this lifetime, we're sticking together"

again, a big part of armand was willing to throw away his coven of 300 years to be with louis. he just latches on to louis as his thing to pursue and reason to live.

to be alone (hozier)

sexual trauma song woo

half apocalyptic

the kiss (the cure)

"kiss me, kiss me, kiss me/your tongue is like poison/so swollen it fills up my mouth/just, just love me, love me, love me/you nail me to the floor/and push my guts all inside out

just get it out, get it out, get it out/get your fucking voice/out of my head

i never wanted this/i never wanted any of this/i wish you were dead"

armand tends to seek out relationships that remind him of his relationship with marius - which is to say, one where he concedes control to the other person, and toxicity feels familiar to him. he simultaneously craves this dynamic and, naturally, resents it, because it's unhealthy for him. and in 2×05, i think we see hints of him conceding control to louis as a way to punish himself for what he did in paris.

f major (hania rani)

plucked straight from assad zaman's armand playlist! it's dark, it's elegant, it just has a really beautiful ominous vibe

tuck (yves tumor, NAKED)

mostly vibes tbh. it's unsettling to listen to, and i put it on here because it's unsettling to listen to. but here are the relevant lyrics anyways:

"tears on steel for you/you, you, you/piercing skin for you/you, you, you/scars in my heart for you/you, you, you/i fell off this world for you/you, you, you"

"tie me up/looking down/black mass ready/tie me now"

"have someone else's will as your own/mercy of the master you've never known"

it will come back (hozier)

this one's full gremlin.

[x-birdsong-x]

overly specific house dog au headcanons? spill some?

I can try and fit in one post everyone I've settled completely on so far, and also be obnoxious about dog breeds. fun

I've also bothered @greghatecrimes with a lot of these so very big thanks to them for helping me settle on breeds for everyone <3

It's when I've settled on a "base breed" with dogs that sometimes things just go crazy and go from there

Start with the most overly unnecessarily detailed one here you go:

Adams is the oddest most fantasy mixed breed of ALL fucking time her parents are one Belgian Tervuren and one Borzoi x Ibizan Hound and she appeared so much Tervuren that it’s just possible to miss that she’s got any sighthound(s) in her.

Editing to go even more in-detail with this one because my girl deserves it: She ends up looking somewhere between these two:

She’s very pointy and very leggy but she is very long-furred and that's where the mistakes come from. She moves mostly with the gaits of her sighthound sides which the others find is an easy way to make her bristle. She’s prancing across the room and Chase says you move like a sighthound and she says no I don’t (yes she does)

Park is a Silken Windsprite:

Probably struggles in snow and sometimes has to jump and jump to get through it when it's really deep but Adams mumbles that it’s cute and that's Fight invitation. Park brings up that Adams gets snowballs stuck on her and that it takes hours to melt out of her fur. ("Fuck you!" - "Do it yourself!") It's probably fair to say she has some little dog syndrome.

Chase is an Australian Shepherd. House probably used to make comments about he and Cameron both being Merle:

Cameron is this specific Border Collie (but with blue eyes, ofc):

Probably does the Collie Crouch sometimes. Absolutely does the Collie Stare, and that would come into House's "you can't actually pierce me with your eyes" moments.

Foreman is a Central Asian Shepherd:

For a slight visual similarity to how I imagine post-Lockdown Angst Cameron might feel meeting Masters, Masters is a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever:

Probably has what I call in the groomers "Smart Breed Anxiety" along with her autism swag. Dogs who listen to and seem to understand every word you say and if you're telling someone or another pet off for anything, they assume they're the one you're talking to and give all their guilty looks. Also using my Bluebear as reference with that visual.

Thirteen is this Utonagan!!! No other visual!!! Have such a canine visual of The Dig it's insane.

Wilson of course took Golden Retriever. Definitely one of the larger/silkier ones. Show-type. He'd definitely be a dark gold but this is the best pic I have for how I picture him -color:

House is a Scottish Deerhound, mixed with what? He doesn't know. Wants to know. Very easy to miss that he's a cross:

(Little Rachel rode on his back for a bit once.) John is an Irish Wolfhound.

Speaking of, Rachel is a little pupper Sheltie (Natalie) x English Shepherd (Simon) but she barely shows any Shep traits when it comes to looks:

Rachel's a mini-me of her mama, Cuddy took Rough Collie:

Kutner is a Springer Spaniel x Large Münsterländer, leaning more looks-wise toward the latter and leaning energy-level toward the former:

Taub is a Beagle, Chihuahuas are just too small for one of the main characters in my little visual I'm afraid (and I forgot Smooth Fox Terriers existed):

Rachel is a long-haired Dachshund, and Ruby is a show-type English Cocker Spaniel, so Sophie and Sophia are those crosses respectively. Click on the Spaniel to see the full pic.

Amber takes (Red) Siberian Husky:

She's quite thick-coated but she doesn't fall under "Woolly Husky" coat type.

