#Man Made of Stone is still happening but I hit a block

[hunkpossession0]

**Found this personal trainer on Insta, I chatted a lil bit with him, and now I got his body. Poor him.**

It all started with a late-night scroll through Instagram. You know how it goes—one minute you’re just browsing, and the next, you’re sucked into the world of fitness models and personal trainers, each more jacked than the last. That’s when I found *him*.

This guy was perfection in human form. Towering height, muscles that looked like they were chiseled from stone, and a face that screamed confidence. The guy even rocked a thick, perfectly groomed mustache that somehow made him look even more masculine. His profile was full of workout tips, nutrition advice, and those motivational posts that usually make me roll my eyes. But something about him had me hooked.

“Man, if I had that body,” I muttered to myself, almost jokingly. But then the thought took hold. *What if*?

I shot him a DM, asking for some beginner tips—playing the part of the clueless newbie. To my surprise, he replied almost instantly, eager to help. We went back and forth for a bit, him giving advice and me pretending to be interested, while I worked on something far more… *ambitious*.

As we chatted, I tapped into an ability I’d been perfecting—a way to connect with someone on a deeper level. To reach out and *take* what was theirs. He had no idea that while he was busy explaining how to start on squats and deadlifts, I was making a connection that would change everything.

And then, with one final push, I felt it—the shift.

Suddenly, I wasn’t lounging on my bed anymore. I was standing in a gym, holding his phone in his hand, feeling the weight of his massive arms, the strength in his legs. I flexed one arm, watching as the muscles bulged, hard and defined, beneath the skin. My heart pounded with excitement and something else… an overwhelming sense of power.

I took a deep breath, my chest expanding with muscles that weren’t mine just a moment ago. I was in *his* body now, and damn, did it feel good. The thick mustache above my lip twitched as I grinned at my reflection in the mirror, marveling at how it suited this face, this body. I ran a hand over it, feeling the rough bristles that added an extra layer of ruggedness to this perfect form.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, my voice deep and resonant. *His* voice. My voice now.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—*his* pocket, I reminded myself—and I pulled it out to see a flood of missed notifications. But those could wait. The first thing I did was block my old account. Whoever was stuck in my former body wouldn’t be getting any help from me. They’d just have to deal with the shock of being… *me* now.

Meanwhile, across town, I could only imagine the horror and confusion on my former face as the realization hit. That once-comfortable body now felt alien, weak in comparison to what I had now. But I couldn’t waste time worrying about him—this was about me, about *living* in this body, and I intended to enjoy every second of it.

I turned back to the mirror, running my hands over my chest and abs, flexing just to watch the muscles ripple under the skin. God, I looked good. My new body felt hot, practically humming with energy, with a need I’d never felt before. The gym suddenly seemed smaller, like it couldn’t contain everything I was feeling.

An idea popped into my head, and I pulled out his phone again, quickly downloading Grindr. It didn’t take long to set up a profile—one of his shirtless pics as the main image, of course. The matches started rolling in almost immediately, the phone buzzing nonstop.

I couldn’t help but smirk at the screen. I shot a message to a couple of nearby guys, already knowing where this night was headed. The gym could wait—there were other ways to test out this body, and I was eager to explore *all* of them.

Back in that old, weak body, the poor guy was probably still staring at his reflection in disbelief, trying to figure out what had happened. But that was his problem now. I had bigger, better things to do—starting with enjoying every inch of this perfect new body. The thick mustache tickled my upper lip as I grinned wider, anticipation flooding my veins.

This was going to be fun.

[riboism]

so good

》 pairing: j.yh x f!reader

》 genre: smut

》 wc: 1.2k

》 content: use of sex toys, dom! yunho, perv! yunho, cum eating, pet names (doll), teasing, impact play. yunho and reader just started dating, yunho has a christian grey style fuck room lol.

a/n: thank you for the request! it’s kind of short but I hope you like it! @staytinyinmybpack​

There was no way this was the same man who greeted you with a shy smile before holding the door open for you at the fancy restaurant you two had eaten earlier; the same man who pulled a chair out for you before taking his own seat; the same man who hung on to every word that came out of your mouth; the same man who’s eyes would twinkle when he caught you staring at him; the same man who blushed when he made you laugh; the same man who insisted on sharing dessert because he thought it would be romantic; the same man who would stutter when he felt your fingers brush against his as you two walked alongside each other to the neighboring park; the same man who was too shy to reach out and hold your hand even though he really wanted to. No, this guy was completely different. 

You felt Yunho’s warm and fuzzy breath hitting the side of your face, his lips tickling your ear lobe and sending shivers down your spine. “I didn’t take you as an inquisitive person…you like snooping around where you’re not supposed to be?” 

It wasn’t your intention at all, in fact, it was an accident. You really needed to use the restroom, and since Yunho’s house was just a block away, he was nice enough to let you use his bathroom before your long bus ride home. You didn’t anticipate how big his home was, and when you went upstairs, you couldn’t remember if he said it was the first door on the left or the right. Shrugging, you thought you’d try the door on the right. 

Nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to see. You thought you stumbled into his bedroom, but it was far from it. You gasped, eyes widening at the large collection of sex toys proudly displayed all around the room. It took a while to absorb everything, from the dildos, pocket pussy, and vibrators sitting on the shelves to the ball gags and chains hanging on the walls behind the large bed. There was no way. He had a…playroom? 

No, there was no way, you told yourself. Yunho was nice. He wasn’t the type of person that would give into his fantasies like this. You don’t know why you didn’t leave the room right away. Maybe you were still in a state of shock, I mean, it was a lot to take in. Or maybe it was because you couldn’t take your eyes off a certain blue dildo that was displayed on one of the shelves; It was ridiculously long, bent in a slight curve with a rather fat tip on the end. Was that for him? Or did he like using it on other girls?

Your thoughts were disrupted after hearing a deep sigh coming from behind you. “You weren’t supposed to see all this.” You whipped around to see an annoyed Yunho leaning at the doorway with his hands stuffed inside his pockets. He looked so different now; his once warm and sparkling eyes were now stone-cold and intimidating. 

Everything after that was hazy and you couldn’t remember all the details or how you even ended up on his couch in this position, but you were way passed it now. Yunho dragged the very blue dildo he caught you looking at earlier over your throbbing wet center before stopping at your clit. “Hmm? What happened? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled into your hair, tapping the tip on your clit to elicit a response from you. 

Your hips jerked at the feeling. You bit back a moan, too shy and embarrassed to give him the reaction he was searching for. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Oh come on doll…you know this isn’t fun if you stay quiet like this.” You felt the thick tip start to push into you, and this time you weren’t able to hold back. 

“Fuck, fuck, please! I wasn’t snooping, it was an accident!” You cried out. Yunho stayed stagnant, letting you adjust to the tip. 

“An accident? You sure this wasn’t your plan all along?” He teased. When you took too long to answer, Yunho started twisting the dildo around, making you stutter as you answered him again. 

“N-No! I-”

“I mean, just look how easily you agreed to this. You act like a good girl, but you’re really just a needy little slut.” 

You were starting to feel sore down there, but strangely you didn’t want him to stop. You had never taken something this big before, but something about Yunho being in control of it made you want more. 

“A-and you?” You sputtered, “You act like a nice guy, but you’re really just a pervert.”

You could feel him smiling into your neck as if you just gave him a nice compliment. “You think so? A little slut and a pervert…sounds like a match made in hell.” 

Yunho removed the dildo from you and leaned over your shoulder to get a good look at your sopping cunt. He spits onto your core for good measure before inserting the dildo back into you. You braced for impact, tears spiking in your eyes from the stretch. Your legs fell inward, making Yunho force them apart rather harshly with his free hand. “Keep them open for me doll, I wanna see you take it all.” He smacked your thigh before grasping onto it tightly as he pushed another inch into you. 

“Fuck, Yunho!” You whimpered, “I-It’s too big!�� 

He grinned. “You know I’m a lot bigger than this, right?” 

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but the long thrusts made you forget all about it. You were holding onto his arm tightly, but with every pump, your grip loosened as you slowly reached your peak. You were a drooling mess, just another doll for him to play with, but you didn’t care. It felt so good to have someone take control of you like this. You didn’t know how badly you needed it. 

He continued working you open, his eyes transfixed over your weeping cunt. He thought it was so pretty, how swollen and red your lips got as you tried your best to take the toy. He licked his lips while watching a few drips of your essence slip down your thighs. 

You were able to take a good portion of it now, the curved length reaching your g-spot perfectly until your knees went weak and you felt yourself melting back into the couch with a shaky whine leaving your lips. Satisfied, Yunho pulled the dildo out from you, licking his lips again at the strings of your release coated all over the tip. You gazed up at him from your spot on the couch, waiting to see what he wanted to try out on you next. But before he could give you any instruction, he brought the dildo up to his lips and suckled at the tip. 

“What are you-”

He moaned as he licked it clean of your juices, basking in your flavor with bliss. You were right. He was a pervert. As much as he tried to respect you and throw you off with those sweet innocent puppy eyes, he couldn’t help but fantasize about how good you’d taste and how well your puffy lips could take his cock while you sat across from him at the dinner table, unaware of his horny fantasies. “Needed a taste,” he answered hungrily, “you taste so good.”

🎧 so good- omar apollo

[riririnnnn]

I tried choking myself like this and oh boy it was such an awful experience—it felt as if someone had placed a really heavy stone over my head Don't try it, not worth it at all, I promise. 0/10, wouldn't recommend.

To choke yourself to the point where saliva is pooling out of your mouth and for you to cough like an asthmatic person, your airway passage must be blocked which means that this dude was really going at it.

So, let's talk about him:

What Kaiser has for Isagi now isn't rivalry anymore, it has become a near obsession and keeping their ship aside, they actually have a pretty unique kind of relation—they both want to get ahead in the path of their soccer career and un/fortunately, they both just happen to be the best stepping stone for eachother right now.

Since the very first time Kaiser was introduced, he had made it clear that Isagi was some sort of a pawn for him to get ahead in his soccer career and that's what Ness also said here:

And Kaiser's words seemed to match Ness' words too:

And I don't blame Kaiser for choosing Isagi to be his rival.

You see, it's tough to truly understand how much impact Isagi's goal had in the BLLK universe. The investors and club owners were literally putting pressure on Noa to make Isagi play—defeating such a boy and proving that you are better than him is a perfect way for literally anyone to increase their value; it fits even well for Kaiser since they both are in the same age group too.

But, the recent chapters, especially after BM Vs Ubers match ended, confused me more. Royale Madrid/Re Al is said to be the strongest/best soccer club in the whole world in BLLK universe, so it indirectly means that Kaiser's value increased—it actually did increase though, about ¥20 millions and Ness' reaction perfectly sums what I want to say:

Kaiser achieved what he had came for in NEL to achieve.

However, we all know what his reaction was: he didn't care, all he cared was that he was inferior to Isagi.

...why?

Like, it just doesn't make sense. He got what he wanted. Besides, Kaiser has a value of ¥320M meanwhile Isagi is still behind Rin and Rin is himself behind Kaiser by ¥100M+! Further, every team has man-marked Kaiser right away! He is already perceived as some kind of threat by every opponent team, what more he wants? Is it some pride thing of boys that I don't understand?

It just feels.. weird.

If Kaiser were to be a real narcissist, then I don't think that he would've accepted so easily that Noa is better than him and that he can't compete against him.

The above statement sends me back to this again:

Chris words can be considered as something said just to provoke Kaiser which worked a bit too perfectly well. I don't know why, but the above panel seems much more important to the story, especially to his character when we glance at this panel:

Just.. what the heck is this guy's backstory!?

I must say that he is very well written and honestly, when Blue Lock Manga ends, Kaneshiro-san can literally make a spin-off of him and the Fandom will inhale it instantly. I wish Itoshi brothers had one too.

.

.

.

When NEL starts in the anime, I hope an official BLLKTV/BLLKTWT app gets launch. Istg it'll be a massive hit.

[lav-bee]

Dr. Stone x Reader

You Flinch Because of Them

Character/s: Tsukasa, Hyoga

Warnings?: Flinching 🤷‍♀️ not anything that should be triggering, more of a hurt comfort type fic 👍

‼️Also, spoilers for season 3 in Hyogas part‼️

💛- read as platonic

Tsukasa

- It’s known that Tsukasa is a very nice and charismatic guy. And honestly, ya, he is.

- But you have to admit he’s still a bit intimidating to be near him. The man can kill wild animals with his bare hands, that’s crazy!

- Because of this knowledge, you try to keep your distance. You would never want to accidentally get on his bad side.

- Of course Tsukasa noticed this but he couldn’t understand why you avoided him.

- He knew you didn’t hate him. Why else would you be nice whenever you two would have a small chat?

- There was tension between you guys and he didn’t like that. So he thought the best way to solve this is to have a private conversation…. In the forest… no one to see. Ah yes, this totally isn’t freaking you out at all!

- Not only were you already tense from him bringing you out here alone but a wild animal showed up and attacked.

- It wasn’t a big deal, Tsukasa dealt with it easily.

- After the sudden scare, he turned toward you and lifted a hand to give you a head pat. He paused, seeing you suddenly flinching away, and everything made sense.

- “Oh, I see.”

- His hand dropped to his side and he took a step back to give you space.

- There’s not much that he can change about himself to make you feel at ease, he knows this. But he still tries to be more mindful, slower, when you’re around.

- “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do, I don’t want to let my appearance stop us from knowing each other.”

Hyoga

- Finally, the fight with Ibara has ended. And the Kingdom of Science had found an ally with the villain Hyoga.

- It was a wobbly alliance, but you had to admit it turned out just fine

- Even though Hyoga fought for most likely selfish reasons, there was still a spark of admiration for the man

- Before, during the Stone Wars you couldn’t help but be amazed when he held his spear. He just looked so cool!

- And of course this made you want to learn too.

- Asking to be trained by him was nerve wracking and you weren’t sure if he’d accept. But surprisingly, he agreed. Anyone is welcome to learn as long as they train correctly.

- And now here you both are, alone in the training room. The others had taken a break but you wanted to push yourself just a bit more; you were finally making progress.

- Hyogas ways of training definitely weren’t for the weak hearted. You’ll have many bruises and blisters by the time the day’s over.

- Suddenly, your balance was swept from beneath your feet and you landed on the hard floor boards with a thud

- Hyoga moved his spear and for a moment you thought he would hit or stab you with it. A random reminder of how cruel he once was

- Your arm quickly went to block your face for… nothing?

- “That won’t do. How do you expect to fight against your opponent if you freeze up?”

- When you let your arm down, Hyoga had his hand out for you to take.

- “I won’t ask why, but it’s best we take a break.”

- And that’s not an option, he will make you take a break.

- He won’t bring it up, and he won’t treat you any different. More so keeps it in mind to try not to let it happen again.

