#Overtake Tyrant

[twis-world]

The Remedy That Is You (Riddle Version)

Mentions: Fluff, Riddle-Centric, Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader

No matter how many a time the students of Nightraven College witnessed how their Housewarden did a complete 180 in your presence, it never ceased to amaze them.

It eventually got to the point where a majority of students began to question if you really were magickless. There was just no way your mere presence could bring out such light in their eyes, face softening and a smile so tender it was as if they were gazing upon one of the Seven.

Just how did you do it?

Riddle

“You imbecile!” Riddle’s voice boomed, echoing all throughout Heartslabyul. Fear set into all who heard it, a chain reaction flowing through their bodies as their hearts beat quicker, palms growing clammy in a cold sweat. No matter how many times their beloved Housewarden proved that he had changed, that he was no longer the cruel tyrant they all once feared, it did not stop the utter terror that ran through them when they did succeed in trying his patience.

Especially when it concerned the prized animals they cared for.

“Have I not made it clear several times that you are not to directly hit the hedgehogs?” Riddle continued to scream, face flaming red as he cradled the delicate creature in his arms. Whether or not the poor thing was shaking of its own account or fear of the one holding it was to be determined, but it mattered not with all eyes on the beholder. “Are you so dense that you cannot remember something as simple as that?”

“Housewarden Riddle,” the victim stuttered. It was a first-year clearly, face deathly pale and looking as if his soul would leave his body any moment in a fit of desperation. Anything to get away from such a ghastly scenario. “I-I…I swear it was a-a-an accident-”

“How do you accidentally do such a thing?” Riddle snapped back, nearly frothing at the mouth as he marched forward into the other’s space. The surrounding students gasped, taking a step back in turn and preparing for the inevitable as his hand noticeably itched for his pen. The first-year clearly noticed as well, eyes bulging and feet shifting in preparation to run if need be. “Even so, there is no room for such impertinence. Why, I should have your head for that!”

“Riddle?”

The effect was almost instant.

The speed at which the male stepped back was almost inhuman, head snapping back so quickly a few flinched at the thought of such inevitable whiplash. The snarl on his lips dropped, not taking on a smile but smoothing out the lines his earlier scowl created. In fact, the only evidence of his incredible fury from but a moment ago was the ever present brightness of his face, taking its time in ever so slowly draining away.

Then, they saw it.

The moment you managed to break through the crowd, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape as you surveyed the situation, the sharpness in his gaze disappeared. It was almost comical how instantly his pupils blew, nearly overtaking the storm in his eyes. Some swore that if it were possible hearts would most definitely be shining from his orbs, beating in tune with the one confined by his mortal body yet still promised to you.

Great Seven, the way he greeted you as well. It nearly ached how tenderly a soft ‘My Rose’ escaped from his lips, and it was then they all knew that in his mind the rest of the world faded away until all that lay within it was you.

“Ace nearly gave me a heart attack when he blew up my phone, spewing nonsense of a bomb about to blow the whole of the dorm,” you gently teased, stepping towards him with such ease despite the still shaking of Riddle’s body. Yet, as you placed a delicate hand on his arm, the tremors all but disappeared. “Guess he wasn’t that far off for once.”

The red fury on his face was now one of shame and embarrassment, tucking his head down and staring as he gently calmed the still shaking hedgehog. “He exaggerates…” he nearly mumbled, refusing to look up at the gentle smile you were giving him. 

You stared at him with the same fondness he just had moments ago, thumb softly rubbing against his arm. Words could not explain the relief they all felt when you looked up at them all and nodded your head back to the main dorm building, silently giving them permission to finally escape.

At the sound of their retreat Riddle’s head shot up, confusion evident. “Who gave you all permission to leave?” he called out, stepping out of your grasp and staring at their retreating backs. If his hands weren’t occupied you were sure he would be waving them in a blind fury. “Come back! You have yet to-”

“Riddle,” you interrupted, cupping his face in your hands and turning his gaze to you instead. It was a miracle that he had yet to pass out, blood still continuously rushing to his face as he had no choice but to lock eyes with you. Fingertips caressed under his eyes, exaggerated breathing from you goading him to follow with, not once turning away. Not daring to escape the land you’ve trapped him in.

He didn’t know how much time passed, just the two of you standing there and the animal in his arms long since passed out, nor did he care. Just your touch alone was enough to soothe his soul, your gaze and sweet words were simply a bonus that he thought himself unworthy of, yet here he was.

“There we go,” you cooed, dropping your hands but not once breaking contact from his face. Down his cheeks that you held for a moment, nails barely scraping down his neck in tune with the pleasant shiver it sent down his spine, dancing across his shoulders and tickling his waist before coming to a stop there. “Why don’t we sit and enjoy some tea to help calm you down more, hm?”

“It’s not yet past the lunch hour,” he responded, yet almost drunkenly. “Rule 148 states-” The small burst of laughter that left you was enough to shut him up, watching as your head tilted back and shined even brighter than the sun that warmed you both. He decided that he really didn’t want you to stop anytime soon. “Though…though I suppose I could make an exception…”

A few more chuckles rang, and you gave him another playful smile along with a gentle squeeze. “How kind.”

Yes, yes you really were quite magical.

[nadas-dirthalen]

I've been thinking about how the bg3 wiki lists this as Gortash's singular spell as a boss.

Dazzling Ray, y'all. A bright beam of radiant light. Supremely sun-coded.

And I'm thinking about how even though I've seen that mid-transformation, Gortash's new Avatar of Bane has green eyes with black sclera (very Bane-coded!), his full transformation has these, sourced from this Twitter post.

Not to mention how there is LESS Bane iconography on his Avatar Of Bane form than his jacket, previously. That it is more gold than black, and that its curves (while reminiscent of Steel Watchers) are all knight- or paladin-coded, not tyrant-coded.

Because is that not the way of him? Always designing things to look heroic. Always playing at being a just ruler, but never able to enact that in truth.

But still shining radiant light at people. Still. Still.

And I am thinking how Raphael, like Viconia - personally motivated against Gortash, like Viconia was to Shadowheart - also has Punish Divinity as a passive ability.

And I am thinking about a boy who was sun-coded from the moment he was named. An artificer, yes - whose magical attacks are coded with the same radiance as his earliest youth. Whose eyes burn gold like the sun, after changing to green with black sclera. The gold overtakes them. But why not a dark glow? Why not something dark and inky like the half-illithid transformation?

And why, pray tell... why is the crest over his heart white, and inscribed not with Bane, but with what looks like radiant lines?

My conclusion: Enver Gortash might be an artificer, but he's living out the arc of an Oathbeaker paladin to an evil god. Where, all along, even his Avatar of Bane suggests that there is something light at his core, contrasting the dark swallowing the rest of him.