Red (Irish) Setter Stacy:

Plott Hound Mark:

Dominika... So This dog is obviously a Belgian Malinois maybe crossed with something fluffier (unless the listing change from Mali to Terv is accurate, then she's just Small) but she looks exactly like this:

Saluki Lydia:

Belgian Malinois Alvie:

Lucas is just straight-up a Coyote. It just fits him too well. He gets a Coyote-themed name in the WC AU, and gets to be a Coyote when I think about canines:

Beauceron Nolan. Can't see him as something as round and soft as Newfies but also can't see him as a bully-type:

More 6x01/2 characters. Beasley's another Border Collie:

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Last Unicorn Multiple Possible Meanings (According to TV Tropes)

Could the story in general carry a metaphor for a woman's virginity/women growing up? After all it all but mentions it with Molly's story ("Where were you when I was new!? When I was one of those young and innocent maidens you always come to!?") and unicorns being described as being incredibly pure creatures. You could even say the Unicorn/Amalthea carries this allegory in her journey, starting by being this innocent, pure creature who doesn't know much of the world of men, and once turned into an adult woman (by the interference of a red colored being and a man, no less- possibly alluding to a woman's first period or her "first" time?) she begins fearing and feeling anxious, and finally she falls in love, common feelings for humans but before these thoughts and ideas were alien to her ("I can never regret. I can feel sorrow, but it's not the same thing."). It is not very different from how young people transition from childhood to adulthood, by experiencing new feelings and being anxious about it. It's exemplified by the song "Now That I'm A Woman" in the film.

Or maybe it can be about eternity and time? Much is made of the chase for immortality, which the unicorn and other fantastic creatures have, but people like Mommy Fortuna and Haggard do not. The last thing Schmendrick tells Lir is that he's achieved immortality because the unicorn will remember him long after humans have shuffled off this mortal coil.

The story could also carry an allegory against hunting, poaching and the exploitation of animals, since all the characters that carry this behavior (Mommy Fortuna, Haggard) are met with horrible ends, while the ones that help the unicorn or care towards other animals are given much happier endings. The land is claimed to be barren once unicorns disappear, and the Red Bull could be a stand-in for hounds which are used for hunting.

It could be about faith, and how close nature is to the unknown, and mankind takes it for granted. Unicorns are seen as almost holy creatures, spoken by men as if they were myths, and only animals and other magical beings (witches, magicians) can see them for who they truly are. Men can only see them if they truly believe in them.

The unicorn, judging by how people respond to her, could be an allegory for childish innocence, both in the good and not-so-good sense. Nearly every character has some massive blind spot regarding innocence - Schmendrick's too stuck in his own head to actually learn how to use his skills, Mommy Fortuna sells illusions to the credulous who want to see legends where there are none, Captain Cully and his crew refuse to acknowledge that they are not Just Like Robin Hood, Lir assumes he must be a charming Warrior Prince but has no clear idea about what being The Hero actually entails until the end, and King Haggard is a deeply depressing Psychopathic Manchild Desperately Looking for a Purpose in Life and obsessed with the unicorns, who make him feel "young", which he apparently never did even when he was a child. Ironically, Molly Grue, who implies that she feels Defiled Forever during her Despair Speech, is actually the most idealistic character in the story; her Character Development leads her to accept that she doesn't need "innocence" to retain the ability to see unicorns and to find beauty in the world. And in the book, she's the only character the Unicorn allows to touch her.

@ariel-seagull-wings @thealmightyemprex @the-blue-fairie

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 11 (+18)

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Violence | Animal Death | Executions

Word Count: 947

The next morning you avoided each other completely. Later as you went back to your tent for restocking your herbs, you noticed some strange men on horseback coming towards the community. You saw Ray talking to the men who didn’t look very friendly.

You watched as Sandor stood up to scan the area looking for you to make sure you were safe. You didn’t have a welcoming expression, so he looked away when he spotted you standing there. The men left and you saw him approaching Ray. You both knew that those men weren’t a good sign.

That day you kept your pups close to you and went back to the woods. Some time later your dogs seemed to notice something. You placed your hand on your dagger. They growled at something, but you couldn’t find what it was.

Suddenly one man shot an arrow that hit Rain. She cried and whimpered. In that moment you flipped a switch in your head. You saw where the arrow came from and you yelled to your dogs.

“Attack!” You ran to Rain and picked her up. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but you lifted her like it was nothing. She weighed almost the same as you, but that didn't matter. You started hearing screams. You carried Rain and walked over there.

A man wearing a yellow cloak was being attacked by your dogs. His guttural screams had no effect on you. The attack didn’t stop until he was quiet, dismembered, and dead.

You placed Rain on the floor to examine her wound. She was breathing heavily and whimpering quietly. The arrow hit her in the chest, it would be impossible to treat her on time. You sat next to her calming her down, caressing her head, and telling her and mostly yourself that everything was going to be okay.