[hero-israel]

During Nuremberg Trial testimony, the prosecutor pressed Einsatzgruppen commander Otto Ohlendorf: “You were going out to shoot down defenseless people. Now, didn’t the question of the morality of that enter your mind?” Ohlendorf referred to the Allied bombings of Germany as a context:

I am not in a position to isolate this occurrence from the occurrences of 1943, 1944, and 1945 where with my own hands I took children and women out of the burning asphalt myself, and with my own hands I took big blocks of stone from the stomachs of pregnant women; and with my own eyes I saw 60,000 people die within 24 hours.

A judge immediately pointed out that his own killing spree preceded those bombings. But this would become known as the “Dresden defense,” to which Ohlendorf resorted still another time, in this exchange:

Ohlendorf: I have seen very many children killed in this war through air attacks, for the security of other nations, and orders were carried out to bomb, no matter whether many children were killed or not. Q: Now, I think we are getting somewhere, Mr. Ohlendorf. You saw German children killed by Allied bombers and that is what you are referring to? Ohlendorf: Yes, I have seen it. Q: Do you attempt to draw a moral comparison between the bomber who drops bombs hoping that it will not kill children and yourself who shot children deliberately? Is that a fair moral comparison ? Ohlendorf: I cannot imagine that those planes which systematically covered a city that was a fortified city, square meter for square meter, with incendiaries and explosive bombs and again with phosphorus bombs, and this done from block to block, and then as I have seen it in Dresden likewise the squares where the civilian population had fled to—that these men could possibly hope not to kill any civilian population, and no children.

Ohlendorf thought this defense so powerful that he invoked it yet another time:

The fact that individual men killed civilians face to face is looked upon as terrible and is pictured as specially gruesome because the order was clearly given to kill these people; but I cannot morally evaluate a deed any better, a deed which makes it possible, by pushing a button, to kill a much larger number of civilians, men, women, and children.

(The chief prosecutor, an American, called this particular iteration “exactly what a fanatical pseudo-intellectual SS-man might well believe.”)

At Nuremberg, this sort of tu quoque defense (“I shouldn’t be punished because they did it too”) wasn’t admissible. Still, in the verdict of the Einsatzgruppen Trial, the judges chose to refute it. “It was submitted,” the judges wrote, “that the defendants must be exonerated from the charge of killing civilian populations since every Allied nation brought about the death of noncombatants through the instrumentality of bombing.” The judges would have none of it:

A city is bombed for tactical purposes… it inevitably happens that nonmilitary persons are killed. This is an incident, a grave incident to be sure, but an unavoidable corollary of battle action. The civilians are not individualized. The bomb falls, it is aimed at the railroad yards, houses along the tracks are hit and many of their occupants killed. But that is entirely different, both in fact and in law, from an armed force marching up to these same railroad tracks, entering those houses abutting thereon, dragging out the men, women and children and shooting them.

The tribunal sentenced Ohlendorf to death. He was hanged in June 1951.

“In the last analysis”

Nuremberg enforced a fundamental distinction. All civilian lives are equal, but not so all ways of taking them. The deliberate and purposeful killing of civilians is a crime; not so the taking of civilian lives that is undesired, unintended, but unavoidable. The errors made by a bomber squadron cannot be deducted from the murders committed by a death squad. It’s a difference compounded many times over when those civilian men, women, and children are subjected to torture, rape, and mutilation before their murder. To borrow Khalidi’s phrase, “in the last analysis,” this distinction is what separates modern civilization from its predecessors.

More disturbing is the thought that it separates the contemporary West from its peers. Otto Ohlendorf and the regime he served did all they could to conceal their deeds from Western eyes. Nazi Germany still operated in a West founded on Enlightenment values. So massive a violation of a shared patrimony needed to be hidden from view.

In contrast, Hamas initially sought to publicize its deeds, assuming they would win applause, admiration, or at least tacit acceptance in the Arab and Muslim worlds. Here they succeeded beyond their expectations. The many millions who don’t share the West’s patrimony, and who know next to nothing about the Holocaust or Nuremberg, do see things as Khalidi says they see them. (So, too, does a sliver of alienated opinion in the West, where such views are cultivated and celebrated.)

Finally, and still more disturbing, is the fact that Ohlendorf’s defense has been revived to frame the massacre of Jews. 

[wolven91]

The Ceremony

As the ursidain leant in, claws filled with sharp implements and teeth bared in concentration, James lifted his chin, defiant of the nerves that threatened him. He willed himself still, despite his fear. 

Her hands reached for the material that covered the man and stabbed a sliver of metal through it. It was sharpened shard and as long as his finger, although thinner. It seemed impossible for her to be so dexterous with such massive paws around such a tiny device. The man’s eyes snapped to the side as the archway that led to the room they were in rattled as the curtain made of beads and polished stones hissed and cascaded. It reminded the human of heavy rain. 

“He looks pretty good! After what you said, I was worried you weren’t going to be able to get him ready in time!” Declared the newcomer in a jovial tone before joining the former lone occupants of the room. He joined the pair and settled his own paws against his double wide hips, wearing a carefree grin as he leant back and observed the human from above. Appraising her work.

The seamstress leant back onto her stool, her mighty paws on her knees. She wore elegant blues and turquoise. The robes that flowed off her stopped at her shoulders and fitted her rotund form closely, allowing her to move unimpeded as she had been, slowly moving around James as the sun crept across the sky through the window. She had spent the last hour putting finishing touches to the robe that now covered him. 

It was a facsimile to the one that covered the newcomer, Hensra. 

James had saved Hensra’s life only days before. His fear had been forced aside by bravery for a mere scant few moments, but it was enough to prevent the ursidain from meeting his end. 

That was why James was here. 

On Source, the ursidain homeworld. 

Why he was being fitted for a ceremonial robe by the clan leader’s personal seamstress. 

All as a reward for his bravery in saving the only son of the current clan lord. Above as the clan leader was above all other clans. 

“When you said you needed a rush order for a new member, I expected someone…” She glanced at James’s face, “Larger.” James said nothing. 

“Hey. He’s big where it counts.” Declared the male, hitting his own chest with a fist. “He looks good though.” Hensra complemented, gesturing at the red and black robes that fitted James perfectly. The seamstress reached forward and for a moment her hands and wrists blocked out the world either side of James’s head. Then her fingers pinched the hood that hung around James’s shoulders and brought it up and over. 

It hung low, covering the man’s head all the way down to his eyebrows. He could see the two ursidains, at least their knees. 

“Of course he does. I made this. Is everything prepared for tonight?” Sniffed the seamstress, seemingly satisfied with her work.

“Yeah, I just need to tell our friend James here, how it's going to go.” Replied Hensra calmly. 

It was only when the seamstress twisted at the hip as she stood to openly stare at Hensra that James realised that this was not something that should have been left until now. . 

“You haven’t told him? This is happening this evening, Hensra.” The older woman pointed out with an incredulous tone. Almost admonishing what was essentially a prince. 

“He’s brave. It’ll be fine.” Dismissed the large male with a wave of his paw.

“Fool!” Snapped the older lady. “How you came from your father’s loins is beyond me. Every year I am yet more certain that he found a particularly talkative rock and named it ‘Hensra’.” The seamstress declared with blatantly no fear of punishment for such brazen insults. She picked up her equipment and packed it away in haste. The male gave the human a shrug but said nothing as she tidied rapidly. 

Before she left though, as a silhouette in the open archway, the tall female turned back. Her eyes shone the sunlight that was filtering into the room back at James. The gleam in the dark. A predator’s eyes. Something buried deep within James’s evolution cried out in fear. Fear of the cave bear. Hunter of man. 

“He may be a fool, but the boy speaks only truths for as long as I’ve had the displeasure of dressing him. Listen to his instructions. Obey them. Be brave. Good luck James of Earth.” And with that, and a rattle of beads, she was gone. 

James felt doubt replace her as a presence in the room. 

“Right.” Hensra started, clapping his great paws together. “Let's talk about tonight…”

== 0 ==

The veil of the darkness of night had settled across the plains and the giant rocky cliff faces that stood in front of them. Only the moonlight illuminated the path. The five figures stood in the dark at the very mouth of a valley. At the end of the valley, at the top of the hill, was a bright bonfire that burnt steadily, licking at the vertical cavern walls. It cast strange shadows that played with the eyes. 

Sparks rose in the distance, disappearing into the sky. This was the premier clan’s ancestral grounds. Were tradition demanded they respect the old ways. 

From James’s position, as he watched the sparks, he noticed the three moons of Source had aligned perfectly over the bonfire and the crowd that were at the top of the hill. The three sisters were why this ceremony had to happen so soon. 

A pair of horns, placed on the very top at the cliff edge on either side of the valley entrance declared the beginning of the event. Even from all the way down at the bottom of the valley,; James could see how big the horns were. He watched as dark shapes, ursidains, approached, reached up and began a single mighty and long sound through the horns. Both were strong and sure, perfectly in time with one another. The sound echoed through the valley, but also out into the plains at the five robed figure’s backs. 

It declared the beginning of the ceremony. 

“Here we go. Translators out.” Whispered the familiar voice of Hensra, robed as James was. Hensra was at the head of the convoy of four robed ursidains and one robed human who was second to last in line. He would lead the way. James dug the translator bead from his ear and slipped it into a pouch on the inside of his robes. 

A powerful voice shouted and called out from the top of the valley. An ursidain and one with a voice so loud and clear James heard every word. It was clearly a declaration of some kind, not an invitation or question. 

“Aaaah! Dree! Dah! Kai! Sky! Vah!” James had no clue what the words meant, but the three ursidains ahead of him began walking towards the bonfire and the one that shouted. 

The five robed figures began their ascent of the valley. Drums began, marking their approach. A steady beat that almost matched James’s heart as it drummed within his chest. As it echoed down towards them, James noted it was a staccato beat. 

James recalled what Hensra had explained to him as they walked. 

*”First, we’ll ascend the valley to the ancestral clan grounds. We can’t talk once we start. Throughout all of this, you’re not expected to speak or respond.”*

James nervously smiled under the deep hood as he kept pace with the larger creatures. A walk for them meant a quick paced march or even a mild jog for him. Whether they were taking their time for him, the human wouldn’t know, but he made sure to keep up. Wind blew in from the plains behind them and played with the heavy hems of their robes. James barely felt it.

In James’s nerves, and concentration not to put a foot wrong as he walked up the hill, the man barely even realised how quickly they made their way up the path. Within what seemed like moments, they had already approached the edges of the ‘camp’. 

A wall of fur and broad shoulders prevented the five robed figures from progressing further. Unphased, Hensra walked forwards without hesitation until at the very last moment, as James expected him to slam into the back of the ursidain, the ursidains who had their back to the newcomers parted. 

A path appeared almost instantly. 

A low rumbling chant began. Every single ursidain held the beat with the drums, a short word for each thud.  

“He Ooh Gos Ran Dun Niu Yeh Petro Hes Manus Laga Sota Lah.”

James kept his head low as Hensra had told him to. 

*”When we get to the bonfire, we line up and present ourselves to the leaders.”*

James took his spot next to the other robed ursidain. A fugitive glance from beneath his hood showed him how to stand. The other robed figures had their shoulders back, chin parallel to the ground. James matched them as the crowd continued to chant, only now a low grumble had appeared beneath the words as a rumbling growl. 

The crowd on the other side of the fire were all staring, all chanting, their eyes gleaming in the dark. As the human watched, it appeared that as the ursidains across from him finished a line in the chant, in turn they would draw out the final words into animalistic howls, craning their heads back and ultimately roaring, growling or outright screaming into the sky. 

Three of the largest ursidains James had ever seen, were stood directly between the fire and the five robed figures as they waited in a row. James tried to remember what was next. 

*”First, the test of nerve. He’ll try to intimidate you. You can flinch at any point after this, but not to him.”*

One of the shadows stomped forwards and James steeled himself, expecting something loud or sudden. He was right and wise to have done so as the ursidain roared and snarled and bellow at someone further down the line, what James assumed was their face. 

It wasn’t long before it was James’s turn. His hood was torn from his head, but James remained still. 

*”He can’t touch you. It’s just bravado.”*

“HUURGH! GARREE DARINMURAH!” Roared a maw full of teeth and spittle, scant centimetres away from the human’s face. James willed himself to remain still and calm. He was rock, and would allow the water to merely flow over him. 

With that, the roaring face was gone, shouting at the next and final in line.

The first shadow that had done the shouting disappeared into the crowd, hidden instantly amongst the shadows and flickering lights given off by the fire. 

The second silhouette approached. 

*”Next is the taste of character… Trust in her… She decides whether this is successful or not.”*

She raised her hand into the air, a glint of steel flashed before she brought her hand down in a swift strike that left James’s sight. He heard and felt the ‘thud’ of flesh on flesh at high speeds as well as a grunt by Hensra.

The figure did the same action two more times, before a huge belly appeared in James’s vision. He tilted his head back to meet the new ursidain’s eyes. A female by the looks of it. On her hand, capping her first finger, was a metal spike, like a weaponised thimble. If she hit him with that, not only would James go flying, the spike would definitely go deeper, into more important things than if he were an ursidain with literal inches of blubber. 

The ursidain raised her hand as before. 

For lack of a better idea, James tensed, grit his teeth an set his jaw and held his shoulders back. He’d come this far, he would not be found wanting now. 

Something struck James in the pec. It was solid hit, like a cricket ball striking him. He grunted, but otherwise blinked in shock. She had pulled her punch!

James glanced back up at her, only to see a single red droplet, gleaming in the firelight. The ursidain touched it to her tongue, before nodding and repeating the process with the fifth and final ursidain.

With that, she too melted into the crowd. 

Which suddenly went silent, with the exception of those that were growling or howling. They finished in their own time until all the remained was the crackling of the bonfire and the howling of a distant wind. 

“Whoooar! Tami Ro Mara!” Bellowed the hits and final ursidain, framed by the flames. He was by far and away, the largest, tallest ursidain that James had ever seen; even on a planet of them. He held his arms up in a declaration, one that James had no clue of what it meant. 

Whether it was positive, or negative? He might have declared them blood brothers or announced they were to be eaten and the human wouldn’t have had a clue without the translators. 

The titan shouted again to the crowd, his arms still up and turning so all could see and hear him.

“Whoooar! Tami Ro Mara!” 

This was an unseen trigger as the entire crowd erupted in their own cheers, starling James until he flinched at the sheer wall of noise that battered him from all sides. All seriousness was lost, the robed ursidains tore their hoods from their heads and joined in with the shouts, jumping in place and hurling themselves around. 

For a brief moment, James feared for his safety as titanic bodies, easily twice his size, threw themselves chaotically in their mad joy. That was until a strong hand grabbed the back of James’s robe and hauled him clear of the floor. 

It was Hensra, who merely dropped James onto his broad shoulders, he grinned from ear to ear and spoke.

“Glyow weese? Ou bes Woul.” 

One of his paws reached up and tapped the pouch that contained James’s connection to the rest of the aliens. He quickly fitted them into place where they suctioned securely. 