[rizsu]

“satoru? you okay?” you ask, “you're zoning out a lot.” sipping on your juicebox, your eyebrows furrow in concern. something's wrong with gojo today—he's distant, unresponsive and quiet. he's there physically but he's not there.

gojo responds with a hum, turning his head to you before speaking, “i'm okay, y/n.” he plasters an artificial grin as he shoves his hands in his pockets, jumping off the railing whistling before he continues again, “you ready to leave?”

suspicion clouds your mind. he's deflecting, you think. if there's another thing gojo's a master at, it's deflecting. a sour taste enters your mouth as a strong feeling overwhelms you. something's telling you gojo's on the brink of breaking.

concluding that it's best to not pressure him, you jump down to him. “ya, let's go!” slinging an arm over his shoulder, you match steps with him, bringing up random subjects to help him clear his mind a bit.

──

the mind's a scary place. in the mind holds countless thoughts, each holding different emotions. some people disliked being left in their mind, gojo enjoyed it. gojo relished in the feeling—the unhealthy feeling, though, it only held insanity; it's home to distasteful, unfiltered thoughts.

gojo sinks into the soft mattress, one arm resting over his eyes as he grins yet again. he thinks it's funny—hilarious, even. who is he? he questions himself, but rather, what is he? what is his purpose?

for all his life, he never felt like himself. he disassociated from reality more than he let utahime chew off his ears. he feels unlike himself but did he even know himself?

gojo satoru, nonchalant to his peers yet disregards all respects for his enemies.

gojo satoru, the pride of the gojo clan.

gojo satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.

gojo satoru, gojo satoru.

again, his head feels fuzzy. swallowing a harsh gulp, he feels his mouth go dry, his heart rate increases each second, static covering his vision, he's near his limit.

humans feared the dark, ready to dismiss it but gojo greets it—he greets it with hazed eyes and his signature playful smile.

when's the last time gojo's let himself go? he wonders, looking for the absent answer. cold sweat introduces itself to the stage named ‘gojo’. he clenches his jaw hard, cracking his knuckles in attempts to distract himself.

the tsunami (insanity) grows in height each second. it sneers at the humans (gojo) below, grinning at the fear-instilled bodies before it crashes, dominating and marking the area (gojo's mind) as its own. it muffles the ear-bleeding noise (his remaining sanity) as it finally settles in—crashing everything like a tyrant overtaking his soon-to-be throne.

you again, huh? gojo thinks. he talks to himself, looking at the bloodied teenager. he, the teenager, is wrecked—beaten yet standing. a shadow blocks off everything on his face but one eye that illuminates in gojo's view.

it's a one versus one. a fight with himself; a fight with one of his many versions. to be honest, he'd rather have a battle with six year old gojo.

gojo turns off his infinity, though there's not a single reason to but he doesn't know that. he's already given into the feeling that's been creeping around him like a cat creeping around some tuna.

in gojo's mind currently, he's being attacked by everything. geto, toji, random people and curses he killed, himself, hell even sukuna; they're all at him at once.

he doesn't know why nor does he want to know. all he hopes for is that someone—more specifically you—brings him back to his damned reality.

──

“should i..? but it's kinda late...” mumbling to yourself, you fight your demons for an answer. your watch reads “11:27 PM” and your right consciousness tells you to leave, he's probably asleep but your demons tell you to open that damn door. 

you'd leave if you didn't suddenly remember the way he was lost in his head earlier. “you know what, fuck it.” you say to yourself before announcing your arrival, “satoru, 'm here!”

no response, which isn't uncommon yet the aggravated pores say otherwise. kicking your shoes off at the door, you enter his living room. it's dimly lit showing little signs of activity. did he even eat dinner? you question before resting the brown bag of snacks on his counter.

humming in disapproval, you quietly wander until you reach his room's door. a dark energy emits from under the door—almost as if a grade a curse broke in. clicking your tongue, you knock softly on his door, “satoru?”

yet again, no response. maybe he's really asleep, you think but the overwhelming feeling that something isn't right forces you into his room.

in your vision lies gojo—a raw gojo. there he lays, a numb body with an expressionless face, eyes red but closed. taking quiet steps to his bed, you sit on the edge brushing his fringe gently with a finger.

with that, he opens his eyes. he looks drained, tired, done; his body feels unreal—as if it's not his own. pushing the weak feeling aside, he greets you with another artificial smile and a hoarse voice saying “hey.”

he looks at your worried expression yet does nothing to soothe it. usually, he'd crack a stupid joke but he doesn't have the energy. even breathing tires him out.

you don't talk to him—at least not yet. right now you're busying yourself with the state he's in. his face holds little energy, his chest moves up and down in slowed rhythm, his adam's apple constantly dances at his every swallow, his eyes show no emotion that's not exhaustion. in short: he's done and completely dusted.

“you caved in again, didn't you?” questioning him with intentions of receiving an answer, you turn around to reach for your bottle of water.

“i guess i did.” he answered, eyes following your moves as he doesn't know what to focus on.

sneaking a hand under his head, you move the bottle to his lips, gesturing for him to drink. gojo accepts the water, downing at least half before laying back down. he sighs deeply, closing his eyes again as the aftermath of his episode settles in.

“wanna talk about it?”

“nah, i'm just chilling with the consequences y'know.”

“satoru.”

“my bad.” quick to apologise, a light laugh escapes him before he sits up to match you.

leaning against the headboard, gojo pulls you into frame, snaking his arms around your waist as he sinks his head into your shoulder. you lean into him, raising a hand to pat his head before speaking.

“how about we relax in the bath, hmm?”

“inna few,” he replies, tightening his grip on you before he continues, “just stay like this, please.”

you whisper a soft “okay” while you play with his hand, intertwining your fingers before bringing them to your lips for a kiss.

[oneandonlybbygrl]

I haven’t written/ posted Fanfiction in years. I’ve never done so on Tumblr and have no idea how to even post Fanfiction on tumblr. How do tags and master lists and the keep reading thing work?

But I have an idea. Oh Boy do I have an idea for a story; like three novel lengths of a story. With a female reader!

Alpha!Paul x Omega!Reader x Alpha Feyd!

Now I Haven’t read the books, but have researched details in them. Some of the aspects of the books are too weird strange like a half worm tyrant! And I would take a lot of creative liberties but here’s the gist:

There’s a cluster of planets outside of the Imperium with a Goverment and heirarchy of their own. They despise the Bene Gesserit as they have “gifts” of their own.

They are powerful with many resources, though are aware they have made an enemy of the emperor.

The Change is the prophecy they have for the Bene Gesserit’s Messiah. Two warring houses will unite the Imperium with these cluster of planets through a bond with a shared omega. An Omega the emperor and Bene Gesserit want dead. An omega the Fremen are wary of and Baron Harkonnen wants only for his house.

There’s baby Feyd and Paul and their childhoods as they grow up. A bloody Feyd who just killed his mother gets a quick hug from Omega!reader who tells him she’s always available to be a friend before scampering off and leaving him prettified!

Feyd sets up his Uncle and brother. He secretly divides his people into two opposing sides. One for an imperium lead by the Harkonnen Atreides Triad, and the other for his Uncles barbaric rule. Feyd is still barbaric in his own right but not to the point that it leads to his death. His Omega makes it clear he has to exhibit control of his instincts or he’s out.