You saw her take her last breath. The dogs came over and sat beside her as if saying their goodbyes. You kissed her head and gave her a final hug. You removed the arrow from her chest, gathered some wood, and burned her body.

You slowly walked back to camp, and to your surprise everyone was dead. Most were hit by arrows as well. You found Ray hanging from one of the towers the community was building. You couldn't find Sandor. Your dogs started sniffing around. You noticed they picked up a scent, so you followed them.

"Sandor!" You ran to him the moment you saw him.

"Sabrina..." He said quietly in relief. Tears started falling down and you hugged him tightly. He hugged you back, closing his eyes and putting his chin down to your head. Once you pulled away from him, he noticed the blood on your clothes.

"They tried hurting you?" He worried.

"They killed Rain." Your voice failed. Your dogs started barking aggressively. When you saw who it was, you ordered the pups to back down.

"Clegane! What the fuck are you doing here?" Beric, Thoros and the rest of the Brotherhood arrived with some prisoners.

"Chasing them, you?"

"Hanging them." They made their way towards the tree to hang the prisoners they had. "Lady Sabrina! I'm surprised to see you here. Did this man kidnap you?" Beric asked you

"No, it's... Difficult to explain."

For a while, they discussed who would kill which prisoner.

"Where's the other one?" Sandor asked.

"Which one?"

"The one in the yellow cloak." When he said that you felt a shiver down your spine. It was hate.

"Dismembered, dead, and disposed." You said coldly. The men looked back at you surprised.

After hanging the prisoners, both of you decided to follow the brotherhood north. They heard some of the Starks were back in Winterfell, so you thought you had a chance to get your title back and go home to The Eyrie.

It was nice to interact with people you already knew before. You introduced your dogs to Thoros, who played with them effortlessly. Even though Sandor was there too, you felt comfortable. Having people around took away most of the pressure from the one-to-one interactions.

No one really knew what was going on between you and Sandor Clegane. They definitely thought it was strange, for a Lady like you to stick around with The Hound. It was simply not normal.

As you traveled further north the cold started bothering you. One night you spotted that same cottage where you stayed with Arya and Sandor. This time, it looked abandoned.

"We'll stay there for the night," Beric announced.

You knew he was looking at you, remembering your time together in that upstairs room. You avoided his gaze, grabbed your bag from the horse, and went inside.

When the men lit up the fire you sat close enough and cuddled with your pups to keep each other warm.

"Tell me Clegane, why is she with you?" You heard someone ask.

"Why do you care?" Sandor was back with the grumpy attitude.

"She is a beautiful woman, she's a Lady... She..."

"You think I don't fucking know that?" He growled.

"Then why, Clegane?"

"It's none of your fucking business, you bald cunt!" You laughed quietly.

“You know, she seems to like you enough to hang around you. Don’t take that for granted, Clegane.”

“What do you want me to do Thoros? Marry her?” He said ironically, then paused for a moment. “I can’t give what she deserves.”

“You can start by giving her what she wants.” Thoros replied.

You fell asleep before you could hear the rest of the conversation. A while later something woke you up. A strange feeling came over you.

You heard the men talking about fire. How one can see things when looking at it. They called Sandor to ask what he saw. You started listening, but it was hard to understand. The only thing you heard clearly was "The Wall".

[fallenclan]

Frosty had really done it now. He'd been horsing around in the abandoned barn, kicking up clouds of dust and provoking nesting swallows, when he'd heard the press of heavy pawsteps.

Vaguely intrigued, the tom had followed the sounds, expecting to greet another cat, perhaps even make a new friend. It was only when he came face to face with a snarling hound that he realized he had made a mistake.

Currently, Frosty was running for his life.

The dog was making an infernal racket, howling and snapping at Frosty's tail as the tom fled. He running as fast as his legs could take him but the beast was still gaining. This is not how I'm going to die, Frosty thought.

Swerving abruptly, Frosty leapt, sailing over the remains of what was once a fence surrounding the barn's open fields. "Ha! Follow me now, you stupid mutt!" the tom taunted. To his horror, the dog simply forced its way through a less stable portion of the fence, barking furiously as it did. Of course.

Just as Frosty was about to take off again, the dog lunged, jaws snapping shut an inch from Frosty's head. The tom shrieked, scrambling away just in time to avoid getting his head torn off.

Frosty made a hard break for the woods, the dog continuing to blaze after him. Then, with no warning, the hound tore off in the opposite direction, barking frantically at some new quarry. Yes! Frosty internally cheered, only for his heart to drop a second later when he heard a distinctly feline yowl.

Spinning back around, Frosty retraced his steps. This time, he was the one chasing the dog. Moments later he caught up with the hound, stumbling to a halt when he realized the beast was now racing about in circles, struggling to shake off a black-and-cream she-cat who was ruthlessly pummeling its back. Is she crazy? Frosty stared, disbelieving.

"Hey, you!" A grey-and-white she-cat raced into Frosty's line-of-sight, visibly out of breath. "I didn't lead this dog away from you just for you to come running right back up to it!"