“You’re one of us now!” Hensra declared, still grinning up at the human.

“You said you’d explain it afterwards, what do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a clan brother now. You’re an ursidain!”

[r/WolvensStories]

[AO3]

[Ko-Fi]

[chaosduckies]

The Hunted Marble (1)

Sooo change of plans on the posting of the prompts. I was getting a little burnt out on writing some of them, which ended with me writing this! (I'm sorry for everyone who has been waiting for so long-) But I was getting burnt out and wanted to write something that would stop me from getting writers block, which became this Naga fic!

Thank you to @da3dm for helping me write, create the title, and letting me borrow one of your characters!

Word Count: 4.3k

CW: fear, anxiety, blood (not much)

1-Kayden

The forest was home to many animals. Rabbits, deer, bears. Everything you would ever need to survive if you really thought about it hard enough. Rivers that twisted and turned, trees that stretched far up into the sky. A natural beauty that threatens to kill me. 

To me? It was a death trap. No matter how unafraid I was of the dangers of the woods, there was always that tiny bit of fear I could never seem to be rid of. 

   Alone in the woods with nothing but a pocket knife and a few measly arrows to fuel my bow, I made my trek through the thick foliage, stepping over loose sticks and stones that lined my path. 

I was never one to enjoy hunting, in fact, I never even wanted to be out here in the first place. But here I was, proving myself to be a man and make my parents proud. Even if they would never think that for a second of their lives. 

For once in my life I was grateful for the survival skills that I had been taught. Without them I would never have even made it past the first few feet away from home. But I was taught well, and kept moving along. Just as long as I could catch something I’d never have to do this ever again. 

I stayed still for a while, listening to my surroundings and noting the oncoming storm clouds, which meant that I would have to find shelter at some point. I sat by a bush, trying to hide my presence from any animals that happened to be nearby. 

I held my breath when I noticed a small rabbit emerge from the small shrub only a few feet away from my hiding spot. I raised the bow eye-level with me, eyeing the easy mark. The rabbit slowly hopped over the grass, sniffing it and not noticing me. Perfect. I aimed, ready to hit and claim my prize. Exhaling as I released the arrow from the bow, and completely missing the rabbit. 

Groaning silently to myself out of anger, I chased it down, running as fast as my legs would carry me. There was no way I was going to let them escape. I wanted to go back home, lock myself in my room and never have to think about this again. I felt bad for the animals we hunt for food, but we do what we need to do to survive. 

The rabbit was far ahead, but still visible as thunder roared in the air, the light raindrops falling on me. I kept going, not concerned about the storm brewing in the skies above. Trees cut and bruised my skin, making me wince but never once made me falter. I only needed something small. Nothing big that I couldn’t handle, and a rabbit would make me feel less bad about myself. I mean, I was killing an innocent animal that definitely didn’t deserve what was coming for them, 

I followed, trying not to mind the many bruises that were already forming along my skin. My chest felt heavy as I gasped for air, eyes still trained on the target ahead. The rain started pouring harder, making it nearly impossible to follow the trail of the rabbit. What would I do if I didn’t catch it and inevitably was lost to the storm? It would be difficult to find my way back, now that I think about it. 

It was one foot in front of the other, planting safely on the ground until there wasn’t one anymore. I let out a yelp as my body hit the sharp and rough rocks lined against the steep decline of the trees and grass. I groaned, picking my head up and noticing my vision wasblurry, either from the rain or from the fall I didn’t know. I tried lifting my aching body back up, struggling with balance. How was I supposed to know that there was a huge fall right there? I wouldn’t have even been here in the first place if it wasn’t for my dad. 

Limping my way towards the nearest tree, I realized my ankle was now turning a disgusting purple and red color, bleeding a little bit. I took a moment to catch my breath, wet hair in my face and ignoring the brutal pain erupting from my injured ankle. The debate on whether to go back home empty handed and disgrace my family, or to stay here and  very likely die. Neither of which were great options. 

The rain wasn’t going to let up anytimesoon, and I still needed to find some sort of shelter. I didn’t want to be sick when I arrived back home. If I could even make it home. 

I placed pressure on my twisted ankle, biting down so hard on my cheek that I tasted blood. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, painfully attempting to walk straight. Of course something like this had to happen. How did I not see it coming? The odds were stacked against me here. It’s raining, my ankle was twisted at an odd angle and hurt to even slightly place pressure onto it, could this get any worse? 

My weary eyes searched through the rain and trees, not seeing any shelter that would keep me dry from the rain. I applied pressure to my messed up ankle, flinching from the pain but forcing myself to keep walking in search of someplace dry. Either some place with a thick canopy, a cave, or by some miracle, a hut. So far, there had been no signs of light as far as I could see. The sky grew darker, signaling that night was upon me. Alright, so it could get worse. That’s just great. 

I picked up the pace, biting down harder on my jaw with every excruciating step. The bleeding hadn’t stopped yet, but that was the least of my worries. I just needed to get to safety before I get mangled by some wild animal. The ground was muddy and made it harder to move, but there was no way that I was going to stop anytime soon. My clothes were drenched, my hair glued to my eyes, and the cut on my ankle was burning from stinging raindrops. 

After a while, the ground started to decline once again, and learning from my past mistakes, I made sure to slowly slide down. From the bottom, you could see a river steadily start to overfill that flowed through a wide ravine. Around me you could see small mountains surrounding the area. If it weren’t raining then maybe this area would be a nice place of sanctuary. Sadly, that was only wishful dreaming. I may not even make it back home alive. 

I studied the terrain further, noticing a huge cave entrance. I gawked at the size before limping inside. The pitch black darkness not only set me on my nerves, but also gave the indication that there may be a family of bears living here. But there was a slim possibility of that. I think. 

I headed deeper into the cave, clutching my bow close to my body as I struggled to traverse

over the rough terrain. I walked until my eyes could no longer adjust to the darkness, which was only a little ways from the mouth of the cave. I took one more step to make sure nothing was lurking, and instead hit a solid surface. Really? For a big entrance this cave didn’t go very deep. The wall in front of me was warm and felt a little… off, but that could just be my imagination. Maybe that’s what limestone felt like? I’d have no idea since I haven’t seen it for myself.

I leaned against the limestone wall (Or maybe it was marble?) and held my ankle close, staring as the storm raged outside. I was still drenched from head to toe, my hair slowly drying off, but otherwise it was nice and warm here for some odd reason. There was a small draft that came in increments, but otherwise safe and dry. So far no bears, which was a plus. 

As I was just about to fall asleep to the sound of rain, I heard something moving from behind me. My eyes widened, moving back to see the wall move, recognizing in the little remaining light that it was entirely white and scaly. I scampered backwards, trying to avoid being crushed by the huge white wall that was currently unraveling. My chest rose up and down, watching as the white scales slowly dwindled down. Something moved in the darkness and I couldn’t tell what it was, but it was big. 

Everything stopped moving, the white scaly wall, my own breathing, the small draft that was there moments before. I waited for something. Anything. Just to explain whatever the heck was happening. Walls don’t just move. I mean, it’s just common sense. It was strange how the cave did just abruptly stop… almost like something was blocking the way. 

What I initially thought was a wall at first was now moving around on the floor snake-like, disappearing into the dark. There was still a large part of it I could see, trailing my head up and up until I could no longer see anymore white. It was obvious it was connected to something that was huge and moving. My breathing became more frantic, afraid that it wasn’t a bear that I should’ve been worried about. Something bigger? Scarier? I gripped my bow tightly in my trembling hands. I wasn’t as scared. I was taught how to handle situations like these. Just stay as calm as possible. What would they think of me if I ran away? I needed to come back home with something. Maybe it could be whatever was hiding itself. But if it really was as big as I think it is… No. If my dad wanted me to prove myself then I can’t run away from this. 

I stood up, my legs shaky but otherwise were able to carry my weight. I grabbed an arrow from the case strapped on my back and waited for any recognition of a head for body. I bit my lower lip out of nervousness. What would happen if I couldn’t kill this thing? I would die and then they’d probably send for someone to come looking for me, but I would most likely already be dead or eaten. A shiver ran down my spine at the thought. 

There was a low rumbling noise that reverberated against the cave walls. I sucked in a deep breath, getting ready to draw my bow. Something above me yawned, I shot my head straight up, pointing my bow towards the sound, hearing everything around me move. Something was placed down on the side of me. I studied it, seeing that it looked more like a hand than anything else. Just really, really big. If I were to guess I’d maybe be the size of its thumb. I swallowed, nerves settling in. Who was I kidding? It’d be better for me to run away and at least have a chance of surviving than attempt to kill this humongous being and become its snack. 

I felt something move closer to me, instantly making me take a few steps back and instinctively point my bow towards whatever was in front of me. My heart was racing, but my breathing remained calm. Everything will be fine, totally fine. What could go wrong? Panic swirled in my mind as I readied myself to face off against this monster. 

The rain outside wasn’t letting up as lightning lit up the sky, bright flashes of white entering the cave and giving me a better look at what was in front of me. I now realized that the wall wasn’t a wall at all, but a white, scaly tail that was very slowly unraveling itself. I picked my head up slowly, lightning flashing again, revealing the body. Was it weird that…it looked like a human? My eyes widened, seeing colorful light blue eyes struggle to keep themselves open. There was no way I would be able to even lay a scratch on this thing. Whatever it was anyways. Tail, upper body like a person, I feel like I’ve heard about something like this before. 

The blue eyes that lay in front of me looked around, pupils round and seemingly tired. I backed away slowly, afraid of catching its attention. Though it wouldn’t be able to see in the dark, would it? I hoped not. I carefully placed the arrow back in its casing, clutching my bow so tight my knuckles were turning white. I thought everything was going alright up until I tripped over a rock and fell back down with a loud thud! 

I turned my head slowly towards the eyes, seeing its pupils become slim and sharp like a cats. I let out a yelp as I stood up as quickly as possible and rushed towards the large exit. Please please please. I can’t die here just please- my thoughts were interrupted by running something scaly and warm. Its tail. I attempted to turn around, but it was useless. I was stopped by being wrapped up in a prison of illuminating white scales, my arms trapped underneath the skin. I started panicking, terrified. What could I do in this situation? I was utterly trapped with no chance of escape, I couldn’t reach my bow because -wow- I dropped my only weapon on the ground. There was no way I was going to make it out alive. 

I tried kicking myself free and trying to pull out my arms in a futile attempt, the tail only wrapping around me even more until I was trapped in a few of its coils. It seemed ever since I entered this stupid forest my heart has done nothing but threaten to burst right out of my chest. Absolutely nothing good has happened since I left home, and it hasn’t even been a day. Usually other boys were home by now having a meal out of the animal they had caught. Me? I was going to be the one that dies. Which, not uncommon, but for a prince it’d be a laughing embarrassment for my parents. 

The ungodly being forced itself closer, letting me be able to get a better look at what I was dealing with. My eyes widened in fear, watching its face take up most of my vision. White hair, skin, those same light blue eyes that rang the bell of death. The word to describe this monster had finally clicked in my mind. Naga. What I thought was an ungodly creature was as close to a god as can be. Their eyes flickered down at me tiredly as it let out a yawn, revealing impossibly sharp canines. Was I about to really become its snack? No- I can’t let that happen. 

I struggled to get free even more, successfully pulling one of my arms free and working on getting the other one free before the naga lowered its head to be eye-level with me. I paused, staring into their slitted pupils and watching as they dilated, showing that they weren’t hostile. I continued struggling, my shoulder and legs hurting from the amount of pressure I was placing on them. I needed to get out of here. At least if I go home empty handed I could just re-do this some other time. I might get punished but at least I would be alive. 

“A h-human? Here?” The naga questioned, bringing a clawed hand closer to its face. It sounded more confused than malicious. Could be a trick. I managed to get my other arm free, now trying to regain function of my legs. I let out a loud groan, almost pulling myself free before I was just placed into another prison, which of course they would keep me pinched between their fingers. Was I really that… insignificant? As soon as I almost escape from one prison, I’m placed in another just as fast and easily. My breathing became ragged as I felt my stomach drop. I was raised higher, barely catching how they kept an open palm below me. No matter what I do it’d just catch me. I pictured them chasing me through the vast expanse of forest. Running for my life, legs tired, and just before I reach a point of safety, I’d just be trapped again. 

I kicked and pushed away from the large digits, trying to get myself free. Of course I was scared! No man wouldn’t be! But I wasn’t scared enough that I would just give up. I was going to get out of this one way or another. Even if all the odds are currently stacked against me. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” The naga worriedly stated, adjusting his grip and setting me down on his palm. I clutched my chest, grabbing a fistfull of my shirt and trying to calm my breathing. I never realized just how much I was panicking. I wasn’t at all happy with where I was, but better than being squeezed like some childs toy. 

The naga tilted its head, lowering me down, but not low enough for me to safely jump down without hurting my ankle. There was still a little bit of blood, but nothing I couldn’t handle. 

“You’re hurt?” They squinted their eyes, trying to get a better look at my ankle. I pulled my legs closer to my body, facing away. Could he sense my fear? The last thing I needed was for this monster to know I was hurt. It would only make the toying better for it. 

“D-do you mind if I see?” They asked nervously. What?... If I were being honest I was extremely confused. Weren’t nagas supposed to be these secluded beings? They hated anything that came into their territory? 

“Yes.” I answered a little too rudely. I winced to myself, already knowing I messed up. Great. I just spoke like that to an almost-god. I just love how this day is going. 

I waited for any kind of punishment, thinking it would be the death of me anyways, but nothing once again. I didn’t get it. Was this some kind of sick trick? Was I being baited into something? Even if I’ve never, ever met or seen a naga before shouldn’t they be more… mean? Full of malice?  

The naga didn’t respond, letting out a sigh before smiling. Had I not been more focused on the fangs, it would’ve been nice. 

“Can you hurry up and eat me already? Stop teasing me.” The last part came out like I was about to cry, and I was going to if I hadn’t wiped away the tears first. 

The naga stared at me wide-eyed, as if taken aback from my outburst. I wasn’t going to show that I was terrified. I was brave. I didn’t undergo all of that brutal training just to be a coward at the very end. Heck, I love going outside, exploring the many new fruit trees or even the flowers that sprout during the spring. I loved staying by the river and playing in the water. I may have always been alone but at least I was able to have just a little bit of fun. So why couldn’t I be brave like all those other times I was exploring on my own? 

“No! Nonono- I-I wasn’t-” The naga stuttered, unable to get words together. Everything right now was so confusing. I didn’t get it. There was a naga who seemed more scared than I was, the rain had been going on for forever and didn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon. 

“What? You’ve already trapped me here. I’m pretty much helpless too.” I sighed, bringing my hands up to my face and leaning back. Truth was, I was hiding the tears. I’m not some soldier who can stare death in the face and not waver in any way. The whole brave act seemed to be working in my favor though. Maybe I can work with this. 

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you-”

I cut him off, “Yeah and look where I am now. Held against my will.” 