Paul and Feyd have a love/hate relationship, trying to kill the other all while working together to take control of the Imperium. So much sexual tension that is released on the “poor” reader!

Super slow burn, way more strategical overtaking by Paul and Feyd. Reader is kind, soft but not self sacrificing. She has her own role to play in bringing togther her people with the imperium. And she sure as hell isn’t going to just bend over for Paul and Feyd.

Thoughts??

[makothedorito]

A Single Dying Orchid

BAAU by @cuppajj

If only she wasn't such a coward.

the guilt was overwhelming as Vanilla Swirl Cookie laid in the flour-dusted dirt, a maelstrom of emotions overtaking her.

She was too late. He had struck yet another village, its denizens turned to flour, coating everything in a pale, grim, white, permeating the air and casting a foggy look obstructing everything in the distance from view. it was suffocating. Vanilla Swirl sat like that, for what seemed to be forever, taking in her failure. memories flashed behind her eyes, a village not unlike this one.

she remembered sharing tea and raisin buns around a campfire.

-she remembered sprouting little flowers to appease a crying child, even if they faded away moments later-

-and then she remembered the screams.

the dust.

the fear overtaking her as she ran, fight-or-flight taking over, too cowardly to turn back- or even look back for that matter- as the friends and memories she had known turned to mere flour in a matter of a few hours.

the guilt taking her to beast-yeast where she tried- futilely- to start anew, unaware that she would only lead more friends to their demise as silver clashed with thorns.

and Odollam Cookie. she paused, in the middle of getting up and dusting herself off from the flour.

her greatest friend. and her greatest shame. Vanilla Swirl winced from the guilt she bore when she ran, time and time again from the first sight of confrontation. she shamed herself for all the false promises she made, the cowardice, the weakness.

for much of her life she ran from her pain, her fear, and her responsibilities. and it has finally caught up to her and ravaged her, ravaged earthbread and destroyed all that she has known. turning back to the dry forest, Vanilla Swirl tried to focus on the next village, doubting that she'd make it in time to warn them about Saint Vanilla.

and through the forest she saw something. something out of the ordinary.

a single blue-white orchid.

It was like a slap to the face. Even if its petals were dusty with flour, the core was as vibrant as if it was newly bloomed.

"come to gloat your latest 'purificiation' to me, havent you?" she said with a whisper. the orchid ignored her, swaying in an invisible wind. Inside, Vanilla Swirl felt herself collapse, giving up.

she wanted to give up, didn't she? Take the easy way out, maybe do a kindness to earthbread. she lowered her palm around the orchid, as if planning to pluck and eat it. she had enough jam on her hands, didn't she?

Vanilla Swirl felt the softness of the petals as she started to pluck, but she hesitated.

is it really her hands the jam is on?

Or is it the tyrant, who refuses to allow for compromise or compensation, torturing her adversaries to make an example when she could've easily let them go and assimilate into her kingdom.

Is it really her hands who spreads the flour over earthbread with each so-called "purification" one by one as if her view was so twisted that she believed her mass-murders were a kindness?

or is she just taking uneccesary blame?

her glare snapped to the flower, hardening in realization that maybe, just maybe, she has been blaming herself for things out of her control. and that maybe she could finally throw that guilt away.

If kindness kills, then ruthlessness is mercy.

the wilted orchid crumpled to dust in her fist, saint's sight silenced and her location a secret, for now; as the remains of the dying forest around her started to decay, only to be replaced by new life, dangerous life, plants that kill. with a wave of her hand, the forest returned to its dry, stale state, turning her back behind the village with a near-unnoticeable new spring in her step, as if she sucked the life out the damnned orchid.

It's about time "Saint" Vanilla stopped prying into everyones secrets with those flowers of his, and leading lambs to the slaughter.

From then on, all sightings of Vanilla Swirl Cookie have dissappeared from both Earthbread and Beast-Yeast simultaneously, as if she faded away like a secret on the wind.

Only later have there been sightings of irregular abundances of dangerous plants on formerly dead land, of which not even saint orchids could thrive that peoplestarted to speculate.

And then came the rumours a new Beast was coming. A name, like the plant life she bent to her will and the poison they contain, silent and ruthless.

Blackthorn Cookie.

and she is hell-bent on eradicating all traces of this self-proclaimed saint no matter the cost. even if it means becoming one of them.

because when you've got nothing to lose, so what if you become the monster?

[apicelladonna]

(Ferte in noctem animam meam) Grindeldore one shot, post HBP.

Dumbledore’s steps were slow, each one a battle against the searing pain that coursed through his withered body. The blackened, necrotic flesh of his right hand, throbbed like Greek fire kissed it. He felt the corruption spreading further now, creeping up his his upper torso and nearing the place where he thought his heart would be.

The gates of Nurmengard loomed before him, a once-proud fortress now decayed in the shadow of its former master. He stepped through it, the scent of rot heavy in the air. Dead Aurors and house-elves littered the courtyard, victims of the final assault of the dark lord's quest for answers.

The war had turned, its tides sweeping away what little hope had once flickered. Now, that hope rested on the shoulders of the young. All of them carrying the burden of a world too heavy for a hopeful future.

Each step up the spiral staircase was torture. His breath rattled in his chest, and his vision blurred with pain. But still, he climbed. He knew what awaited him at the top. He knew why he had come.

The door to the tower was ajar. Tom had been here.

He paused for a moment, his weary mind spinning through the possibilities. Tom Riddle had sought out the only other dark wizard who had once held the Elder Wand.

Gellert.

He had come for answers, but he would have found none. Albus knew this because he knew Gellert Grindelwald better than anyone alive.

In his arrogance, his pride, his twisted sense of loyalty, Gellert would never have divulged the truth. Not to Tom. Not to anyone.

And now Albus no longer held the wand. Its allegiance had shifted—first to Draco Malfoy, and who knows where after. Perhaps Voldemort had realized this. Perhaps that was why he had left Gellert like this.

Dumbledore stepped through the doorway into the tower room.

Gellert lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, his thin prison robes hanging limply over his wasted frame. His once-vibrant eyes, those piercing mismatched eyes Albus had known so well, were vacant now, staring at nothing.

He was a hollow shell, a body left to rot where it had fallen. Tom Riddle had not even afforded him the dignity of a final word, a final glance.

Albus took a shaking breath, his heart breaking in a way it hadn't in decades. Gellert. The boy he had loved. The man who had turned into his greatest enemy. And now this—just another casualty of a war that had stretched over lifetimes.

With every ounce of strength he had left, Dumbledore knelt beside him. Pain shot through his body, but he ignored it, his focus solely on Gellert. Gently, he took the rigid, lifeless body in his arms, lifting him so that Gellert could sit upright against the stone wall. The old wizard’s hands shook as he closed Gellert’s eyes, those once-bright eyes that had seen so much of the world’s wonder and darkness alike.