"You lead the dog away?" Frosty mrrowed, stunned.

"Yes, yes! Now c'mon. Poppyfeather and Hawkwish have got this." Glancing past the grey-and-white she-cat, Frosty caught a glimpse of a third cat, a brown tabby who was darting in and out of the dog's reach, slashing at its legs and sides as she did so.

Not waiting to see if he was following, the grey-and-white she-cat darted away. "All right, I guess," Frosty muttered, trailing after the she-cat. It was only when they were a good distance away, both gasping for breath, that the she-cat stopped.

"What-" she paused to take another deep breath. "What were you doing out by the barn? Every cat knows twolegs like to snoop around there sometimes, even occasionally bringing those howling mutts with them."

"I was just playing," Frosty mewed earnestly.

"Playing?"

"Y'know, messing around. I didn't expect a dog to burst outta nowhere!"

The she-cat snorted. At first, Frosty thought she was annoyed with him, but after a moment he realized she was laughing. "My name's Willowsplash, by the way."

"I'm Frosty! So are you regularly in the business of performing daring rescues, Willowsplash?" Frosty purred.

Before Willowsplash could manage a reply, the two other cats from before came crashing through the undergrowth. "Dog's gone," the black-and-cream she-cat hummed, shaking out her pelt. She didn't seem to notice Frosty at first, and started when she saw him. "Oh, the loner's still here."

"Frosty," Willowsplash introduced him. "This is Poppyfeather, and that-" she flicked her tail at the brown tabby. "-is Hawkwish."

"Hi," Hawkwish mewed quietly.

"Hello!" Frosty chirped. Hawkwish smiled.

"This is FallenClan land," Poppyfeather spoke gently, her tone velvety in a way Frosty hadn't expected after witnessing her brutally attacking a hound three times her size.

"FallenClan?"

"We're a group of cats that lives in the mountains. There are other clans too, but ours is the best," Willowsplash explained, grinning.

"We're warriors," Hawkwish added.

Frosty's ears perked. "I wanna be a warrior!"

"Do you have what it takes?" Poppyfeather drawled, expression dubious.

"I'm super good at hunting. Actually, scratch that, no cat is a better hunter than me," Frosty declared. "I'm super brave, too."

"That's why you valiantly ran away from the dog, then?" Poppyfeather scoffed, more amused than agitated.

"Be nice," Willowsplash flicked her tail against Poppyfeather's shoulder. "You can't expect one inexperienced cat to take down a dog all by themself."

"Goldenstar could at that age," Poppyfeather replied smoothly.

"Well, this isn't Goldenstar." Willowsplash returned her attention to Frosty. "So you want to join FallenClan, then?"

"Absolutely."

...

When Skyfrost curled into his new nest that night, surrounded by dozens of friendly (and sleepy) faces, he felt truly at home for the first time in moons. New name, new home. Perhaps even some new friends. Closing his eyes, the tom drifted off to dreams of all the adventures he was certain to have now that he was a real warrior cat.

-🐉 (tbh had no idea what to do for this one! i don't feel very familiar with skyfrost as a character haha. anyway, beetle, any characters you'd like to see fics of -- the classic dragon anon question -- ?

dedicated to lollipop anon🍭)

YES!!!!!!!!!!!! Skyfrost my beloved,, you're right we absolutely need to see more of this silly guy, but even so you captured him so well... hes a fun lovin dude!!!!

[arlecchinoprojectharbringerask]

||| The Solemn Knave - Harlequin |||

A curious little rat scurries about the ruins of Remnant Peak, where the Weaver fell-- Swallowed by the Abyss ever famished. Or really, the foolish woman with lofty ideals willingly marched right into the jaws waiting, put herself into the grasping hands. So devoted to her ambition for performance... Heheh. Honestly, that amateur was already mailable from the start, I'd only given her a little nudge.

Ahh, Illucia, Illucia, silly little Illucia. For calling herself a, nay, THE Weaver, she sure was sloppy. Ah well, it's all yesterdays' news on the mill. T'was hilarious watching her antics for sure. Just like this silly mortal over there prancing about like headless- Pfft, really now? Hehehe, such obvious ruse. Good grief! I've seen many actors come and go, but you're just not even trying there, are you, eh?

The second the human heard the merry song of the bells, saw his top hat emerge and the entertained sneer of laughter? Bolted off like a frightened, poor wee rabbit. And how could he possibly insult the worm, by not playing along, hm? Hah! Thus, the wolf of ink, shadows and mirthful mischief gives chase.

Heart thundering on the verge of leaping out of her ribcage, Alex darts through the ruins. Doesn't need to look back, vision zeroed in on making it to the circles that damn snide little mage has set up. ..Hounded without mercy, the monster toying and cackling as he bounces in and out of the ground. Sure, I been dabbling with the Syndicates who deflected from the Weaver, and my lot were lumped in with 'em back in the day-- Ugh, keep running. For gods' sake Alex keep running or it's not just you done for.