The naga was at a loss for words.I mean, what was he supposed to say to that? Unless he really was putting on an entire act and lunged at me right now I should be able to get out… perfect plan. 

They bit the side of their cheek, lowering their hands down and cautiously letting me jump off. I winced as my feet hit the ground, my ankle throbbing under the pressure, but otherwise I could stand upright. I let out a sigh of relief. Finally on the ground again. 

“Is that better?” They lowered themselves towards the ground, using their arms as a pillow. I hated how he was watching me but… I smiled to myself anyways, making a run for it and hoping that nothing would- 

I slammed into something just like before, their tail still in the way. I fell backwards, grumbling and quickly stood back up. Seriously? I groaned, attempting to climb over instead of running around since there was no way I could make it all the way around. Of course it had to be a giant snake person. Of course. I tried to find a grip on the scales, only sliding down every time. Should’ve gone to those stupid climbing training lessons. Maybe then I’d be out of here. 

After the naga not making a single move to stop me at all, and me becoming tired of falling everytime I managed to get even the least bit of progress, I gave up. I sat up against the tail, arms crossed and legs close to my chest. I wasn’t going home. The real question was why I wasn’t even allowed to go. Because I would tell everyone? Who would believe me? Nagas were an old fairytale parents told to their children to get them to behave.

I buried my head in defeat. As much as I loathed my parents, I still wanted to go home, wrap myself under warm covers, get some dry clothes, and forget that this ever happened. Instead I’m cold, hurt, tired, my clothes were barely drying off, and currently trapped with a being that’s supposed to only be in fairytales. Life is great. Everything is… great.

“Are you happy now?” I glared up at the naga, throwing my hands up in the air and leaning further back. The naga stared at me, their eyes full of sympathy I never even wanted. 

“It’s raining.” They pointed outside like I was oblivious to the fact.

I gestured towards myself, clothes still drenched and hair stuck to my face, “Yeah, I guessed so.” 

“And you don’t want to stay dry?” They asked, making a point. I looked away, a little annoyed at the fact that this naga was completely right. It was warm and dry here. I doubt any predators, other than the naga itself, would come here. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find any animals here. 

“Well, I would like to go home.” 

The naga sighed sadly, almost like he wanted me to stay. Yeah so I could be its snack. Not entirely wrong. I think. So far it’s just been a confusing mess. At first I thought I’d be dead immediately, then the naga was friendly, and now I have no idea what to think. A plus is that I’m not dead yet. 

“H-how about you just stay here? Just until the rain stops at least.” They had offered. Tempting, but I’m not dumb enough to fall for that trick. 

“And end up as your next meal? Yeah I don’t think so.” I stood up, studying my surroundings for another possible way out and ignoring the naga behind me. So what if he just kills me right now? I doubt he would based on his actions so far, but I wasn’t trying to stick around for longer than necessary. 

“No- um, I’m being honest. Just until the rain stops, and I won’t do anything to you.” He seemed a little stumped at the whole snack part, but otherwise sounded genuine. I mean, did they really have a reason to lie to me? Unless they were some sick psycho who took pleasure in watching all the trust I have left in me die then I should be good. To be honest, staying here didn’t seem all too bad either. Besides the giant snake of course. 

I contemplated the pros and the cons. I’d have a place to be warm and somewhat safe, but there’d also be a big possibility of the naga not wanting me here anymore. Especially after I was so mean. I just had to hope it wasn’t dwelling on that. 

“Fine. But I don’t want you picking me up like some toy.” I agreed. Sitting and getting myself comfy on the hard rock. I was beyond tired. My muscles ached, I felt disgusting, and obviously I was still wet. Of course I’d be exhausted. I yawned, laying down and facing the roof of the cave that seemed impossible for me to reach. 

“I didn’t catch your name?” The naga asked. I heard him moving, but never once touched or came near me. Maybe he wasn’t lying? 

I sighed, “Usually when someone asks for a name they give their own first.” 

“O-oh! Um, Vasuki, and you?” 

“Kayden.” 

Nothing was said after, but my body was tired and my eyes were threatening to close at any second.

“Nice to meet you.” I could almost hear the smile on Vasuki’s face. I rolled my eyes, finally settling in and finding a decent spot to sleep. To be honest I didn’t care that a literal giant was probably looming over me and could possibly kill me while I was sleeping, but everything would be fine, right? I didn’t have time to think, my eyes gave up on staying awake any longer and fell asleep. 

------------

I will definitely be making this into a series! Just cause I had a lot of fun writing and it's gotten me out of a writers block. Also because I don't like it when everyone associates nagas with vore, it can be without it too! (Just my personal thing, nothing is wrong with it I just prefer nagas without vore)

Thank you for reading! And thank you again to 3D for letting me borrow their character Vasuki! :D

Taglist: @da3dm (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

[sweetwolfcupcake]

The Taste of Deceit: Hyungline Part 2 Finale (Namjoon 2/2)

The Taste of Deceit Masterlist

Hyungline: Part 1, Part 2(Jin and Yoongi, Hoseok), Part 1/2

Warning- Blood, violence

Unedited. Kindly excuse my errors. if you find anything significantly wrong, please let me know.

This has to be my most annoying experience with Tumblr.

The club was packed. Packed to the brim.

Neon lights flickered along with artificial smoke as the beat made the crowd cheer and hoot, raise their hands as the DJs played mash hits. It was the party season and those who could afford to be in any of Lee Henchin's clubs were having a blast.

A shadow moved seamlessly between the dancing and grinding bodies. Smoke, alcohol and even white power on some. As midnight occurred, the beats grew more intense. But the shadow glided towards the underground kitchen.

.

"We are done for the night." Lee Henchin plopped down on the velvet sofa, throwing his head back.

"Thanks man." He thanked his guest who poured him a drink before filling is own glass.

"My pleasure." the man smiled before taking gulp.

"Now that we are free, we can speak of what is truly important. So, Mr Park. It would have been an honour though, had your boss graced his place with his presence."

"I suppose you have the information what happened with the deal regarding the gulf shipment."

"I have heard about the deal and how terribly wrong it went. It's a joint-loss." Henchin nodded as he took a swig before refilling his glass.

Mr Park observed him. For moments, none of them spoke.

"He wants a favour."

The hallway on the second floor was lit up with neon green and blue, but a certain turn led to a corridor plunged in red. The trolley rolled smoothly though the surface– the three-tire filled bottles of scotch and bourbon, ice– mixers and garnishes. It was a bar on wheels.

Henchin would leave no stone unturned in providing the best hospitality to people important to him– those who could bring him profit.

"Nobody has seen him for a while now Mr Park. There are rumours floating all around."

Mr Park only smiled before finishing his drink.

"Lets get down to business shall we?"

.

The smooth roll of the three tired tray came to a quiet stop as soon as a hand rose in the air.

"We need to check your ID first." The imposing man loomed over six feet.

"But I work here."

"It's Boss' order. Now, ID please." he demanded gruffly, leaving no room for argument.

"Sure." The waitress nodded and turned her eyes to her side to pull out the exclusive ID Card.

.

"Why not Gangnam? There are still many clubs waiting for their share– they paid millions Mr Park."

"There is a shift in priority Henchin. You are our most important distributor– you wield influence over the market here like no other. We have expectations for you."

'Well, Gangnam is where most of the money flows from and–"

"Twelve million."

"Sorry?"

"Twelve million, in dollars. Last time it was six right, we offer you a deal of twelve million dollars."

All incoming excuses dried up in Henchin's mouth as she leaned back to weigh his options and profits."

"You can think closely of it for now. Excuse me." With that Mr Park excused himself to the restroom.

.

The bodyguard frowned.

"This is not—"

His head jerked back before he could finish his words. The bullet was faster.

The other three guards jumped to action even before the dead guard's body touched the ground.

(Y/N) jumped on one of them, locking his head between her head while leveraging the position to shoot down two of the guards in succession.

The man in her hold elbowed her back as they both landed on the ground, struggling to gain control. (Y/N) did not leave his head, her knees tightened around his neck while she blocked another blow from him.

His leg latched on to her arm blocked his elbow, managing to free his hand from her grip. Instead, it stretched and reached for her throat. She jabbed her elbow on his arm with enough force to bend it. He screamed in agony and that gave her all the time to shoot him right in his head.

Blood splashed on the floor as the man lay dead with open eyes.

(Y/N) looked up at the sound of rushing footsteps. Of course...

She fired at the approaching men while unlatching the dead man from her. Three more silenced gunshots fired at the men– mission one, injuring the other and killing one with a headshot.

When they fired, their gunshots alerted the whole floor.

"Shit!"

She had rolled away at the right moment but a bullet did manage to graze her arm. She breathed deeply as pain spread across her arm, but there was no room to rest. Quickly grabbing the dead guard's gun, she shot the attackers dead.

But of course, this was not the end. Cursing, she took the now dead guards' guns. She needed them. And more. Rushing towards the beginning of the corridor, she used the wall as a shield, slowing them down as she fired at them. Two of them down. Four three bullets gone, and the other three had ducked behind walls as well.

Great!

She hissed, narrowly missing a bullet when her injured arm was strained further, drawing out more blood. But she had no time to tend to that.

As soon as another head peeked out, she fired. A head shot– one more down. But there was no time to engage in a gunfire battle for long. Firing another round, she managed to injure another before bolting towards the room Henchin was at.

Quickly grabbing the ID now speckled with blood,  she inserted it to a slit and the door unlocked.

She shot the first guard who came into view. Then using the door to shield herself from other bullets, she shot the nearest attacker's foot, earning a pained scream but he managed to swing his arm. She blocked it mid-air, stabbing her feet on his shot foot– but his scream was caught midway when she shot him in the neck while shutting the door lock.

Henchin's scream vaguely reached her ears as he scrambled to get away.

"KILL HER! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?"

.

The muffled sounds of gunshots echoed in the isolated restroom as Mr Park calmly fixed the buttons of his suit. His eyes gleamed with the ghost of a smile as he checked his watch.

.

She groaned at one of the his men kicked the back of her knee, making her fall flat on the ground. His foot stomped over the back of her knee and she wheezed. She fired her gun, shooting his right on his shin. His leg moved from her and he fell on her and squeezed her injured arm.

"Argh! Son of a bitch!"

It was painful, to say the least. Using all her weight, she flipped him over and pinned him with her knees and a hand on his throat, while firing on the rest of her two attackers. She punched the man underneath her in two successive blows before looking up again.

Her eyes finally found her target scrambling to get away or get a gun. Keeping her steeled and ranging gaze locked with his flabbergasted and terrified one, she smirked coldly and shot the man underneath her dead.

.

Mr Park's hands were tucked in his trouser pockets. The sound of crashing and breaking reached his ears. He turned his head slightly before checking his watch again.

It was time.

.

(Y/N) dodged the filled bottle of alcohol thrown at her as she dashed towards him. His hands were faster however, stabbing her on the shoulder right as she reached him grabbing his throat. She hissed, but continued to attack nevertheless.

The sound of footsteps was easily distinguishable in the otherwise deathly silent room. No hurry, no aggression, just slow, calculated steps. Both of them turned to look at Mr Park who stood at a distance.

"P-Park help me!"

Henchin demanded.

"Sure, Lee."

With that, Mr Park fired and they both stilled.

(Y/N) frowned when no bullet reached her, but instead, she turned to see the last of Henchin's men in the room drop dead.

But the distraction was enough for him to spring to action.

"FUCK YOU!"

In a moment, Henchin flipped her down, grabbing his previously discarded tie and wrapping it around her neck while he tried to stab her. He was going for her eye but one hand grabbed his wrist while the other went to poke his eye. The lapse in his strength gave her the perfect opportunity to bend his hand and jabbed the knife into his neck.

She blinked and her face was marred with his blood.

Finally, gaining the upper hand, she flipped him off and before he could move further, fired three shots at him.

Breathless, worn out and beat, she lay on the floor. Her throat parched, her body aching and her eyes filled up with unshed tears. One stray drop escaped through the corner of her eyes. The ceiling above was lit with golden lights but all she could see was her father's face.

"Are you crazy? We can't let you go alone!" Kyong would not relent, no matter what.

"This is personal Kyong. This is my battle."

He shook his head "I know you blame yourself for Dok's—"

"Henchin's men came that night. He was the one behind my father's murder Kyong. I saw it all unfold, hiding. And I could not do anything..."

"You were a child! What else could you do?" Han spoke up this time.

"But now I can...And I will. I can't let you both risk everything this time."

"But—"

"Kyong, please. You both want to help me? Ease my way in. Try to cover up for me...Even if I do not return."

"You are your father's daughter (Y/N). I had only heard of that man." Kyong was finally relenting.

"I am." her eyes moved to the tiger stuff toy sitting behind a shelf.

She understood the meaning behind her father's last gift now.

"If you are not back in an hour, (Y/N), we are coming up. No matter what happens."

"Kyong is right. One hour (Y/N) and you let us know if something goes wrong."

With a long sigh, she nodded.

The sound of sauntering footsteps and the glass shards crunching beneath the shoes brought her back to reality.

"My Lady..."

The voice was mellifluous but held a certain dip to it. His face cam into view before he offered his hand. Begrudgingly, she accepted it and stood up, finally feeling all the injuries hit her now that the adrenaline had left her body. His grip did not loosen though, instead, he turned it into a handshake.

"I'm Jimin. Park Jimin."

She nodded, still assessing him.

Why did he help her? Why was there not any sigh of caution or strain in his body language?

He was confident, calm, collected. He was no ordinary man.

"Oh, sorry, I never had the chance to meet you. Before hyung could introduce you us...You flew away."

Her frown smoothened in recognition.

Of course, he was Kim Namjoon's man. And the way he addressed the Underworld leader, she concluded that he was a part of Namjoon's close circle.

"How is he?"

Jimin smiled "Why don't you find out yourself?" with that, he fished out his phone and dialled a number before offering her his phone. Reluctantly, she took it.

"Hello? Jimin, any updates?"

Her heart skipped a beat. It had felt like an eternity. There was silence when she did not reply before he broke it himself

"(Y/N)?" There was a tremble in his voice.

"How are you Namjoon?" she finally asked.

"Your shot my shoulder when you could aim for my head. It just proves your love."

She shut her eyes and licked her lips.

"We can never be one Namjoon..."

"I could have saved Henchin...But I wanted to prove you my love."

"I don't doubt your love Namjoon...Think of it as wrong person, worst time. And forget me."

She heard him chuckle through the phone.

"You can run...for now. Not for long. I will find you Little Bird. i will reach you and then we can defy time, circumstances and the bloody destiny."

(Y/N) stood in silence as her stare hardened.

"You can try."

With that, she hung up and returned the phone to Jimin.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr Park."

Jimin smiled and nodded.

"Likewise." He replied as he watched her walk away. A bit slow, slightly limping but with a good grasp over her gun.

***

Finally, finished it.

2023 was a year. There was so much happening and going with the flow was the only option.