There were no words. What could he say? No eulogy would ever be enough for the complicated, tragic life of Gellert Grindelwald. He had been a visionary and a tyrant, a lover and a monster. And now, he was gone.

No one would come to mourn him. No one would check on the man who had once threatened the very fabric of the magical world. In the midst of another wizarding war, with Voldemort's shadow creeping ever closer, Gellert Grindelwald was just another body, forgotten in the chaos.

And Albus—Albus would soon be another as well.

He leaned back against the cold stone wall, his cursed hand resting limply in his lap. The pain was unbearable now, the curse nearly overtaking his entire body.

But for this moment, there was peace. There, in the silence of the highest tower, with the dead all around, he could rest.

Beside the man he had once loved. Beside his heart.

Beside Gellert.

The world could wait a little longer as Albus closed his eyes, resting on the other wizard's shoulder.

[invis-o-william]

Day 7: Mind Control

With a start, Tucker woke up, the memory of sand and pyramids fresh in his mind. After looking around his darkened room for a moment, he sighed and settled back into his pillow.

Ever since his encounter with the staff of Duul Aman, he kept having odd dreams. Of Egypt, ancient temples, and strange foreign words he could almost decipher but kept escaping his grasp.

Turning, Tucker looked at his bedside clock. It was 3:35 A.M. and there was no way he would be able to fall asleep again after his dream. He knew from experience that if he did the dreams would only grow in intensity. So instead he flicked on the light and grabbed his PDA from its stand.

He opened its journal app, and after tapping for a new entry began typing out what he could remember from his dream. It wasn’t much this time; a river boat on the Nile, an image of the Great Pyramids, and a few odd hieroglyphs, but nevertheless he recorded all he could. The journal was full of these dream entries. Sometimes Tucker could manage to decipher the hieroglyphs he saw in his dreams, but most of the time there were too few to gain any real meaning from them.

From what he could learn though, most of them were from spells. Spells reserved for only the highest priests to perform, often in secret. Spells that Tucker couldn’t help but wonder if he could use. He had used ancient Egyptian magic before hadn’t he? While it had been when his mind was in the grips of Duul Aman, it was still his body, his abilities. But he was still nervous to try. To do so would mean using the staff, letting its power course through him again, and Tucker wasn’t sure he could handle it.

He had long accepted that he was somehow the reincarnation of Duul Aman, living once more in the modern age. While that was true though, he also wasn’t Duul Aman anymore. He wasn’t a tyrant bent on power and immortality through any means, and he valued his family and friends more than anything else. What bothered him though was that version of himself still existed, at least within the staff.

Whenever he held it, it was hard not to lose his mind to the power that it contained. The staff would so easily overtake him and make him into the man he didn’t ever want to be that he was nervous to go near it.

If these dreams kept up though, he might just have to try. They were growing in frequency and intensity and Tucker desperately wanted to understand what they meant. Mulling it over in his mind, he sent a text out in his group chat with Danny and Sam which was appropriately titled “Boo Buddies” before beginning his research on the hieroglyphs from this night's dream.

. . .

The next morning at school he ran into Sam first, which was typical. Danny usually either ran into a minor ghost on the way to school, or was otherwise held up by his parents’ insane inventions.

“What did you mean by past life dreams Tuck? And in the middle of the night?” she asked straight to the point. Tucker sighed, he had been hoping she would at least wait for Danny to get there.

“Well, it's Duul Aman. Ever since the whole staff thing I keep getting dreams about him, and I want to try something." He kept his wording intentionally vague, half worried about her response and half worried about getting to class on time. “I’ll tell both you guys more about it at lunch, we should get to class.”

Sam narrowed her eyes at him, but followed to homeroom regardless as she saw Danny rounding the corner.

. . .

“You want to try what?!” Danny’s yell was swallowed by the cacophony of sound produced by the cafeteria.

“Keep it down will ya?” Tucker hushed him, “It’s not that big of a deal!”

Danny ran a hand through his hair, “Not a big deal? Tucker we’re talking about messing with Duul Aman’s powers. You know, the guy who kinda turned you into a megalomaniac for a bit? I’d say that’s pretty big.”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know, I think it might be worth a shot.”

Tucker huffed a laugh. Of course, leave it to the goth to be interested in spells.

“But what if he takes over Tucker’s mind again and goes all Pharaoh-ey!” Danny said, waving his hand in a mimicry of Tucker using the staff.

“That’s why you guys will be staying with me.” Tucker swallowed, “Just in case I can’t fight it off, I want you guys to knock me out before I start going nuts.”

Danny looked at Sam for help, but she shut him down.

“You know if we don’t help he’ll just end up trying it by himself.” she said, and Danny couldn’t help but agree that she had a point there.

“Fine,” he sighed, “but I still think this is a bad idea.”

. . .

They met that night in Jackson Park by the treeline, Sam and Tucker on foot and Danny in ghost form with the staff. Ever since the Duul Aman incident he had kept it stored in the Ghost Zone with Pandora since she seemed the type to know how to care for ancient cursed artifacts.

“Ok,” said Tucker, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Did you bring a book Sam?”

Sam replied by pulling out a black leather-bound journal from her coat.

“Good, good. Ok so now I just need…the staff.” he looked hesitantly at the scarab topped staff in Danny’s hand.

“Uh, what spells exactly are you going to try? Just in case something goes wrong.” Danny asked, well aware of how the staff thrummed with power when Tucker looked at it.

“Right, um well, first I’m going to try a book protection spell that I found. I figure that should be pretty safe. And then, uh, there’s this one spell that’s for ‘opening up the west’. I think that one is to make a temporary portal to the afterlife, so like, it'll lead to the Ghost Zone? At least that’s if I read everything right.” Tucker’s nerves were really starting to get to him, but he had to try to do this and see if he was right. See if he could actually do it.

“I figure if I can make a portal then I could use it to help you when you’re fighting ghosts?” he asked.

Danny considered this for a moment. “The first one, yeah I can understand. The Ghost Zone though? I don’t know, there’s a lot of things that could go wrong there.”

“Which is why you’re here just in case!” Tucker said with as confident a smile he could muster. “Just, let’s try the first one and go from there.” he reached his hand out for the staff which Danny reluctantly handed over.

As soon as it was in his hand Tucker felt a wave of energy wash over him. That was okay though, he was prepared for it this time. Pushing back mentally against the power he cleared his mind and reached for his PDA. “See, I’m alright. Now Sam, we should probably have the book on the ground. Just in case.”

Sam nodded, “Right. Be careful with it, that’s my favorite copy of Dracula.” and laid the book carefully on the grass.

Tucker breathed deeply, feeling the staff’s power flow through him, pulled up the ancient text from his phone, and began reciting the words.

As he read, Danny and Sam exchanged a look. Tucker’s eyes had begun to glow golden but neither wanted to break his concentration by noting it aloud. Soon though that disappeared as he finished the incantation.

“Ok then,” Tucker said shakily, “that was manageable. Also, I think it worked. Danny, you should try and open it.”