"Magister! Clown o'clock! Clown o'clock!" -The stench of something breathes down on her nape. The glare of a glowing maw, almost about to clamp down, those pits boring straight through- "Get outta there!" - The Archmage barks back, the elaborate circles flaring sharply right as the knight ducks out of range-

And the menace, terror, smacks right into the invisible wall. Caught, chains shooting as the runes lift off the ground- Ensnared. Firmly crashes onto the ground with a furious, startled and shocked shriek of protests, threats and insults unspeakable. But no matter how much the mischief-maker wildly thrashes and kicks against his binds wound around his gangly little body, squawking and screeching, it's futile. Merlin seals the incantation with one final shout thunderous, the spiral of colorful flames swirling above the fiend shooting down.

.... Should've been smidge more careful.

Out of all the shrieks and screeches- This last one howl ripping out of those jaws is the most ghastly. Wail that turns to a sequence of more wounded, distressed howls, the string of fire flowing into him like venom slowly injected. An arrow embedding itself deep, a disease. And then a 'thud' was the end, the Hypogean laying as if dead.

But Magister Merlin keeps on chanting, changing the spell to another-- Of binding, permanent and irreversible. Sealing the Clown and Fire, and yanking this new entity into a strict contract. Slowly flames of shimmering color rise, like crystallized blood, enveloping the jester like a cocoon of delicate threads. Until Berial, or what remains of the fool, is but a mummy.

As Merlin chants, within the chords, the Hypogean floats drifting in a void. Before him, stands a face he can't remember, never cared to. A lost descendant of a diplomatic dynasty, the phantom's eyes half-way a mirror of his own... Or are mine mirroring his..? The magic strings gripping and stitching them into conjoined 'twins' weave, and weave, ripping barriers....

Flowing their beings into each other like playing with cups of chemicals or colored water. ...Rising from the Abyss, borne to loving arms and a soft, sweet voice welcoming him into Life- Which ones are mine? Was I really healing? No, no- Not me. Not mine, His. Ioan's. ...Or me? Us? ....So that's what happened.. I....get it.... I'm loosing....the line.....

....Merlin...

The chrysalis ignites, the cocoon of threads having now formed wings not quite of blood nor fire- An amalgam. The gaps in between the feathers giving a glimpse of closed lids on a white face, eyes snapping open--- Blank. There are red vertical pupils in them, stern and grim, red and black paint around them of a harlequin. Thrown back, shoved out of the way and flared to full span, the rest of the figure is revealed.

Curly short inky hair now having a reddish taint and some streaks straight, snowy ..Like bloody tears or tar, inky wings ablaze with those dark, blood-alike flames crackling at the tips and melted parts, attire a tailcoat and mismatched on the garment under it. Red, dark grey and black, the thin long owl-like eyebrows furrowed into a somber, cold frown as the being lands onto his feet silently.

Stalking towards the Magister in that unnerving, dutiful calm. As he holds a scythe in hand. And his voice a rasp, reminiscing of Berial's... But not quite.

"Merlin."

"From this day forth, Harlequin, Knave of contracts-- Are bound forevermore under my cause. My will, is yours. Or cease to exist, should you rebel against your own will that is mine." Something flashes on that clinically devoid mask, subtext and context left unvoiced- Only between the Magister and Knave. The Arch-magus already thinking of adding the Puppet to the Heroic Order, as their hound, the decree added swiftly into the Contract's many numerous clauses.

A tiny pull back of the lips as though a wince or snarl, eyes narrowing in disdain and silent ire-- A lock finalized. The eyes go full dark blood-red almost black, then flash back to their near pearlescent color, pupils gone.

"Hm." You're smarter than I originally thought, Merlin. Didn't take you for the underhanded type.

No more games, Arlecchino. Time to get serious. Your oath, is to watch over Esperia in its whole, fight off the ones whom were your kin at all cost. Protect the world of Esperia, its denizens, me and my familiars, at all costs. This is your vow, binding oath and contract.

Merlin lifts a hand, a wordless decree--

And the Solemn jester disappears into a flurry of dark, bloody flames, flickering embers of gold, orange, scarlet and teal amidst them.

The Sentinel set on his eternal duty, a contract he can never fulfill nor escape and know freedom. A silent, cold-blooded, emotionless guardian watching over Esperia as his puppeteer's bidding, command. Any hypofiends and Hypogeans found would be swiftly, and efficiently hunted, dealt with.

[seriousbrat]

Interesting answer as always!

Tho my argument is that because magic can be so active, kids need a sport to stay fit and able to do it. The real reason Neville could never produce a patronus is because he didn’t get that post-10km endorphin rush.

Of course I’ve read your fic and I remember the Rosiers hunting werewolves. Here’s an idea that you’re free to take or reject: would the self-loading crossbows have a tracking spell intheir arrows, in case the game runs gets shot but runs away?

I can imagine muggle weapons being one of those things that wizards don’t need, but they just really like, almost as a fetish. I suppose the sword of Gryffindor is an example.