I tend to let things sink in before I fully assess and feel the intensity of my emotions. And BTS' enlistment was no different. Yes, Jin and Jhope's last MVs brought tears to my eyes, but none of their buzz-cut photos did. Then, before going to bed, I saw Namjoon's Instagram story before he joined the bootcamp...And I burst into tears. There were several reason, several aspects, my loss, my hopelessness, the post just acted as a trigger.

I used to think that I could always comfort myself, that I could handle things on my own--as I always have done. But that night, I realised how battered and tired I were. The year sucked me dry somehow, or maybe it was the final straw. But I realised that now and then, i need another person's comfort too. That sharing my grief with the right people would not make me a burden.

I think this is one of the reasons why this reaction stretched so much. It's 51k words in total (Part 1 and 2)-- only for hyngline. This was the way I found some comfort-- writing, and publishing it here.

So, no matter how the year went, I'm thankful to all of you for reading my stories.

A very happy and prosperous new year ahead my friends.

[mochilovesbuffmen]

Bucchigiri?! x Reader

Some silly hcs when you're his s/o

Part Two w Outa and Matakara<3

Reader is GN!

Shindo

✓ I actually imagine you were a freshman at the school when you met Shindo ✓ you only knew him from afar since back then he liked to keep to himself, always shy and quiet around everyone ✓ things changed when you joined Minato Kai ✓ you were training with the other members when Ken came around with a new member ✓ you instantly recognized Shindo ✓ making your move on getting to know him you two spend a lot of time together (you constantly pestered him) ✓ he slowly opened up to you and you helped him woth becoming stronger as well ✓ when the incident happened where he got banned from Minato Kai you two lost contact even though you tried to find him again ✓ a while later Shindo showed up before you one day, completely changed ✓ explained his plans to you bc you still have a special place in his heart ✓ you tried to warn Ken but it was already too late when the fight started ✓ after the fight (and Shindo getting his ahh handed to him) he surprisingly stuck around you ✓ but not in a nice way, that mf was everywhere you went (or you swore it was a curse and you were the one constantly running into him) ✓ you knew everything that was happening with Senya and Ichiya because Shindo doesn't keep his voice down while ranting about them every chance he gets ✓ from then on you two were a duo (unintentionally)

Arajin

✓ plssss the only way you'd (hopefully) ever fall for this guy is when you knew him before ✓ like you were chilling with Matakara and Arajin everyday when you were kids ✓ watched them train to become Honki people omg ✓ but that day young Matakara got beat up by this group of kids you weren't around because of a family emergency ✓ you only ever heard Matakaras side of story of why he suddendly moved without saying goodbyes ✓ you two missed him everyday from them on but you had quiet a lot on your hands with rebel Matakara anyways (can't blame ya) ✓ when Arajin moved back and joined your school you were actually ecstatic ✓ you finally had your childhood crush Back after all ✓ Arajins eyes lit up for a bit and you could see a blush on his cheeks when he saw you for the first time when you went to greet him ✓ his happiness quickly dropped tho and he was acting cold towards you, kinda like he's hella uncomfy in your presence (Zabu wanted to beat shrimps ahh everytime he saw you sad bc Arajin ignored you again ✓ and this is how it went ✓ with you (and Matakara) trying to talk to him but he blocked you both out help ✓ you never thought you'd actually be jealous of Mahoro out of all people srs ✓ "I need to find my darling husband. I'm so worried about him." "Honestly, what do you see in that guy?" "He makes me laugh." -Y'alls energy ✓ anyways, i believe you two come together after the whole ideal with Matakara and Ichiya is done. ✓ you were the first one there to hug him&taking care of him and the way he finally seemed to care about you and Matakara made you happy ✓ you have the old Arajin finally back ✓ he still tried to ask Mahoro out w the stone and she rejected (obv) you swooped in and offered him to go on a date. ✓ with no guilt haunting him he was able to see you as you and man was SMITTEN ✓ have fun with a sweaty and awkward diarrhea bomb crushing on you ✓ tbh prepare for him to stare and be interested in other women too (if you can't beat em join em and now you both look at women you find pretty but You're much more smooth with it) ✓ will gift you your personal carved stone with yours and his initials <3 ✓ wear his shirts plsssss he loves it sm ✓ he can COOK and this WELL! Definetly would spoil you with food ✓ he hates fighting but still will protect you (as much as he could) ✓ pls hit him when he tries those cringy romantic shit on you ✓ oh also his momma would absolutely ADORE YOU

KOMAO

✓ HES MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE ✓such a sweetheart omg ✓ BUT he'll tease the shit outta you if you give him the opportunity ✓ he's so clingy and touchy so expect him to randomly hug you or hold onto you ✓ PIGGY BACK RIDES!!! Both ways! Prefers if you carry him and he'll compliment you sm💞 ✓ prolly has really funny pet names for you too ✓ he straight up asked you out a few days after meeting you ✓ is not above pestering you until you say yes anyways ✓ absolutely loves it when you hold his face in your hands ✓ greeting him every morning means running towards each other and him spinning you (or you him, it can go both ways) ✓ lots of holding hands and hugging to the point Zabu groans loudly out of

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Thoughts I had during TGCF S2 Ep 3

Let’s make the best of Summer Vacation

CW: Past trauma

Previously on TGCF…

-We’re back in Ghost City

-It’s a Ghoulish mob!

-The same bandaged boy from episodes 2-4 in S1

-Thank you Qianqiu

-Riot!  Riot!!!

-The same old cartoonishly violent dust cloud with people fighting in it, classic

-Qingxuan’s face XD

-Yep it is him

-Oh no he doesn’t like touching

-Yeah he does know the kid

-‘Oh joy’ is right!

-A chase!

-Oh no!  Not the mask stall!

-Got any Yuan on you Xie Lian?

-It’s the Blue Spirit from ATLA (that’s the first thing that came when I first saw the waning moon officer)

-That guy has a red lantern shaped eyeball for a head

-Oooh the Ghost city outskirts

-It’s Yubaba’s manor from the Spirited Away movie My sis’s quote: Xie Lian!  Don’t give anyone your true name!

-The manor’s interior feels like the fancy restaurants I’d go with my extended family Sis: Yeah except for the dancing ladies

-This is giving Bollywood vibes

-It’s your man!

-Oooh a flashback!  800 years ago…  

-Those maids are wearing Hanfu reminiscent of the Han Dynasty style

-That’s Alexis Tipton

-“If a foil palace falls it can be rebuilt, but if a son falls ill it won’t be so easy to put him back together again” That is some solid advice

-He looks and sounds adorable!  “I hate it when they fall apart!”  That complain letter ties in with what happens when he’s older…

-Does anyone know who voices Child!Xie Lian?

-His mother’s design is also inspiration for one of my ATLA OCs

-This was me with Kapla blocks, colorized

-It was a few days ago!

-It’s the same music from Ep 9 in the Sinner’s pit

-The shots of Hualian together!!!  Those are the best crumbs!

-It’s the engagement ring from Ep 12!

-“Xie Lian you wound me!  You think I’d go to a brothel?”  My reaction: …A soup place? (Futurama reference, it’s in one of the revival eps)

-Hua Cheng: Brothels, bad.  Interior design, good.

-“I haven’t had a home for the past 800 years…” that line hit hard.

-Hong Jue again!!!!

-“Always how dangerous” 10/10 best flirting

-Flashbacks from S1 eps 3-4

-You gotta love Hua Cheng’s commitment

-Good shot of the Ghost masks

-Hua Cheng’s quote on power is secretly inspiring

-And he accomplished what Ling Wen couldn’t in mere seconds!

-Not so rough Waning moon officer

-Still touch aversive

-“Who am I to deny your wish?” *fans myself non stop*

-Great.  Now I’ve got a craving for dragon fruit, strawberries and mango slices

-“Yong’An.”Oh no his answer triggered XL’s PTSD

-Everything really did change when Bai Wuxiang attacked

-That spiral effect

-To quote on meme made for S2 on tumblr: 

Xie Lian:  It can’t be!  That boy’s homeland shouldn’t be Yong’An!

Hua Cheng:  Yeah, yeah Gege, Let’s get you to sleep.

(My older sister loved that reaction, that’s for sure) 

-The sword’s eye woke up!

-When the house is so well decorated you forget about the mission…

And my older sis would also say: Now he’s draping himself

-The demonic chanting he does while dashing around the manor

-It is Yubaba’s manor from Spirited away

-That was close!

-He just did Yor Forger’s ceiling jump from Spy x Family

-It’s a 12

-Yeah he’d just end up with snake eyes the whole time

-He’s onto you Xianle, best headcanon I’ve got is that Xie Lian is a terrible liar.

-“Useless idiot” yep keep it coming with the Qi Rong roasts

-There’s a Dragon relief on the door

-It’s the earthbending sound effect from ATLA when the huge stone door closed

-This brings me back to the very first Ep when XL defeated the demon at Yinian bridge

-Man, Imagine Sokka in Hua Cheng’s armory doing the same scene from Sokka’s Master (Instant comic inspiration!):

-Dude really thought of the best gift for his highness (I’m really glad I finished this reaction on XL’s B-Day!)

-The exchanged humor on tending to the armory!

-Here it comes!

-And now, here are my translations of the Crimson rain sough flower’s scimitar:

E Ming, wakes up: Who’s that?  Who’s there?

Xie Lian: Hello.  *chuckles*. It’s cute!

E Ming, hearing Xie Lian’s compliment: He thinks I’m cute!!!

Xie Lian: Isn’t that nice?  Well I like you too.

E Ming, hearing more of XL’s compliment: Awww!  Stop it!  You should totally pet me!

Hua Cheng: No

E Ming, now excited: YES!!!

(I love how Hua Cheng and E Ming’s whole dynamic when it comes to Xie Lian’s affection is basically, Hua Cheng: E Ming no!  E Ming: E Ming YES!  Imma go sketch that out!)

E Ming, getting petted: Oh yes!  Yes!  Right there, and near the hilt!

-He’s gonna touch the deadly scimitar, he’s touching the deadly scimitar, he touched the sword

-They tended his wounds!

-This has the energy of two hardworking dads tending to their adopted son while they’re both busy with jobs

-He’s honoring Xiao Ying with her name, that’s good

-Just like Lang Qianqiu!

-Every night at Paradise Manor is Dim Sum night

-It looks like a red bean roll cake

-Another quick 800 year flashback!

-Those glasses look like Jade

-That maid has lighter brown hair

-This is what happens when you accidentally drink through the wrong pipe

-Qingxuan is the wingman/woman

Finished just in time for Xie Lian’s Birthday! Also when I heard that a short film and movie were announced!!! Everything’s coming up TGCF and it’s awesome! For those of you reading The Scrap Immortal and the Avatar, I’ve got a great start on Chapter 1 so hang tight this weekend! More reactions will be coming out this week!

[transforming]

When I was younger, I would always feel jealous of the male models in the fashion industry. They were tall, always had such good hair, handsome... and how they also have muscles while remaining so slender intrigued me. I swear, it was as if God had cursed me to be forever skinny, acne-scarred, short and with unshapeable flat hair. It was as if I was destined to be the ugly office nerd for the rest of my life, and I thought that I would be able to 'glow up' like my classmates did, but that never fucking materialized.

One day, I was trudging home from my economics class in the middle of winter, when I saw a lilac cowboy hat on a lonely stone bench. It seemed so out of place in the dull, drab world around me, and I nearly mistook it for a block of ice, so I went over to see what it was.

"Must belong to someone," I thought as I stared at it.

Once I picked it up, I turned it all over, and the chin strap fell from underneath. There was something about the hat, an aura, that... enticed me. Begged me, in some way. To just plop it onto my head. I knew I should have gone to the lost-and-found nearby, but I couldn't help myself.

The moment it sat firm on my greasy head, a moan escaped my lips. I felt something wake up inside me, a candle-like heat. It only grew hotter and hotter, and my body felt like it was up in flames. I closed my eyes and ran my hands up my sweater, and I gasped when i felt my slight belly fat melt into a perfectly-chiseled six pack.

The heat spread all over, and I could feel my skin getting more supple and youthful, while my bony, flat chest blossomed into lean, slender pecs. I swirled my finger around my now sensitive nipple, while my shoulders and back broadened and stretched, increasing my height. Even though that happened, I was still skinny... like...

My arms and legs were next. Wiry sinews started to throb and shake, and I fell to my knees, but where I was expecting to hit my ankles hard was now a round, perky butt. I chuckled, nearly giggled as I noticed my arms bulk up, filling my biceps.

I looked down at my hands, which shook me, because they were obviously masculine, but had a touch of softness and beauty to them. The changes didn't stop there, as my aching feet exploded out of my shoes.

Suddenly, the chinstrap came to life and tightened around my jaw, reshaping it and scratching my face as it hollowed out my cheeks and squared my jaw, it was more chiseled and defined, with a light five-o-clock shadow coming on. My face was on fire as the changes melted my features. My nose sharpened. My eyebrows became thinner, more pretty. My lips plumped, and my eyes began to brighten.

It all felt so good, so enchanting. The hat tightened around my scalp, and I could feel all of what made me - my fears, my intelligence, and my dreams - get sucked away, leaving my mind a blank slate. As it did, the roots of my hair began to curl and wave, blowing in some invisible wind as it changed into a flowing, sleek middle part style.

The heat shot down straight to my dick. I rubbed my delicate hand on my bulge, and I could sense the pleasure of doing so hit an all-time high. Here I was, moaning and biting my lip in the middle of snow, as my tiny, shriveled cock grew hard, but also stretched into a long, juicy sausage, while my balls churned and absorbed all of the old me, growing into a pair of oranges.

I couldn't take it anymore. My dick twitched, I closed my eyes, and let out a deep seductive moan. Cum spurted out, taking everything I was with it. The heat left with it too, but it was as if it now surrounded me.

A flash interrupted that beautiful moment of ecstasy. Opening my eyes, I realized why. I was on a yacht, in the middle of Saint-Tropez, with a photographer in front of me as I posed on the doorway. My clothes felt light, and when I looked down, I was surprised to see I was dressed for the beach.

"Yes, that's good man, you look sexy," the photographer said. The hat fell off my head, the chinstrap keeping it on my slender shoulders as I posed. The mirror inside showed what I had now become, who I had been jealous of before.

I stood there, posing for my next Instagram post. my lips curling into a smolder. Looks like someone finally answered my prayers. I didn't need much smarts anymore, nor did I need to study economics. I was pretty, and that's all I needed to live my new, sexy male model life.

[extinctspino]

could you do a wednesday x trans Masc!gorgon!reader where the reader gets bullied but wednesday didn’t know he was trans until it’s pointing out by a bully and she defends him ?

Bullied

Pairing: Wednesday x TransMascGorgonReader

Wordcount:640

Warnings: Transphobia, bullying

-------------------------------------------------------

At first you tried keeping the fact that you were trans secret. You wanted a normal life but the universe just wouldn't give in.

You had a couple of friends like Enid or Xavier, even Wednesday stood by your side sometimes.