Danny nodded and bent down to pick up the book. It seemed normal to him, however when he went to open it the thing felt like it had been glued shut. Raising his eyebrows he handed it over to Sam who was able to easily open the cover.

Tucker smiled, “Cool right, now only Sam should be able to actually open it!”

Danny had to agree that it was pretty impressive, and something he might think about using for his journal of ghost attacks as well. While he had hidden it in his wall for safekeeping from his parents he still wanted some extra security, just in case.

“Do you think you’re okay to try the next one? It’s okay if you need a break.” Sam said, both awe and concern evident in her voice.

Tucker thought about it for a moment. While it was exhausting trying to hold the power back from overwhelming him, he also couldn’t resist seeing what else he could do with this power. “I’m going to give the portal a try.” he said, and before Danny could protest he began the incantation.

Danny was more apprehensive about this spell. The book one was cool and pretty useful, but conjuring a portal to the Ghost Zone? That seemed like a huge leap forward for Tucker. But he wanted to be a good friend and trust in his abilities, so he watched as his friend started the next spell.

Tucker felt confident. He could do this, the first spell was a success and he was sure this one would be as well. As he spoke the ancient words he felt the power emanating from the staff increase, and as it washed over him he felt his mind slip to the power of Duul Aman.

Well, at least he had his friends there to stop him from creating another sphinx.

[cardinalcringe]

(And in case you don’t have a NYT subscription, here they all are):

“We don’t take an oath to a country. We don’t take an oath to a tribe. We don’t take an oath to a king or a queen, or to a tyrant or a dictator. And we don’t take an oath to a wannabe dictator.” - Mark Milley

“The president has very little understanding of what it means to be in the military, to fight ethically or to be governed by a uniform set of rules and practices.” - Richard Spencer

“President trump and other officials have repeatedly compromised our principles in pursuit of partisan advantage and personal gain.” - HR McMaster

“Donald trump is the first president in my lifetime who does not try to unite the American people- does not even pretend to try. Instead, he tries to divide us. We are witnessing the consequences of three years of this deliberate effort.” - James Mattis

“ I have a lot of concerns about Donald trump. I have said that he’s a threat to democracy.” - Mark Esper

“ a person who admires autocrats and murderers dictators. A person who has nothing but contempt for our democratic institutions, our Constitution, and the rule of law.”- John Kelly

“ I think the events of the capital, however, they occurred, were shocking. And it was something that, as I mentioned in my statement, I cannot put aside.”- Elaine Chao

“Unfortunately, the actions and rhetoric following the election, especially during this past week, threaten to tarnish these and other historical legacies of this administration. The attacks on the Capital were an assault on our democracy, and on the tradition of peaceful transitions of power of the United States of America, brought to the world.”- Alex Azar

“Moron.” - Rex Tillerson (re: trump, repeatedly)

“It’s more than just a bunch of papers and what big deal is this and so forth. Lives can be lost.” - Dan Coats

“I didn’t feel he did what he needed to do to stop what was happening.” -Betsy DeVos (a stupid bitch overall, but still right)

“It will always be, ‘Oh, yeah, you work for the guy who tried to overtake the government.’” - Mick Mulvaney

“The fact of the matter is he is a consummate, narcissist, and he constantly engages in reckless conduct that puts his political followers at risk and the conservative and Republican agenda at risk.” -Bill Barr

“By the time I left the White House, I was convinced he was not fit to be president… I think it is a danger for the United States if he gets a second term.” -John Bolton

“We need more seriousness, less noise, and leaders who are looking forward, not staring in the rearview mirror claiming victimhood.” - Mike Pompeo

“He asked me to put him over the Constitution, and I chose the Constitution, and I always will.” - Mike Pence

“He went down a path he shouldn’t have, and we shouldn’t have followed him, and we shouldn’t have listened to him. And we can’t let that ever happen again.” - Nikki Haley

Stupid. Selfish. Divisive. Authoritarian. Unserious. Tyrant. Professional Victim. Insurrectionist. Narcissist. Dangerous. Moron.

Trump’s best people sum him up.

[illuminatedferret]

Congratulations!

Ficlet please, prompt: Wager

Thanks! Uh... this prompt is... it's a little long. But I had an idea and I wanted to write it, so. RIP me. Enjoy!

With great disbelief and dread, the assorted collective of the Heavenly Court mutely watched the great wave of Blessings Lanterns rise across the sky. The mass swallowed up all of the paltry offerings their devoted believers had gathered upon this Shangyuan, one by one, before overtaking even the moon itself.

“It’s him!?”

“He’s still around!?”

“Wasn’t he done!?”

Like a dam bursting, all at once a cacophony of voices filled the air. An outsider would be able to distinguish no particular voice, but it was clear to anyone listening for even a moment that not a single person had a positive thing to say.

Crimson Fucking Rain was back!?

Already!?

They were dismayed for more than one reason. See, His Highness Xianle may be happy living sequestered away on Mount Taicang, but up in the heavens, there had been a great deal of speculation on both his relationship to the deadly red ghost king-

-and just how long the man would take to come back.

One might assume, all things considered, that the current, erm, non-liquid state of the economy in the heavens being what it was, the gods might think to curb their more excessive habits.

And sure, some of them, they did.

(Quite grudgingly.)

But one thing no Heavenly Official could resist was some good drama and bragging rights.

So of course, when someone suggested a bet on just when the Gambling Tyrant Hua Cheng would return, the idea was jumped on like binu upon General Xuan Zhen.

General Nan Yang didn’t participate, citing his honor, and neither did General Xuan Zhen, attributed to the great smackdown fight that started when General Nan Yang came across General Xuan Zhen in the process of placing a bet. But the sorts of numbers put down ran the full gamut. A thousand years was a popular one- if, some suspected, more wishful thinking than anything else. Some people bet he wouldn’t return at all, but they avoided saying as much around the Southern Generals- they seemed touchy about the prospects of their former prince’s love life.

Others said he’d take five hundred years. Eight hundred. Three hundred. One particularly clever (or so he thought) civil god said it would take four hundred and eighty-nine years.

But nobody-

Nobody expected this, right!?

A year!?

A single stinking year?? 

“At least no one won the bet,” one god eventually grumbled, and his words were picked up by a louder neighbor.

“Yeah, at least no one won the bet!” Truly, it was the only acceptable way to lose the bet- if everyone else did too.

“...Actually,” came a voice that every god in the heavens suddenly dreaded. Like clockwork, every head within the Court swiveled to gaze at the tired, reluctant, but also slightly entertained countenance of Ling Wen Zhen Jun. Even Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen seemed surprised, in their respective corners of the room.

“Someone...?”

“Someone bet one year!?”

“Seriously!? Who!?”

Mutters and speculation rose up on all sides, only to fall mute again as Ling Wen turned to one of her tablemates.

“Congratulations, Your Highness,” she said. “You’ve won quite the pot. It seems you were right to place your confidence in Crimson Rain.”