Speaking of werewolves, I always thought you don’t give Professor Ninja Warrior Circuit Lupin enough credit. Canon Lupin is actually quite active, not only in his practical lessons, but also in high-risk Order moments like the department of mysteries and 7 potters. I don’t think he’s waking up at 5 am to do laps in the lake, but I also don’t think he’d pass out from exertion after a run or a game of quidditch.

lmao I forgot about Lupin's ninja warrior obstacle course! Good point. And yes I mostly just meant that he's always described as tired/pale/exhausted in canon from his transformations, (which is technically not a healthy state) and it is still an illness so I just wouldn't describe him as healthy. I don't think that he's an absolute weakling haha, he can obviously hold his own duelling etc quite well. Although I did once have Sirius describe him as 'Remus fucking glass bones Lupin' in a fic haha, but that was just Sirius being mean. (also it was a muggle au. in which remus was born with glass bones and paper skin. and every morning he breaks his legs. )

It's not a bad point. I'm not sure how physically taxing actually casting magic is supposed to be itself, like if it requires physical stamina as well as willpower. I'm sure though that being fit in general helps a lot, especially with more active forms of magic like duelling where you usually to have to run around a lot haha. It might be helpful for them to do endurance training at Hogwarts lol but between that and the stairs and the classes I think I'd be exhausted! There's so much activity at Hogwarts that doing some kind of physical training is probably more useful for adult witches and wizards honestly.

About the crossbows, that's a great idea! I always pictured the bolts as vanishing and reappearing instantly on the crossbow but there could definitely be some sort of tracking charm on the animal if the bolt didn't fell it instantly. Although tracking would also be what the hounds are for.

I'd thought about whether the crossbows would have inbuilt aiming charms but decided against it because I think the "fun" of it is in the skill, so it would kind of defeat the point if you never missed, and similarly I think the 'fun' would be chasing down the poor animal in a bloodthirsty way with your bloodthirsty hounds. Maybe these are charms that can be toggled on/off somehow haha, like they exist for training crossbows and for amateurs but most true enthusiasts don't use them.

Also yes, Hagrid uses a crossbow (which isn't self-reloading lol, that's for lazy posh people like the Rosiers) and obviously we've got the sword of Gryffindor/other goblin weapons, plus many suits of armour around Hogwarts. In 'the fountain of fair fortune' Sir Luckless uses a sword and shield, and Sir Cadogan, who was a wizard, uses both wand and sword. So I think wizards would be familiar with/enjoy medieval weaponry at least. And like magical crossbows, Cadogan, and Gryffindor's sword, maybe pre-statute of secrecy it was more common for muggle weaponry to be combined with magic.

[goodlucktai]

first of all your fic has me sobbing (i'm not exaggerating like i really am sobbing), second of all what was it that mikey said in his sleep though 👀

walk with open hands

x

Splinter goes from the rooftop battle to the lair in seconds and he’s staggered by the sudden shift. The calm and safety of his hidden underground home is disorienting. His heart is still racing with adrenaline. He curls forward and clutches his youngest child close to his chest and prepares himself for the next wave of danger. In that moment, Splinter would be willing to tear through Saki with his teeth. 

A footfall in the doorway snatches Splinter’s attention. His gaze snaps that way and lands on Leonardo, who looks at him like he’s seen a ghost. It’s a look that makes Splinter’s fur stand on end. He’s never seen his eldest look so brittle and diminished, as if he’s buckling under the weight of the world. 

And then Leonardo’s eyes dip lower, to the weight in Splinter’s arms, and fear chases everything else out of his expression like hounds running down a fox. Iron shoots through his spine and he crosses the room in two running leaps, already shouting behind him for his brothers. 

Because Michelangelo is writhing like a creature possessed. His arms are a horror, green skin flaking away as gold eats its way up in jagged, crooked lines. 

The boys come together like a well-oiled machine, scrambling desperately to help, every other thing they must be feeling shoved aside in favor of fear for their youngest. 

Leonardo leans over the smallest of his siblings and soothes him in a shaking tone, wiping away his tears in such a clear echo of Shen that it seems impossible she didn’t raise him herself. 

“Leonardo,” Splinter says, “qigong, now.”

His eldest hurries to obey. He’s clearly overwhelmed, clearly terrified, but the given task allows him a sense of purpose that clears the storm in his mind. His hands don’t shake or fumble, because he can’t afford them to. 

It takes several long moments. Longer than it should. That golden light wants to keep living in Michelangelo, has found a place in his soul it doesn’t want to leave. Splinter pours as much of his qi into the healing hands as he possibly can, determined to chase it and all the pain out. 

Finally, Michelangelo’s anguished thrashing tapers off. He heaves a great, shuddering breath, and all the tension in his body blows away with the exhale. Splinter sits back on his heels and feels about a hundred years old.  

“Infirmary,” Donatello says at length, his voice low and blunt. It’s unclear who the order is for, but everyone moves at the same time. Splinter leans forward to lift Michelangelo back into his arms, and tries not to notice the way Raphael yanks his hand away before it comes into contact with his father’s. 