You didn't tell anyone at Nevermore that you were trans but somehow some people still found out.

Unfortunately for you it reached the wrong friendgroup.

You were just minding your own business when out of nowhere you were harshly shoved against a wall.

Normally you weren't the type to keep quiet or do nothing about it but your new found bullies blackmailed you.

You weren't embarrassed of being who you are but you didn't want the spotlight on you so you never told anyone about what was happening.

You wish you could just rip your hat off of your head and let your snakes do their job but that would make everything so much worse.

"So you think you're a man huh? Well guess what!?" The main bully punched you right in the liver. "You'll never be a man, look at you, you're worthless!"

You were still gasping for air. The liver is the worst place to get punched in. "Hold 'him' in place." He made sure to prolong the 'him' to show sarcasm.

Two of his goons grabbed your arms and held them back as the main bully cracked his knuckles, getting ready for another punch.

You screwed your eyes shut and prepared yourself for another painful beating.

And BAM, first hit.

"Shittt." You cursed, second hit.

You screamed out in pain after the third hit. He was using you as a punching bag at this point.

You were nearly in tears but you refused to let them fall.

"Leave him alone right fucking now." Wow, you had never heard Wednesday curse before.

"What if I don't, what're you gonna do then, princess?" Wednesday was already furious when she saw you getting bullied but him calling her princess?! He's dead.

Without warning Wednesday sprung forward and punched him right in the jaw. He fell to the ground with a grunt.

The goons who were holding you up dropped you on the ground and tried to fight Wednesday.

Wednesday easily blocked and dodged all of their punches before catching one's fist and using it to hit the other one.

The one who got hit fell on top of top of the other one who was laying on the ground.

The last one gave up and started pleading but an Addams never shows mercy.

Wednesday pulled her leg back and the guy's reflexes were too late because her foot came back with the force of the entire universe and kicked him right in the balls.

And all of that without even breaking a sweat. She pulled you up and off the ground. You wiped the dirt off of your clothes.

"Wednesday, don't look at me for one second please."

Wednesday obliged since she knew what you were planning.

You pulled your hat off and your bullies were stupid enough to look at the snakes that were attached to your head.

"NO-" Their screams were cut off since they turned into solid rock.

You sighed in pure satisfaction and put your hat back on, making sure every one of your snakes were in there.

"You can look." Wednesday turned back around and let a small smirk take over her face when she saw the stoned figures.

"Thank you by the way." You smiled in embarrassment.

"A-and I'm sorry I didn't tell you about... you know." You didn't want to meet her eyes so you looked at the ground.

"It's quite alright." Her response made you lift your head up with a small smile.

"Let's go, I don't want to be left alone with Enid again." Wednesday started walking away and you ran after her while laughing.

You were happy that she stood up for you. And it was so fun seeing her beat up your bullies for you.

[cherryblossomforest]

2, 6, & 22 💜

Thank you Fable 🫶🏿 I hope your pain eases today and you can rest ♡

[I'm prefacing this with the fact that I have such a deep love for music that it's impossible for me to pick 1 song for things 😭]

2. The first song you remember loving

If we're talking about any type of song, it would have been the Dedication and Windsong from Mighty Joe Young 😅 yes, it's in Swahili

If we're talking about songs I heard played quite a lot growing up very early and liked, it would be Reggae and Lover Rock.

They say that once the tear has fallen The willow cries eternally Cry not for me, my willow tree Don't shed your tears eternally 'Cause I have found the love I've searched for I need your tears no more, no more So fare-thee-well, my weeping willow And if we'll ever meet again Cry not for me, my willow tree Don't shed your tears eternally 'Cause I have found the love I've searched for I need your tears no more, no more

Aye aye aye, aye aye aye Tell you baby, you huggin up the big monkey man Aye aye aye, aye aye aye Tell you baby, you huggin up the big monkey man I've seen no sign of you, I only heard of you Huggin up the big monkey man I've seen no sign of you, I only heard of you Huggin up the big monkey man

In loving you I seem to feel a spirit Deep inside of me Graciously God in me My woman of women, dear to me Whatever love is 'Cause I need you constantly Staying always close to me Helps me to keep this love I need Just love to keep you in my mind Just love to keep you in my mind

If we're talking about what I actually remember about myself (which isn't much) when I got my first listening devices... it's dangerous territory 😅 but would most likely be Girl or Hope (the others ones trigger me to my bones a bit too much so I'm not including them🤧)

Take a minute girl come sit down and tell us what's been happening In your face I can see the pain Don't you try to convince us that you're happy We've seen this all before But he's taking advantage of the passion Because we've come too far for you to feel alone You don't let him walk over your heart, I'm tellin' you Girl, I can tell you've been crying and you needing somebody to talk to Girl, I can tell he's been lying and pretending that he's faithful, and he loves you Girl, you don't have to be hiding, don't you be ashamed to say he hurt you I'm your girl, you're my girl, we your girls Don't you know that we love you?

I wish the way I was living could stop, serving rocks, Knowing the cops is hot when I’m on the block, And I

Wish my brother woulda made bail, So I won’t have to travel 6 hours to see him in jail, And I

Wish that my grandmother wasn’t sick, Or that we would just come up on some stacks and hit a lick, And I (I wish)

Wish my homies wouldn’t have to suffer, When the streets get the upper had on us and we lose a brother, And I

Wish I could go deep in a zone, And lift the spirits of the world with the words within this song, And I (I wish)

Wish I could teach a soul to fly, Take away the pain out cha hands and help you hold them high, And I

Wish my hommie Butch was still alive And on the day of his death we had never took that ride, And I (I wish)

Wish God could protect us from the wrong So that all the soldiers that were sent overseas come home

6. A song that reminds you of your favourite book

It would have to be Yellow Flicker Beats because I remember watching Hunger Games Mockingjay when it came out and whenever I listen to this song I remember my obsession with the books and movies

I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold

My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones It keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire

And my necklace is of rope, I tie it and untie And our people talk to me, but nothing ever hits home People talk to me, and all the voices just burn holes I'm going in (ooh)

This is the start of how it all ever ends They used to shout my name, now they whisper it I'm speeding up and this is the Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

We rip the start, the colours disappear I never watch the stars there's so much down here So I just try to keep up with them Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

22. A song by your favourite artist/band

This feels impossible because I don't have a favourite artist or band 😩 buuuutttt SZA is still very high on my repeats and I love most of her music. To pick my favourite is painful but I've been listening to these two quite a lot lol

Run fast from my day job Runnin' fast from the way it was

Jump quick to a paycheck Runnin' back to the strip club I'm never goin' back, never goin' back No, you can't make me Never goin' back, never goin' back They'll never take me I've paid enough of petty dues I've heard enough of shitty news I had a thing for dirty shoes Since I was 10 loved dirty men alike Ooh, better day than yesterday Ooh, I just take it day by day Ooh-oh, never hearing what they say Ooh-ooh I just do it my way All I got is these broken clocks I ain't got no time Just burnin' daylight

[Lyrics are kinda wild lol]

[fissions-chips]

cat and mouse

(tiny jon AU- tw for violence and injury)

   “Oh?~”

   Jon paled as the shadow fell over him, stumbling back against the desk as a sinister grin and pink-tinted glass suddenly filled his vision- mismatched eyes widened as the figure leaned down to his level, Valentine’s head tilting in lupine fashion as he whispered. 

   “Oh… oh my god. Look at you.”

   His voice, even hushed, echoed in Jon’s ears, and the little man staggered back, heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, something pressed to his back, and he found his retreat blocked by one huge hand, thumb and forefinger seizing him by the middle and lifting him into the air. 

   “What a predicament you’ve found yourself in, Jon-“ Valentine purred, voice tinged with baffled amusement, watching as Jon flailed about between his fingers- idly, he curled the rest around the tiny man, Jon letting out a frightened sound that reminded him of the squeak of a mouse. “You’re so cute.”

   Almost absentmindedly, he pressed the nail of his thumb against Jon’s neck, a frantic, rabbit-fast pulse hammering beneath it. Jon yelped, the other man’s grip suddenly shifting around him, tightening. A low chuckle filled the air as Valentine lifted Jon closer to his face, eyes glittering with something sinister as he watched the other begin to struggle. 

   “So… delicate. I could just-“ 

   Jon gasped, the air suddenly squeezed from his lungs by ring-clad fingers- sharp, splintering pain raced down his body, his ribs crumpling in his chest and his limbs threatening to snap like matchsticks. “Val-“ he tried to choke out, the sound trickling off into a strangled whine as the nail’s edge pressed to his throat broke skin. “S… Stop-“ 

   Another hand joined the first, circling Jon’s shoulders and skull and squeezing- the little man’s voice, pitifully small, broke off into a tiny, choked gasp. Valentine’s odd eyes were wide and unblinking, staring down at his hands and the figure trapped between them. Break him, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Break every bone in his stupid little body and feel him die.

   He could feel the crush of ribs and he could feel the bruising of flesh and he could feel the way Jon’s struggles started to fade, thin chest heaving a little less each time beneath his fingers. In his mind, he could picture Jon’s eyes rolling back beneath their lids and his head falling to the side- he had dreamed of it countless times, he had seen it happen before. Bright teeth gold and gleaming as the other gasped for air, dark blue irises breaking up like water poured into paint. 

   I’m going to kill him.

   Overwhelmed by the violent impulse coursing through him, Valentine only watched as his hands shook with effort. Jon’s body twitched between them, falling limp- his heart still hammered, but it was faint, and reality suddenly came crashing back to him. 

   “I’m… getting ahead of myself.” He muttered, something a little like hysteria in his voice- and then, he let go.

   Jon dropped like a stone, hitting the desk with a quiet thud. For several moments, he didn’t move- crouching down once more, Valentine’s brow lifted, and he reached out a hand to seize the tiny figure once more. 

   “You’d better not be dead-“ he called out. “Because if you are… I’m about to make sure of it.” 

   Just as his fingers brushed Jon’s shoulder, there was a thin, strangled sound. The little man shifted, and began to cough, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Weakly, he tried to rise up onto his arms, limbs trembling, and sank back onto his stomach. It took him several tries. When he finally made it to his feet, he staggered back, still half-stunned from the drop. 

   “Careful.” 

   Valentine’s hand blocked him from the edge once more, and Jon flinched as he brushed the other man’s fingers, falling down against the desk with a yelp. As soon as his back met the wood, Jon shrieked, pain spiraling down his body like an electric current. “G-get away from me!” He hissed, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t touch me!” 

   His whole body was shaking. Valentine leaned closer, eyes glittering with cruel amusement as Jon scrambled to get further from him. A dark, ugly bruise was beginning to form beneath where his thumb had pressed to Jon’s throat- Valentine could imagine that the rest of his body would look similar before too long. “Don’t be silly,” he muttered, plucking Jon up once more by his middle. The little man shrieked, but all it took was a slight bit of pressure and Jon fell still, trembling. “You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”

   Jon didn’t look at him- instead, he stared straight ahead, shivering. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, and Valentine grinned. 

   “Good.”

   Scooping Jon up into his hand, Valentine began looking around the room, eyes narrowed. Where to put you… He could hardly leave Jon out-and-about while he was at work, and as tempting as the idea was to carry him in his pocket, he didn’t want him to somehow get loose in the commotion. Not when he still had so many wicked little torments to inflict upon his pocket-sized enemy. 

   This is going to be so much fun.

   — — — — —

   “Well, it could be worse.” 

   Jon bristled, but didn’t answer- instead, he drew his knees up to his chest, glaring at the other man through the glass of the jewelry box. 

   “It was a gift, I think?” Valentine had explained, reaching up to pluck it down from his closet shelf with one hand, Jon grasped firmly in the other. “I can’t really recall who I got it from- that happens a lot, I’ll admit.” 

   Jon knew who had given it to him. He knew. And yet, he said nothing- angering the other man would only end with his death, and he was too tired to speak.

   With that, Jon had been unceremoniously dumped inside, the latch clicked shut behind him. It was an old-fashioned thing, all brass hinges and edges, but the glass that made up its panels was crystal clear- despite being trapped, Jon found that he felt horribly exposed. Pressing further back into the corner, he tried his best to ignore the way Valentine was peering into the box to watch him, like some curious animal, and kept his head down. 

   His whole body ached with the memory of the massive hand that had curled around him, nearly snapping him in two. Jon wouldn’t have been surprised if something, his ribs or his shoulder or his hip, had cracked under the pressure- he didn’t want to move enough to find out. 

   What little even footing had existed between him and Valentine was now stripped away entirely. Before, he could fight back, sneer or snap or chase the other away with threats of vengeance. He had given as good as he got- or at least he had liked to think so. Now, he knew that if he tried to speak, the other man would only laugh at how small his voice sounded, and he didn’t want to tempt him into snatching him up again. The glimpse Jon had gotten of Valentine’s face, before the other man had decided to try to crack his skull open, had been… horrifying, on a scale Jon didn’t know how to describe. There wasn’t a word he could come up with for the kind of violence he had seen behind the other man’s eyes. 

   He knew that violence was going to kill him. He just didn’t know when. In his current state, however, Jon knew it was going to hurt.

   “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to research and development,” Valentine hummed, dropping the box none-too-gently onto his bedside table. Jon was sent tumbling across the glass, slamming into the bottom with a hiss- slowly, he picked himself upright, relieved that now, at least, there was the appearance of a solid surface beneath him. “That’s where this happened, right? I’ve got to figure out more about that Koboi crap I picked up, it’s… bizarre. Sci-fi bullshit. You’re lucky you didn’t find the fucking lasers.”

   At least the other didn’t acknowledge his attempted theft- it would have been nothing but a point of hypocrisy. Jon knew ‘Koboi’ wasn’t a name that fit under Phonetix’s umbrella, though he himself couldn’t place it either, try as he might. Taking note of Jon’s suspicious glare, Valentine laughed, pulling a cigarette from his case and lighting it. 

   “Oh, not to fix you- not for all the money in the world, my friend. You’re going to play ‘lab rat’ for the day with one of my scientists- the one who handles less-than-legal developments.” 

   Jon paled. 

   “I hope,” Valentine continued, “That you’re the kind of rat they stick needles in all day.” Taking a drag, he said nothing for a moment.

Jon sank back against the far wall of the box, shivering, staring down at his own shaking hands. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

   Valentine watched from the corner of his eye. After a few moments more, he stretched, before bending down to check that the latch on the box was secure. “Anyways…” He drawled, before tapping on the glass sharply- Jon startled as the sound echoed around him, his ears ringing. 

   “I’m going to work now. I don’t think I need to make any sort of threat- your current position gets the point across, right?” 

   Blinking back at him, Jon sat bewildered as he waited for the echoing to fade- then, sudden anger flooded him. Anger at the other man, anger at his predicament, and anger at the stupid box he was trapped in. Curling his lip in a sneer, Jon flipped the other man off, unsurprised when Valentine only snickered. 