“Of course he was gonna come back,” Quan Yizhen blinked. “He has to fix shixiong.”

[lemonteatwocubes]

hi could you do first years or equestrian club with asthmatic Yuu please?

I wasn't sure exactly what you wanted so here's a short fic. Kind of went off on this then fell off near the end. Hope it’s okay anyway!

Set during Camp Vargas: Exercise in Survival. Yuu has an asthma attack while checking up with the Equestrian Club.

EQUESTRIAN CLUB WITH ASTHMATIC!YUU

Don’t let his drowsy demeanor fool you, Silver is acutely aware of his surroundings when he needs to be. He is a knight, after all. Maybe this is why he is the first to notice something off with the prefect. During the trek to the campsite, it’s clear Yuu’s stamina isn’t up to par with the rest of the group. About halfway through they stop to catch their breath, red-faced and sweaty, leaning against a tree as Grim rubs circles on their back. Silver watches Vargas take them aside for a moment, only for Yuu to smile and wave the coach off. The march continues, Yuu taking up the rear, and Silver falls back to keep an eye on them. There are no more incidents, but Silver can’t help but notice the shortness of their breath.

Later, when the events of the trek have fallen to the back of Silver’s mind, Yuu and Grim come around to check on the Equestrian club’s progress. The boys have a nice fire going, smoke curling in the light breeze, and Yuu offers them a tight smile and a “good job.” There are dark circles under their eyes, and once again their breath is short. Silver nods his head to the spot across from him.

“You must be tired,” he says. “Why don’t you sit and eat. We caught plenty of fish.”

That gets Grim’s attention. Whatever Yuu’s answer was going to be is lost as the familiar digs into the catch of the day, prompting Yuu to flop down next to him. Silver smiles, glad they seem to be resting, and lets his eyes fall shut.

A small explosion startles Silver awake. At least, it sounds like a small explosion. Silver flails for his pen before he remembers, right, no magic permitted out here, and he sits up fully to assess the situation.

The prefect is on the ground, body convulsing with raucous coughs. Riddle and Grim are on either side of them, Grim rifling through their bag as the tyrant attempts to hold them upright.  

“What happened?” Silver demands. Riddle doesn’t spare him a glance.

“They’re having an asthma attack.”

---

It’s Riddle’s turn to watch the fire when he notices the prefect seems unwell. Yuu doesn’t sit so much as they lounge, face pointed away from the smoke, and as Riddle approaches, he can hear the whistle of their breath. His eyebrows scrunch in concern but he chalks it up to a lack of athleticism as he sits down next to them.

“You really ought to work on your stamina, prefect,” he says, intending to go on one of his famous lectures. The withered, half-angry look Yuu offers makes him pause, though, and he opts to drop the subject. “Anyway, are you enjoying camping so far?”

This seems to put Yuu in a better mood. They smile, though it’s a bit a strained, and nod.

“I like being out here with all of you,” they say. Riddle blushes, unsure of how to answer. Should he return the sentiment?

Before he can decide, a gust of wind blows through the campsite. A plume of smoke sweeps over him, Yuu, and Grim, and the three erupt into coughs.

Riddle recovers first. He waves the smoke away, clearing his throat, and scoots to sit closer to Silver. He expects Grim and Yuu to follow suit, but…

“Myaa! Yuu, are you okay?!”

Yuu doesn’t answer. They wheeze, shakily rise to their knees, then double back over as another wave of coughs overtakes them.

“Yuu? What’s wrong?!” Riddle scrambles to their side. He wraps an arm around them and fans the smoke away with the other. Yuu’s eyes turn to him, wide and terrified, and Riddle’s heart jumps to his throat – they’re looking to him for help, and he doesn’t even know what’s going on. “Grim, what’s happening?”

“It’s their asthma,” Grim explains, diving head-first into Yuu’s bag. “I need to find their inhaler—”

“What happened?”

Now Silver wakes up. Riddle fills him in, not taking his eyes off Yuu. He tries to pry them upright, to take the pressure off their airways, but they fold against him like a house of cards. Riddle grimaces and rubs their back in an attempt to soothe them. “Grim, the inhaler!”

“Got it!”

Riddle snatches it. Wrenching Yuu upright, he presses the inhaler into their hand, guiding it to their face. They take a generous pull, then collapse against him. While their coughs start to sputter out, their breath is still hoarse and heavy.

“We need to get them away from the smoke,” Silver says. He gently pulls the prefect away from Riddle and into a bridal carry, starting towards the cabin. “Let’s get them to Coach Vargas.”

---

It’s only natural for Coach Vargas to choose him for a special assignment, Sebek muses as he returns to camp with an armful of magic plants. He was the first student to return with a lanternblossom, not to mention his extensive training as Malleus’ personal guard. He’s certainly more capable than anyone (any mere human) on this camping trip. As he approaches the coach’s cabin, he wonders how many bonus points will be added to his grade for this excursion.

“Coach Vargas! I have acquired what you asked of me. I’m sure you’ll find my haul more than sufficient and exceeding expectations!”

“Good work, Zigzolt,” Vargas replies. He gives Sebek a hand-written note. “Here’s the potion we’ll be brewing with those plants. Make sure to follow the instructions to the tee. It’s incredibly important, understand?”

“YESSIR!”

The potion is easy enough. Water, soothewell root, and crushed lanternblossom leaves go into the pot, coming to a low boil before Sebek adds blue moonrose petals and a pinch of ground sagetree bark. Vargas stokes the fireplace. A light blue vapor begins to build, creeping over the sides of the pot. Sebek smiles in self-satisfaction; the vapor means he brewed the potion right, and that means that he’s surely aced this surprise assignment.

“Coach Vargas!”

Silver bursts in, Riddle and Grim in tow. Sebek opens his mouth to scold them – how dare they barge in on his special assignment! – but his eyes drop to the prefect in Silver’s arms and the words die on his tongue. Yuu shivers and pants, coughing here and there, eyes watery and rimmed with dark circles. It’s clear they’re unwell, and suddenly the particulars of this “special assignment” click into place for Sebek.

“Zigvolt, the potion,” Vargas instructs. He plucks the prefect from Silver’s hold and deposits them on a chair. “Upright now, slow deep breaths.”

Sebek wastes no time. He ladles some of the potion into a deep bowl and sets it in front of Yuu, the hot mixture still steaming. Blue, shimmery vapor pours from the sides. The prefect looks to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Sebek fights the urge to scoff. Doesn’t this human know anything about potions?

“Breathe in the vapor,” he instructs.

Yuu looks skeptical. They lean forward and sniff the potion. A moment passes. A look of relief passes their face, and their shoulder slump in relief. They bend over the bowl and take another long breath, soon gulping greedy lungfuls of the shimmering magic. Finally, Yuu relaxes against their chair. The boys watch them intently, as if afraid they might go into another attack.

“Feeling better?” Vargas asks at last. Yuu nods, clearing their throat.

“I’m alright now,” they say. “I’m sorry to make everyone worry.”