The weight of one of his sons is a familiar thing to carry. Splinter has done this a thousand times before—the early mornings after movie nights, those accidental sleepovers when pre-teen plotting ran late—and he finds himself grateful that they’re still small enough that he can manage it. 

They’re still so small. What has he been doing, leading them headlong into this war? The second he became aware of the Shredder in New York City, he should have bundled them all up and fled with them as far as he could. 

Michelangelo is dwarfed by the infirmary bed and his eyes are half-lidded but he resists sleep with ferocious stubbornness. The same stubbornness that always managed to outlast his brothers’ difficult moods, that made him a force of nature in the dojo only when he wanted to be, that saved Splinter’s life on that rooftop moments ago. It takes all four of them to convince him to pry open his hands and release wakefulness and slide away through the darkness into healing sleep. 

Then Donatello is all business, blinking past the wet sheen in his eyes and drawing the blanket away from his younger twin. He reaches for a pair of shears on a nearby work table and begins cutting through the pink jacket.

“Hey,” Raphael says without heat. 

“It’s ruined anyway,” Donatello fires back. “And I want to look at his shoulder.”

Donatello has always put more stock in medicine than qigong, and it’s fair of him to be concerned about the source of all the blood staining the bright material a stomach-turning rust color. Leonardo leans in to help, eyes boring into Michelangelo’s pale, tear-stricken face as though committing the latest in a long line of personal failures to memory.

Splinter stands out of the way, hands folded in the sleeves of his ripped robe, watching the process from over their heads.

He has seen Michelangelo in this particular jacket three times now. 

The first memory comes rushing back—the meadow in the shadow of the mountain, the little river spirit in an inexplicable pink hoodie—the way it trembled where it stood, as if it couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun, and how clearly Splinter could recognize pain when he saw it. And despite all of that, the spirit smiled at him. It offered apology, and thanks, and even love. It spoke with the simple integrity and powerful empathy characteristic in children. It was definitely, Splinter had realized with a sinking heart, someone’s baby. 

He revisited the memory in a dream, not even a full decade later, and recognized that little river spirit instantly as his baby. Splinter sprang out of bed with all the strength and speed he possessed, sweeping down the tunnel into the room that functioned as a nursery. The turtles were too small for their own rooms and still preferred to slumber together in a pile, and Michelangelo was comfortably squished beneath Donatello, their little faces peaceful and untroubled. 

Splinter sat beside their nest for the rest of the night, his heart pounding. Michelangelo was so tiny and fragile in his sleep, when his limitless energy and manic good cheer didn’t make him appear two times larger than life. Splinter couldn’t begin to imagine how he could have ended up in that meadow. He couldn’t summon any reasonable explanation why the precious child would cry and apologize so earnestly. 

When Michelangelo got a little older, and he and his brothers were progressing effortlessly through their training, Raphael made the executive decision that the four of them should wear masks, like the heroes in their Saturday morning cartoons. Splinter obliged him, and took the boys into the side tunnel he used for storage, allowing them to pick from the fabrics he had available. Michelangelo went straight for a sunny orange color as if it had always been his. And in a way, Splinter thought, feeling both unrelentingly fond and quietly apprehensive, it always had been. 

The second memory of the turtle in the pink jacket did not stand out the way the first and the last did. On an unremarkable afternoon, Splinter had happened upon a frenzied Michelangelo in the den, pacing in restless circles. It only struck Splinter as odd because his sons had left for April’s apartment not even twenty minutes ago. But when he made his presence known, Michelangelo had whipped around with a lethal speed that spoke more of hard-earned experience than it did of training, and his eyes were as wide as the moon. 

It had been a long time since Splinter had worried about the troubling vision of his youngest in Japan. As a parent of four high-energy children, his mind was often occupied by a thousand things at once, each more pressing than the last, and distant memories of dreamlike encounters could not always be in his top ten priorities.

It was not the pink jacket that tugged at recollection that time. It was the way his sweet boy’s face had crumpled, the way he plucked at his sleeves and choked out, “I’m sorry, papa.”

“I should have been good. I’m really sorry.”

And suddenly, Splinter was terrified. Suddenly it felt as though they were on a one-way road and picking up speed, barreling towards an inevitable end. He held Michelangelo as tight as he dared and wanted more than anything to protect him from whatever was coming. All he could do was impress upon the child that he was good, that he was loved, that he never needed to apologize to Splinter—the simple act of existing was a gift Michelangelo had given his family that was impossible to repay, and they would be lost without him. 

Then he let Michelangelo go chasing after his brothers, and wondered if it would be enough. 

The third memory—the rooftop. Coming up on the end of fate’s one-way road. 