   “There it is- precious spite. The only thing you have left, at the moment.” Standing, Valentine dusted himself off, snuffing out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. “Try not to let it lead you to do something stupid, okay?”

   Turning, he moved to exit the room, shutting the light off behind him- as his fingers brushed the doorframe, however, he paused, tilting his head behind him to give Jon a warning look. 

   “Or next time, I’m going to break something- permanently. See you tonight, Jon.” 

   With that, he closed the door behind him, and Jon was left alone.

[iobartach]

have a quick(?) rambling / shallow(?) dive on the verses i got for this blog, bc boi i got some thinkings ;

soo i've got three 'core' canon..ish... verses so to say, which are;

comhrá an bhaile mhóir seo

pre-atsv miguel, covering young!miguel, alchemax!miguel, vigilante!miguel, etc. all earth-928 based. basically covers everything before he goes messing with multi-verse tech. probs will be slightly more quippy & approachable here? i just can't write quips to save my life. 🥴bourbon's human!lyla also plays a big role in this, they're quite close!! as for the inclusions of dana.... hah :') xina though, yes. he still despises both george & tyler with a passion, and relations with... conchata... and also even gabriel are, for this verse... rockyyy... to say the least.

trasnaigh an rubaicón

the main boi. and the default verse for crossovers especially. atsv based, with miguel being a leader and an absolutely changed and grieving man. i'm really enjoying putting him all over the place, especially in the present. take heed around him. main objective is stopping anomalies, and making sure more dimensions don't, uh,,, get destroyed,,, also gabriel's still alive... r-right, movie? you wouldn't kill him off too,,, would you, movie? :')))

fear as am

kind of one aimed mostly at 616 / comics things. might occasionally use this at random, but it's more for interactions with chars who are 616 based and not mcu / movie affiliated. my spin on this is it follows the premise of necessary evil , where stone basically fucks him over and strands him in the past, but with atsv!mig instead of comics!mig. still ironing out the details how this happened. (maybe the portal functionality of his dimensional gizmo got blocked or something?) idk, still needs work!

now for the au's!!!

an chéad chéim eile

prototype au. absolutely hit the ground running with this! tysm, sen! premise is miguel becomes an evolved -- replete with all the body horror such a transformation could possibly entail ( read - he gets spidery limbs 👀 ) i gotta yell at u, sen & abraxas (heyo 👋) more about this, but if more folks are also interested... hmu 👀

is fearr a fhios ag athair

a venture crafted w/ gabriella-trn1042's spider!gabri. alt take on atsv verse, whilst also amping up the 'miguel goes fucking around with genetics again' vibes. as close to villain!miguel as i might dare get, with the core premise of miguel turning a variant gabriella into a spider creature , with mig himself doing a good ol' heel-monster turn himself. loaded with angst and body horror. heavy on 'the fly' vibes, if you've seen that movie. been thinking of opening this up to other plots, if i can keep the core of this au intact... any takers? 🤔 gonna add a caveat tho that anything for this verse will likely need to be plotted.

laoch imithe dul ar strae

overwatch au. i... had a kernel of an idea for this verse... but i forgot to write it down. 🥴 may need to work shop this -- think i had the vague idea of saying it's scientist!miguel w/ gene implanting work existing in this au, but makes him a target of talon and the like?

lúb bheag i slabhra mór

kinddd of a corpo!miguel / cyberpunk 2077 au? might just split this out into separate verses eventually, but this is one that i'm currently trying to cook up ( inspiration is... mmm :') ) basic premise for this , if leaning into cyberpunk 2077 side, is miguel's an arasaka stooge, with links to the relic biochip. ik, ik.. i... need to work on it. 🥴

ocras buile

bleach au. basically zombie!miguel, turned by contact with sternritter gigi's / giselle's blood, when alive. that's... about the extent of what i have for now,,,, needa plot / use it more!

ag troid ar nós an

kengan ashura au. made simply bc i could and i just,,, loved the thought of having miguel brawl for alchemax ,,, sue me ,,, 👀 i could also go the whole nine yards and say that, pssst, maybe miguel's a corporate raider in this au, enhanced by his one gene imprinting tech ... trust me, give me an inch, i'll take a damn mile 😂so if anyone's interested...? 👀

----

anddd that's it for now!!! will there be more au's in future? probably! i just can't think of anything extra, aside from a wrestler au?

i'm always open to ideas and suggestions for aus tho? 👀 even if i don't know the fandom, i might still give it a try! you never know!!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Regret - a Malevolent fic

Fine. The powers that be wanted this? Then he’d give them this.They should know by now that anything they asked for, he’d never say no

AO3

————

The dreams were expected. Sure, they were. He was in the Dreamlands. He was in the home of a god who specifically fucked with dreams. It all made sense.

But why did it have to be of her? And them? All of them?

Why?

#

It had to be the King in Yellow’s fault. That talk on the balcony… forcing those memories to return, things he’d shot in the head and buried decades before, things he had no desire to relive. But here they were, in his dreams.

And here they were, in his thoughts.

Faroe giggling as Hastur tickled her mid-breakfast, over nothing but general affection and closeness.

Arthur laughing in his music room, picking her up and swinging her in a circle, unaware they were visible through the open door.

Hastur rumbling with pride as Faroe stood before the Court, reciting a set of laws that had been violated, and passing judgment with a calm and wisdom far greater than her years.

And the quiet moments, at night, after dinner; moments he doubted they knew he’d overseen, just talking over nothing, or sitting together with some instrument (Faroe played the harp for Hastur, which soothed him, and brought to mind old stories of David and Saul), or just leaning on one another and reading.

It was a lot.

It was too much.

The memories wouldn’t go away.

Larson was beginning to really, really hate this place… but even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t leave.

#

Hastur, the King in Yellow, was taking over the Dreamlands.

Okay, it wasn’t that simple; there was a lot of land to conquer, and far too many powerful gods to simply take over, but Larson had been involved in wars and rumors of wars for many, many years, and knew what he was seeing.

Hastur was making peace and allies where before had been strife.

Hastur was making inroads and trade where before there had been antagonists.

Hastur was seeking out beings who wished him ill, and either calming things down… or returning in the morning covered in ichor and tatters, clearly not knowing anyone saw him, disappearing to his room and reappearing shortly after, pristine and glorious as if nothing had happened.

But it had. And so far, in all these matches, he’d come out on top.

Larson was a betting man. Filthy habit, absolutely, but he loved the thrill of that which he couldn’t control still granting such wins, as if he were meant for victory. If he had to bet right now, he’d place all he had on Hastur.

Hastur was driven. Whatever his reason was, he treated this with life-or-death determination, and that gave him an edge.

So, yes: Larson was sticking with this. He’d ride these yellow coattails as long as he could, and only jump off when the crash was imminent.

And he would get a handle on his useless, traitorous, sloppy thoughts.

#

“That’s it,” said Hastur, low, holding his daughter in his arms with her hand outstretched. He’d split the end of one of his tentacles into five and splayed them beneath her fingers. “Each digit can send part of this spell; your aim is important.”

Focused, she muttered in accursed Aklo.

The small red beam that came from each finger was barely visible, firelight in mist, but each sliced a hole neatly through the stone block Hastur had placed before them like some kind of special drill.

“Good! Good,” murmured Hastur, shifting her in his many limbs so she lay against his chest, against his hearts.

“I didn’t hit where I wanted,” she said, drooping.

“Not yet, but you will,” he rumbled. “We will try again. Precision is a matter of practice.”

And Larson flashed back.

#

A hundred years ago, it was more important to be able to fish, able to butcher, able to do the many things needed to keep oneself and one’s family fed, but that wasn’t really why he did this, took the boys, spent the day at the pond. Wasn’t really why Tristan and Lucian got mud on their overalls, and at one point overturned the boat, and everybody laughed soaking wet and glad for the cool water on this hot, buzzing day.

They only brought four fish back after all of that, but Beatrice knew damn well what shenanigans they’d get up to out there, and—

Faroe blasted the damn rock apart.

It exploded, enormous chunks hitting the marble floor with such force that Larson’s gasp was covered, and Hastur… laughed.

Laughed heartily, darkly, like some devil, but Faroe giggled and leaned in and hid her face against his yellow robe.

“Sorry!” she laughed.

“Not at all,” Hastur rumbled, and with the casual, thoughtless power of a god, repaired. Just… slid the chunks back together, erased the cracks, smoothed over the marble floor with a sweep of his tentacles. “Now, do you know what went wrong?”

Faroe considered, peering through her dark curls at the restored boulder. “I think my whole hand did it.”

“Correct. You didn’t diffuse the spell, so it was a hammer instead of needles. Shall we try again?”

“Yes,” she said, because he’d raised her to be unafraid of errors before him, because he placed his five-fingered limb under her hand again, outstretched, because—

“Sorry,” said Lucian, his hand bleeding, splinters all over, the piece of wood he’d been trying to carve as instructed having snapped.

“Not your fault,” he’d said, taking his son’s hand, removing the splinters one by one. “Made a mess here, though. Gonna have to apologize to your mother for gettin’ blood all over.”

Lucian had sniffled, and it hadn’t been real sorrow or fear or anything worse than the unpleasant pain of splinters, and they’d gotten his hand bandaged and adjusted his grip and this time, the chair rails took proper, symmetrical shape.

This had to stop.

Faroe gasped, and Larson looked up and paled. She’d done it: five perfectly spaced holes smoked, cut clean through that boulder, and it had been done so well that Larson hadn’t even heard it happen.

Fucking deadly. Deadly child. Deadly spell. Why would anyone teach a child such a—

“My precious one,” Hastur said, low, a constant rumble under his voice of pride and pleasure. “I knew you could.”

“I did it!” Faroe said unnecessarily (“I did it!” said Tristan, showing the rabbit he’d perfectly skinned and butchered, providing some dinner for all of them) and Larson had enough and went for a walk.

#

He missed Beatrice. That was… that had to be somehow forced.

He hadn’t missed her in so many years that he was shocked at the clarity of his memory. The slimness of her shoulders; her particular scent; the way her hair felt, just frizzy enough to tangle, and some evenings he’d brush it out for her in front of the fire after the kids went to bed, and some evenings that would lead to other things, wonderful things, close and slow and heated.

No. It did no good to think of this. What the hell was wrong with him?

He’d erased her over years of effort, erased these things because all they did was hurt, all they did was burn, and he couldn’t bring her back, couldn’t bring any of them back, so what the hell was the point of thinking about all this and remembering those lost days and wasted time and forgotten voices?

Damn it. Damn it.

He headed out to the water garden to walk this off.

Bored. That’s what he was, why his mind was drifting this way, and he could beat it if he just had something to do. He wasn’t trusted yet, but he understood that. It was harder to understand trust given to the others.

Lester had gotten in somehow (Larson highly suspected that girl had been traded for favor). The Saint (he sneered) had somehow wormed his yellow ass in with that yellow piece, which had to be based on some kind of pity—or maybe Yellow felt like a secondary citizen, too, given the company he was keeping.

Speaking of… they were in the garden, too—being lovey-dovey again, shameless and flagrant behavior. The Saint laughed at something Yellow said.

Ugh. No more of that, thank you. He went back inside.

#

He didn’t want to remember them. He kept remembering them.

He wanted power, had paid for power, had done everything right, but all of this was outside his control and he was being denied.

(His wife’s soft lips, tracing his collarbone, her face shadowed and warmed by the fire in their room.)

Funny thing, though, these thoughts being connected as they were, because Beatrice was the reason he had the power he did, the reason he knew what was waiting for him.

#

Tragedy took them from him, one hard and cruel winter. The croup, hand-delivered by that godsdamned neighbor McPherson, who’d sent his godsdamned son running over here to borrow flour for some stew they were making, and that little shit had been coughing, and wheezing, and making horrible noise, and it didn’t take long before Addi was, too.

She’d answered the door. She’d given him the flour. She’d always been too kind.

From her, it went to Tristan, to Lucian. From her, it went to him, then to Beatrice, who refused to rest but took care of everybody, though Beatrice was rasping air and barking coughs just like the rest.

And there wasn’t really a town, and no one to go to for help, because the mine was new and money was real but who would live out here in winter unless they had to? There was nothing to do but breathe through tight throats and wet phlegm, and wait for summer to come.

Lucian died first, and that maybe wasn’t the shock it should’ve been; he’d always been small for his age, and pale, no matter how much sun he got, and Larson tried to tell himself it was to be expected as they all wept, and coughed, and he rocked his dead boy before the fire and cried out to a God who did not care.

They had to put him in the shed behind the barn with snow on and around him. The ground was too hard to dig. That felt bad. He’d been afraid of the dark.

He wouldn’t be alone there long.

Tristan was a shock. Tristan had seemed in good spirits, better than the rest, able to hop up and grab things his mama needed, bringing them stew when no one had the strength to ladle it from the pot.

Then he just didn’t wake up. Was gone and cold by the morning frost, and this time, between the unrelenting coughing and the grief, Wallace cried so hard and so long that he blacked out from not breathing.

There was no one to help them. No way to ask for aid; this was before telephones, before powers, before anything. They had to put him in the shed, too, because the ground was still too hard.

Addi got better. By whatever mercy there was, she got better; but Beatrice got worse.

Losing her boys had taken something from her, some spark, and it seemed her breath got shallower every day when she wasn’t coughing. And then she wasn’t breathing much between coughs. And then she couldn’t wake up, either, though she was alive.

Wallace was better by this point; like Addi, he’d made it through, but he couldn’t help his wife.

Beatrice never woke up again. She died in his arms in the middle of the night, there one moment, struggling to breathe, and gone the next, and Wallace shouted her name until his throat fucking bled.

There were more cold bodies in the shed now than live ones in the house, and Wallace was… not okay about it.

They’d come here to make a way for their family, forever. They’d gotten this mine, done the hard work, found the right people, all for the sake of a legacy; and when Tristan, and Lucian, and Addi grew up, and made families of their own, they’d live here, too, and never want for food, or for clothes, or for any sweet thing that struck their fancy.

They weren’t supposed to be out in the shed, under snow and silent.

Addi moved as if in a daze, a dream, a drug, caring for the house as she’d been taught, staring into the fire at night and not even reading her bible. And he understood. Was there a point? Was there even a point?

He tried to help his little girl. He did; but he couldn’t fix her, couldn’t stop her heart from bleeding, couldn’t make her not think it was her fault for bringing the croup in. He tried; he held her. They cried together. He told her it wasn’t her fault, that St. Peter himself wouldn’t blame her for it.

She just kept sinking, slowly, like a boat with a leak.

Wallace… chopped wood. Cooked. And thought very dark things, very dark. He thought dark things about the neighbors who’d not meant them harm but sure as hell brought it, and about the people who moved here during the summer to dig and then just took off when it got cold. Then one night after Addi went to bed, when the full moon gleamed on the snow like the desert in day, he felt it call him.