“Worry?!” Riddle snaps, face going scarlet. “You couldn’t breathe! We were more than just worried! Why didn’t you tell us you have a respiratory illness?!”

“Lay off,” Grim gripes, but Yuu just shushes him and pats his head. They smile apologetically at Riddle and give a sheepish shrug.

“It just… never came up?”

Sebek, Silver, and Riddle all sigh. What a troublesome prefect, Sebek thinks. He crosses his arms and huffs.

“You should have brought it up,” he scolds. Yuu, for their part, at least has the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” they say again. They offer a small smile. “Thank you all for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done if you all weren’t there.”

Sebek tries not to think about it. Instead, he focuses on cleaning up from the potion process as Silver and Riddle fuss over Yuu. Coach Vargas assigns the Equestrian Club to watch them for the rest of the trip – as if Riddle and Silver wouldn’t be doing that anyway – and Sebek almost, almost complains. Why should he be forced to keep an eye on a mere human? But, he thinks, it isn’t as if he’s incapable – far from it! And Yuu certainly could use his help. Besides, this is just like another special assignment. Just wait until Malleus learns that he singlehandedly (with some help) saved the very child of man his liege has a soft spot for. Surely, he will be most pleased.

It’s decided.

“HUMAN!” he barks. “Fear not. You are now under the watchful eye of the Equestrian Club. When we stand together, no harm shall befall you!”

[anyasivy]

Granted Surprise - Dovesso

A little origin story of how Dovey got used to Lesso calling her princess. Please note that english is NOT my first language, and I haven't read any SGE book! (I based this on the movie, and I swear I will read the books sometime.)

Enjoy <3

The first time it slipped out of Lesso's tongue, she had said it out of want— curiosity overtaking her. Knowing the good dean had been known famously as Cinderella's fairy godmother, always taking care of princesses and never being one herself. For Lesso, it had been said out of snark. A tease to pull a nerve. Maybe two. But Dovey had taken a step back that moment, bewilderment echoing on every inch of her face at the well-lit school library for Good. Her reaction had been the opposite of what Lesso had in mind. Nevertheless, she liked the small part between Dovey's lips, the little furrow of her eyebrows, and all the emotions gathering all at once in those beautiful eyes. The reaction was nothing but subtle. You could see, plain as the night sky, the complication of Dovey's feelings.

"Princess?" Dovey repeated, as though Lesso had mistaken her for one. It wasn't the intention, of course, but the dean could play along. Dovey turned around, her back facing Lesso as she fakes a giggle. "Ridiculous! Nonsense... nonsense." Her lips felt dry, and the room started heating up. Dovey calms herself down on the corner of the library between two dusty bookshelfs.

Leonora crossed her arms, examining the entirety of the situation. What would she get out of this? What more could she get of this? Dovey had reacted well to her liking. She figured that was it. Her cue to leave, that is. But she continued looking at Dovey's back, hunched over as she breathed deep and soft. Lesso lets out a small chuckle. "It was a mere word."

Like an actress' cue on a movie scene, Clarissa turned swiftly. The complications and mixed emotions that had translated in her face turned into something of fury.

"A word that is not true. I am anything but."

Lesso raises a suspicious eyebrow, "Is that insecurity I hear? Isn't the School for Good about being beautiful and all that bullshit?" The opposite was taught in the School for Evil. But the polar opposite schools taught one thing in common on all its students; acceptance. The beautiness and ugliness of everything that you are and that comes with you. There is no honest truth without the importance of acceptance. Just a farce.

The professor frowned at the profanity, looking away from Lesso's piercing gaze. "Don't even start, Lesso." She inhaled sharply, now moving past the said and unsaid things. She grabbed the hem of her dress as she walked past by the dean. "I have a class in 10." And with that, Dovey disappeared behind the two golden doors screaming of richness and of great value. Lesso would have to give it to Dovey for always brushing things off within seconds. Minutes, if she felt like it.

Leonora glares with certainty at the two golden doors. What a princess.

The second time, it had been around the other professors and the school master. It was intentional. To get a rise out of everyone but most especially at the targeted figure. The evil dean did not know why she had felt like saying it, especially around these tyrants. But the word was itching to get out of her every time Dovey's within earshot, and it just so happens Lesso loves to have that itch scratched this very moment. Dovey stared at Lesso with such confusion and hate. Good does not hate, Lesso remembered thinking, but it was a beautiful look on Dovey. She mentally chuckles.

"Lesso—"

"Yes, Princess?" Her tone was taunting, a one she wishes would perfectly rot all the goodness within Dovey. Lesso leans back in satisfaction and anticipation of what will happen next, of what emotion Dovey displays this time, and if she could ever control it and move past it like the last time.

The woman in question looks around frantically, embarrassed for both herself and Lesso. Dovey looked wary and aware of her surroundings and inviting the evil dean to be the same. But of course, Lesso couldn't care less. She wanted to see, for some reason, a look on Dovey's face. The explosion of it all. She crosses her arms, throws a daunting smirk, and tilts her head menacingly. She was inviting Dovey as well. And it went on like that for minutes, with the atmosphere granting nothing but stillness and thrill. The good and evil professors watched them profusely, batting eyes at Dovey, Lesso, and the invisible line that separates the two of them. They had known for quite a while the cockiness and evilness of Lesso, she'll kind of give it away the instant you meet her. So it wasn't really a surprise witnessing this moment right now.

Dovey exhales, slowly. She takes her time as she presses the heel of her palm against the long table, standing up while looking at Lesso. The veins in her neck were visible as she said, "Can we talk in private?"

Lesso replied with, "And leave the audience questioning the ending?" she smiles, "I do not think so. That would be rude."

"I'm sorry, let me rephrase that." She glances around at the said audience. They looked away the instant. Then she glanced back at Lesso, feeling the hard thrumming of her heart against her chest. The hatred she feels for this woman was excruciating. "Let's talk in private, Lesso."

"Was that a command, Princess?"

Dovey bites the inside of her cheek, hoping she was biting Lesso's ferocious mouth instead. And no, she did not mean that as some kind of a sexual thing.

"Yes. I'm commanding you to talk with me in private, Lesso. Now."

There was some sense of urgency in her voice, some bitterness as well that hints Dovey was not at all enjoying this. Just like what Lesso expected and liked. Without any word, she stands up as well, not breaking eye contact with Dovey. Lesso found it challenging the very first seconds, just then noticing the similarities between Dovey's eyes and the deepness of both the ocean and the universe. It doesn't make any sense at all, but it was the only thing Lesso could think of to compare at that moment.

When Lesso heaved a sigh, Dovey was the first to break and strove on her flat shoes away from the others. Lesso followed her shortly, walking just a few steps behind her, only delaying since it was hard to strut as fast as Dovey when wearing heels.

Lesso could feel the eyes of the professors and the school master aimed at her back.

Perhaps it was better they missed this part of the show.