Splinter had raised his sons to trust their instincts. To put stock in the things their hearts told them. To listen to the voice in their minds when it urged them to move. It was an order of a magnitude more difficult for some of them than it was for others. Donatello and Leonardo had an inclination towards practicality and the arts they could study and practice. Raphael was too stubborn and righteous to do anything but the right thing, whatever the cost. But Michelangelo was a whirlwind of intuition. Michelangelo could breeze through life on a hunch if he wanted to. 

And on the rooftop, he was a coiled spring, waiting, waiting, waiting for some cue from the universe. He was so hot to the touch he nearly burned, and his arms were glowing through the sleeves of that pink jacket, and his eyes were fixed without blinking on some point above and behind Splinter’s shoulder. 

When the Shredder arrived, Michelangelo was ready. And now they’re here. They’ve crashed through the roadblock at the end of fate’s path and this is what comes after. This unmapped territory, unfamiliar ground. 

“What the hell is that?” Raphael says sharply. There’s a small clock resting against Michelangelo’s plastron, glowing gold and putting out heat like a furnace. 

“Don’t,” Leonardo says, throwing out an arm when Donatello’s hand drifts towards it. “Don’t touch it. Do you have something you can cut the chain with?”

A moment later, the chain around Michelangelo’s neck is broken, and Donatello is lifting the clock away at arm's length with the sort of exacting precision Splinter would attribute to a bomb disposal technician. The second it’s gone, Michelangelo stirs and starts to cry. 

“Wait—don’t go,” he says, and his siblings all jump in surprise.

“It’s okay,” Leonardo starts, but Michelangelo won’t be comforted. 

“I’ll get it right this time,” the child babbles, word salad. He still seems to be half-dreaming. “I’ll try again. Again. Again. Let me try again.”

“Hey hey,” Donnie says, touching his twin’s sweaty forehead with the calloused tips of his fingers, a gentle tap-tap-tap that is a secret code between just the two of them. “Angie, it’s all over, you don’t have to do anything.”

“I can fix it,” Michelangelo sobs, so much pain in every word that it wrenches at Splinter’s heart. “No one’ll know I’m gone. No one’ll miss me.”

Raphael’s eyes are bright and furious and wet. His fists would be curled into dangerous weapons, if both his hands weren’t already curled carefully around one of Michelangelo’s.  

“We’d miss you,” Leonardo says, only barely above a whisper. The grief in his voice is old, but the fear is brand-new. He’d come dangerously close to losing something important, something he might not have survived losing. “We’d miss you every single second you weren’t here, Mikey. What would we do without you?”

Michelangelo sinks back into sleep, never fully awake to begin with. Raphael lowers his head onto the bed, on the pillow of one folded arm, and doesn’t let go of Michelangelo’s hand. The room is tense and silent, all of them waiting for something. Waiting for the thick, clouded atmosphere to break open and finally give into rain. 

Splinter lays a hand on his eldest son’s shell, unsure if the touch will be welcome. Leonardo flinches and goes terribly still. Then his shoulders start shaking. 

“We had a funeral,” Leonardo chokes out.

“You died,” Donatello bites out. He’s unwilling to leave his little brother’s side, but all of his menacing focus is pointed at Splinter like a knife.  

Splinter had made that connection, somewhere in the quiet back of his brain—between the clock and the knowledge that Michelangelo’s best friend is a Timestress and those memories of Michelangelo that stand out in Splinter’s mind, that don’t quite fit in the chronological places they should, and the way his turtles look at him now. It still hurts to hear it. 

“I’m sorry,” Splinter replies, his heart well on its way to breaking. He says it again, “Moushiwake arimasen deshita. The last thing I wanted was to leave you.”

They will certainly need to talk about it in depth at another time. Splinter, of all people, knows trauma when he sees it. But it isn’t a conversation they’re ready to have right now. They’re barely clinging to their composure as it is. Splinter will let them go at their own pace.

“Mikey thinks—” Leonardo starts, and can’t bring himself to finish. 

“We let him think it,” Raphael says. “We all fell apart.”

“I’m not letting him go anywhere without me ever again,” Donatello says bitterly, sinking into a chair beside the bed. “I’m invoking grounding rights. The next time he goes on a time-traveling odyssey, he’ll have a chaperone.”

Leonardo is surprised into a smile. All isn’t lost. “Three chaperones,” he says. 

“Five, once April and Casey hear about this,” Raphael adds, muffled because he refuses to lift his head. 

“That is incorrect,” Splinter interjects. His sons look at him, conflicting expressions on their faces, and so he adds, “There will be six of us. We are a family, and wherever we must go next, we will go together.”

It’s too late now to sweep his children away to some safe, far-away place. They have friends and loyalties and memories tying them to this city. It is their home in a way it never quite managed to be Splinter’s. He missed the opportunity to be the best father to them that he could be. His life is a series of missed opportunities. 

But he has been given, of all wonderful, impossible, undeserved gifts, a second chance. 

“I won’t waste it,” Splinter says, gazing down at Michelangelo’s sleeping face. He still sees his baby sleeping there, untroubled and unburdened and full of light. “I won’t waste another second.”