What, he couldn’t say. Seemed it liked his dark thoughts, was the feeling he got, as he climbed the stairs to their attic room, to the space where they dragged the trunks and boxes from lives past and relatives gone, things that went with the family because that’s what you did with heirlooms.

And something up there wanted him to see it.

To this day, he doesn’t know why he went. His family, most were down south, but his mom’s side was from Appalachia, and he knew you don’t just go digging into things that call your name when you don’t already know what they are.

But he didn’t care that night. Maybe he hoped it would eat him. Maybe it was just something to think about other than how heavy Beatrice seemed when she died, as if her spirit leaving added iron to her bones.

The attic was dark and ignored his candle, but the moon was full and led the way, shadow from the single window cast along the floor as if to point with God’s finger at one, single trunk. Wallace liked that trunk; fine, fine woodwork it was, and fine, fine metalwork and leather, and you could just tell by looking at it some rich or royal person’d had it made, long in the past. It was Beatrice’s, from her family, which meant somewhere in Italy before the unification. Turin, maybe? He couldn’t recall; her great uncle (an old man with ridiculous mustache and impenetrable accent) had told some wild tales the night of their engagement celebration, but nobody else in the family ever had.

Weird, how the mind worked in moonlight and the absence of love: Wallace remembered now what that old and odd man said. About how the family was the true royal line, not going back to some Roman shit, but something to do with a land of dreams, and gods, and powers. How the things he was to be given (for Beatrice was the firstborn) must be guarded, and used only in emergency, only in dire need.

Sure, Wallace thought, and wrestled with the trunk.

It hadn’t wanted to open, and as he’d strained, boots braced, sweating in spite of the cold, crying out as he heaved those rusted hinges open, he’d known that it was a choice.

He could’ve called it a bad job and gone downstairs to make sure Addi’s stew would be ready for tomorrow, could’ve grieved like a million other widowers before him, then gone into the nearest town and found a young woman willing to marry the owner of a mine and live in the middle of nowhere, and built his family back up again.

Or he could do this, listen to whatever was calling, whatever liked his dark thoughts, and push.

He pushed. He got the trunk open. And whatever he’d thought it would hold, it wasn’t this. Books. Just books? After all that fuss, he half-expected crowns or fancy dresses or magical swords or something. Just books.

Just…

He dug out the one that called him, as if he’d known where it was all along, and the moment it was in his hands he knew it was real.

Weird symbol on the front, something that hurt his eyes to look at too closely, and the words were all in some language he did not know, but he felt the power in this thing like he could feel the rumble of distant locomotives, bringing workers to dig in his mine in the warmer days.

He took it downstairs, still listening to the book call him. He put it under his pillow, because that’s what the damn thing said to do. And in the morning, he knew where to go.

He woke in a sweat, shaking, a mess; woke and had to bathe (not always a great idea in the dead of winter) because sweat had soaked clean through everything. Woke… and then had to fucking wait.

He couldn’t travel this time of year. No one could. So he had to wait to go where the book said, and that meant months of trying to help Addi while powerless, months of heading out to ensure it was still cold enough to keep his family’s bodies preserved, months of waiting and thinking dark thoughts.

Months of weak-handed, blind-eyed, gutting-useless hell.

#

It’d been worth it. The Order of the Fallen Star had been waiting for him, had some kind of book that matched his, and when he showed up next spring (fresh from funerals in which he would not look at McPherson, no matter how kind that fucker tried to be), they helped him learn what his wife’s books said.

So there was power here. This wasn’t like the Appalachian legends of his grandfather’s day; this wasn’t just warnings and wariness, caution when you hear your name in the woods, fear of hearing screech owls at dusk or always remembering which door you came in by. This was about taking hold of the things that scared you and making them do as you say.

Wallace had been thinking violent thoughts for a long time when he took his first life. It wasn’t hard. He made sure MacPherson knew why it happened, too.

From there, it had been easy. Sacrifices. Rituals. Certain words in languages that hurt the throat until you got used to them, and all with the promise of power to get his wish.

To bring them back.

To give them back to him, whole and healthy as they were, so they could go back to life by the mine he owned and grow up and make families of their own and leave a legacy in their wake.

He could do this. He could bring them back. He would.

And nobody in the Order bothered to tell him that couldn’t happen until he was so far in that turning around wasn’t even a possibility.

#

Larson leaned on the balcony under two full moons and stared at the alien garden, filled with plants he did not know and beauty he craved as his own. It was magnificent here; the King in Yellow had good taste—which, funny enough, would’ve synced up pretty well with Beatrice’s ancestors, judging by that old trunk.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure what happened to that thing. He’d managed to get it all the way to New York, to the Order’s headquarters, and then…

Funny. That thing, which had meant so much to the family, which had been for the most dire need, hadn’t been used in time, hadn’t saved anybody. In the end, he didn’t even know where it had gone.

He didn’t want to think about this. Didn’t want to remember. Damn this place. Damn the King. Damn—

Oh! It’s him.

Larson turned to find Lester there (and if Larson refocused his eyes, he could see the piece in him, see how big it was, and was amazed all over again that he’d ever thought that lickspittle Yellow was anything at all). “Evening.”

Arthur went so stiff.

Larson waited. That man was a lunatic; any day now, he was gonna snap, no question.

Arthur’s jaw worked.

Arthur? Said John.

Arthur spun on his heel and marched away.

Larson snorted. “Better run,” he muttered, and looked over the garden again. His balcony. Nobody else got to share it tonight.

Addi would’ve loved this view.

Fuck.

There it was. The thing he’d been not thinking of, the vortex he’d fought most to resist. Well, maybe that’s what this weeks-long trip down memory lane was about, after all; maybe it was part of his path to ascension, to relive it, to re-feel it, to go through that choice all over again.

Fine. The powers that be wanted this? Then he’d give them this. They should know by now that anything they asked for, he’d never say no.

#

The Order was good to him. Got him connections; welcomed him in, made him feel like someone, made him feel less like a desperate fool. Shared their stories, shared their prospects, and in time, shared their power. He’d never call them family, no; they’d have sliced each other’s dicks off without a second’s thought, but they were tight, and they taught him things he’d never even dreamed.

The town that grew around his mine would’ve made Beatrice so happy. They were flourishing; he was wealthy.

And all his hopes and dreams for his family were dashed, because they weren’t coming back.

So what’s a man to do when his one life’s goal is taken from him? Give up? Push on? Take a left and try a new road? Choices; it always came down to choices, and all of them had consequences that bit. He’d hated that summer, hated the wealth that poured in, hated the people who worked in his mine and thanked him for running a clean operation, hated his fellow members of the Order who seemed so happy and didn’t know grief.

He didn’t hate Addi. At twelve, she was the spitting image of her mother, and that hurt in a whole new way, but he didn’t hate her. He loved her. He really did.

That was why, when he was brought into the final, smallest circle of the Order, into the echelons of true power running the world, and he found out what the next step would be, it made sense that it had to be her.

#

Ascension.

Deification.

That was the goal, to rise above this muck, to become more than the flesh and blood and mud and bore humanity was bound to. To become as those things Beatrice’s great uncle had talked about, the ones who’d made these books and sewn these spells, who could create things at will, who could not die.

Who could repair boulders their careless children blew apart.

And at first, for a little while, he’d told himself the goal was to be a god so he could bring them back… but even then, he’d known that wasn’t true.

There was only one way out of grief, he knew that now. You wall up your heart, brick it good, and stop feeling shit. That was it. That was the only way, and by hell, it worked.

Maybe that was why Addi was such a good sacrifice, toward the end. He could still feel her; still loved her. Still smiled when she came in smelling of sun and gave him a daisy-chain circlet, or talked about some boy in town who teased her, or how Mrs. MacCready helped her figure out how to embroider this pretty new pattern in cloth.

It was a small town; four families and a handful of single men, working the mines and traveling away in winter because there was no income then. But it could be more. It could be so much more, and wasn’t that the goal, after all? Wasn’t that why they’d pooled all their goods, everything they’d inherited from those who came before, and made this purchase?

It could be more. It should be more. For Beatrice and the boys, for…

For Wallace. For him. Step one toward being a god was to act like one, and no god would be proud of four families and a dozen guys seven months out of the year.

#

It was a hunger, he realized, looking down at the fountain where Lester and John had sobbed like babies some nights ago. A hunger that would not be sated, and it grew and grew until it was all he could feel. He wondered, now, if that was always something in him—ambition, a marvelous thing—or if he’d caught it, like croup, from the books or his partners or who knew what else.

Did it really matter?

It did not. He knew the hunger, and he knew what the power wanted him to do, and he knew what was on offer.

And he knew what it wanted next.

The night he made the choice to make that sacrifice was… not the worst of his life. No, holding Beatrice dead had been the worst, because at least until then, he hadn’t had to go through it all alone. It’d been a we, not a him, facing whatever might come, and when she’d died, he’d been angry at her for leaving him behind, and that had made it worse.

“It wasn’t croup, anyway,” he muttered at the moonlight. “It was diphtheria.” Because that’s what happened when you became lettered, a man of the world, more educated; you could tell the difference between croup and diphtheria, and know the name that took your family away.

#

By the night of sacrifice, he knew what he was. This hunger was his own, had always been. This ambition was his own, had always been. He’d always been meant for this.

And he wept as his daughter died, he did; wept as things tore her apart, as things ripped her and shredded her and took their fucking time, and she begged for his help.

And it broke him, broke his heart, but that was the sacrifice needed, because these beings, these gods, these things so much greater than humanity, would accept nothing less.

It was sacrifice. In its purest form. And in return, they gave him power.

#

Different, the grief for Addie. Different, from the grief for the rest.

Tristan, Lucian, Beatrice; that grief was pointless, had nowhere to go, had served no master. It had just happened, meaningless, cruel, and done no one any good.

Addi’s death, now. Addi…

How many lives had been blessed by her passing? How many eyes had turned his way, impressed by the depth of his devotion? How many doors had that opened for him, now and forever, because he had proven his worth and his loyalty and his ambition in the realest way?

All of them. All the doors. All that mattered.

Addi… yes, it hurt. But it wasn’t the same. It was for something, meant something, and if he’d not done this and placed her low, she’d probably just have gone and died in childbirth or something, another useless and pointless death, not one to bless a hamlet and make it a town, not one to bless her daddy whom she loved and put him on the path to godhood, and she’d have wanted that for him if he’d brought it up first, he knew.

Besides. She missed her mama, anyway. This way, she got to see her again, and wasn’t that better for all?

#

Larson was crying. Weeping. Crouched down on that damned balcony and trying to muffle his sounds, and furious at himself, and clawing at his chest as if he could rip out his fucking heart and throw it over the side.

Just get it out, he kept telling himself. Get it over with. This is what they want, this reliving of the hard things, to prove I’m still who I say I am, prove my ambition still sings. That’s all. That’s all.

It’s all about choices, or it’s all about chaos. It’s either or, nothing between; either you let the chaos reign and it takes your family and does whatever the shit it wants and never pays you back, or you herd it, control it, be the one making the choices, and then you decide who dies, and you get the benefit.

There wasn’t another path. So. So.

No regrets.

Pain. Pain, offered like sacrifice, like a daughter’s screams. Pain, full-out, exposed and naked and bloodied.

And it would pass, and he’d move on, and take whatever next step they wanted, and prove himself worthy of more.

It was that or chaos. Chaos wasn’t having its way with him. Ever. Fucking. Again.

#

That’s an advanced spell, said John, sounding moderately awed.

Faroe looked smug. “Dad said it was.”

“She is, as always, well beyond her years,” rumbled the god-king.

“Just be careful, okay?” said Arthur, looking all worried and womanly and weary. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you accidentally hurt someone.”

“I’m careful,” she protested before taking up her great big not-at-all-breakfast-appropriate-sword and leaving the table. “Dis is waiting.”

“My daughter,” said Hastur in a fatherly tone Larson knew, remembered, hated. “You will not skip your arithmancy today.”

Oh, how that child’s face fell! “I really hate that class, dad.”

“I know,” he soothed. “Nevertheless, it is required. You must have a greater understanding of the power of numbers if you are to move on to sigils.”

She sighed as dramatically as Addi ever had. “Fine,” she said, and kissed her dad on the white mask (he leaned very far down), and kissed Arthur on his cheek (the scarred one, and she’d walked all the way around the table to do that, and Larson didn’t know why), and sort of eyed him then as though meeting John’s eyes with a nod. Then she left, running, with the boundless energy of youth and health and a body that had never known diphtheria and never, ever would.

“And what have you on your docket today, Wallace?” said Hastur out of nowhere as Arthur went stiff.

Larson froze, too, for one moment. It had been days since he’d been addressed. “I’m still lookin’ for ways to be of use to you, my lord.”

“I have had thoughts,” the god-king said (as Arthur scowled, shifting in his seat as though resisting the urge to leap over the table like a werewolf). “You are fluent in Th’balo, Aklo, Underground, and Lytha, correct?”

Larson sat up straight. “And passable in Cth’onik and Aeth’ral, as well.”

“I have no need for passable.” The tentacles moved, such impossible strength and power gracefully curling in the air like he swam through invisible sea. “But I could use some help translating. There are some books I have found other uses for, and I have had them copied, and literally translated, but they are… dense. I require a human mind to interpret them for the sake of my daughter, who will be reading both translations. It would be a good time to see how honest you can be.”

What the hell did that mean? “For you, my lord, I will always be honest.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” hissed Arthur Lester, as if he had the right to talk to god that way.

Hastur touched his back with one tentacle, and Arthur quieted. “You understand that I will be reading what you translate.”

Ah. “Of course.”

“If it is not excellent, and if it is not accurate, you will have lost your chance to be useful.”

“I understand, my lord.” Larson stood so he could bow low, bent practically acute.

“Report to the Librarian.”

Something to do! Some way to start this path again! Larson beamed, thanked him profusely in Th’balo, and then left just shy of a run.

“The fuck, Hastur?” said that disrespectful man behind him.

“He needs something to do, my own,” soothed the god, which was true, but also obviously a lie for that fragile man’s sake, because this was important, this had meaning for the god’s adopted (Stolen? Traded?) daughter, and that was about as valuable a path as he could hope for here.

Yes. He’d ride these coattails until the crashing cliff loomed, and he’d jump onto someone else’s. And by then, he’d be known, and have a reputation, and there would be places for him to go.

Grief was a lie. Power was truth. Pain was incidental and part of the cost.

He hadn’t thanked Beatrice for years, come to think of it; he used to, each night as he crouched over bloodied remains, labored over sigils he’d carved into the ground until his fingers were nearly torn to the bone. Thanked her, because without her books and her family connections, without that trunk in the attic, their deaths would mean nothing, his grief would mean nothing, and chaos would just eat them all in the end.

“Thanks, HoneyBea,” he murmured, pretty sure she couldn’t hear him (he knew more now), but who could tell, maybe she did, and he’d have to hope she would understand what he’d done. He'd taken chaos by the balls and made it his slave.

He'd made sure her death wouldn't stay pointless. That had to count for something. Right?