Soon enough, Dovey led them inside one of the school's hidden rooms that consisted only of the things of those students who had failed classes 3 times and were transformed into whatever creature that sucked. Lesso closed the door behind and when she turned around... there it is.

"You look mad." The evil dean commented, there was a small curve on the side of her lips at the sight of Dovey's current situation.

"Princess?" Dovey scoffed. "Of all evil things that you could call me, that's what you picked up on?"

Lesso shrugged her shoulders, seeming ignorant. "It fits you."

"It's not even an insult!"

"Then why are you insulted?"

Dovey stopped at that, her chest rising up and down as she panted. The room felt hot again, and it was like the air was closing in on her, and she wouldn't be able to breathe the next 2 minutes.

She didn't let herself be, of course. She pulled herself together. She had to. She wasn't about to break down and cry in front of the very person she'd rather bury herself alive than be in a room with.

Dovey clears her throat, looking down at the ground and the gap between Lesso's heels. She frowns, "I don't appreciate you calling me Princess... much less with the teachers and the school master around." She announces without meeting Lesso's gaze.

Lesso tuts. "Are you commanding me?"

"I help princesses." Dovey emphasizes, and she feels her heart's walls thickening and pushing against. "I am not one."

The other dean leans against the door, crossing her arms as she did. She scanned Dovey from her adorable headpiece to the flat shoes she wears. She had plenty of the same shoes but with different colours. Unlike Lesso, who had many variations of shoes with different heights.

"I do what I want."

Lesso left without a word right after that, satisfaction ringing in her every step, leaving Dovey completely dumbfounded— irked. Dovey had tons of nerves, and she was able to pull all of them conventionally. Just what the hell was Lesso's problem? I mean, Dovey gets it, the whole being evil thing and that. But why does it have to be her, of all people? There was Emma, who is all about beauty. Not that Dovey wanted Emma to feel the same as she does when Lesso teases her, but she was the better target between the two. So why, God, why did Lesso have to pick her? She hadn't done anything to upset the evil dean. As a matter of fact, she had been cheerful and giddy the first time she met Lesso. Kind. And Lesso had glared daggers at her, perfecting it with a mischievous and smug smirk. Dovey could still remember the intimidation Lesso caused. She had shivered in her position at that moment.

Dovey caught herself against one of the walls facing the door and took a moment to keep it all together. She didn't mean to overreact, nor did she mean to storm off of the private meeting. But there was something about Lesso, the princess calling, and the look she gave her every single time. Something so deeply irritating.

She couldn't put a pin on it. And she does not wish to waste her time trying to. She'd just reason that it was Lesso. Simply Lesso.

Dovey nodded her head at herself, decisive.

The most recent time Lesso had called her princess, Dovey hadn't reacted. She hadn't shifted uncomfortably in her position. She hadn't frowned. She hadn't shot a dreadful glare at Lesso, nor did she demand a private chat. She just went on with what she was doing; looking over at books for her next class. There had been a great improvement in regards to the School for Good and its lessons to its students. Dovey just can't be truly sure if it was an improvement she agrees on, but nonetheless, there were rules to follow.

Leonora visibly looked a bit excited at this development. Dovey caught it and chuckled. The evil dean takes a step closer from where Dovey was working. "Well, this is a surprise." Granted surprise. Lesso comments, her eyes observing the tiniest inch of Dovey's face to see if there was anything, anything at all, that could hint her that this was a facade. That Dovey had practised herself into not reacting. But there wasn't. Lesso bit her lip, "Princess it is."

"What book did you need again?" Clarissa asks, moving past it and hoping Lesso would do the same. She did. Lesso places her arms on her sides and starts off the furthest corner of the room. Dovey walked behind her. There was a bookshelf with a title on the top, 'Beauty Spells'. Lesso grabbed the thickest book on the display. "You're grabbing a beauty spell book." She points at it.

"We need more ugly spells. I can't have never students this year be particularly into their looks." Lesso scans the book, brushing off Clarissa's eyebrows furrowing.

"Beauty spells doesn't exactly help with that." There was a humour in her tone, a friendly remark. Lesso can't decide whether she should let it be or comment on it to completely get rid of whatever was on Dovey's mind that could clue her Lesso didn't mind being... casual. She definitely minds.

Lesso went around Dovey, walking past her. She could hear distant footsteps behind. "I don't need anything more, Princess." And the footsteps halted.

She sighs as she exits the library, but not without Dovey's, "That is a beauty spell book, Lesso!" shouted from across the library. Lesso mentally laughs at Dovey's brazeness. All evers are brazen, she realizes. And it is exactly why she doesn't get along with them. Lesso loved shame. The petrified look on people's faces as they realize what they had done was more than an embarrassment. It was art in her eyes. Evers were an offence to that.

This time, when Lesso had called her princess— Dovey smiled. Like a true, genuine smile. Perhaps it was also because of the context and the scene before them. But Dovey smiled at the nickname, Princess, which Lesso had been throwing around to spite her back then.

"What do you know?" Dovey confidently speaks, "Good wins again!" She sang cheerfully, her chest exploding in warmth and joy as the Ever students broke into screams of success and effort. It was a good and exciting battle, and Dovey hadn't doubted her students a tiny bit. They had been well-trained all year round. And God knows Clarissa had spent all the time she could to harness them.

Lesso sulks behind her. "What do you know." There was sarcasm haunting her voice. Dovey only giggles at it. "Next year, it will be us. We have to balance it out, Clarissa. Good has been winning for almost a hundred years. That is not something we can just approve of."

Dovey scrunches her nose at her. "Next year, then!" She exclaims, not a single ounce of happiness lost at Leonora's snark. Before the evil dean could rain even more on her parade, Dovey descended down the stairs and unto her precious evers. Lesso groans at the sight of it.

"Next year, Princess."

[lady-rose-moon]

Lil' angst drabble

My Main Masterlist

Warnings: you might cry, I felt like doing this, not sorry! Love you all!

As he walked toward you, his boots echoing in the silence of Stark's living room, you backed away with your heart racing, fear evident in your eyes as you watched him. His face was so handsome, so alike to how it had looked just a year ago before he fell from the Bifrost yet so unfamiliar now with his twisted personality.

"Kneel or die," he growled at you, his magic glowing around his hands and you saw it looked more poisoned than green and your heart broke for him. You knew he was being controlled, you knew he didn't want to do it. You knew your death was the key to releasing him.

"I shall never kneel to a tyrant," you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his as he grabbed your neck and pulled you toward him.

He scared you in that moment, his eyes so full of rage and hate that you almost believed it but you knew it wasn't him, not really. "I shall not kneel," you repeated, your voice shaking at the realisation you were sealing your death but you had to free him, "not until you are free."

Loki snarled and then his expression became controlled as a lengthy dagger appeared in his hand. "So be it," he whispered, thrusting the knife into your chest, holding you tight as you gasped and your breathing became staggered.

Your instincts screamed at you to push away, to try and seek help but you wouldn't. You couldn't. This was it. Your legs shook and you began to fall but he caught you, confusion rose into his eyes as he studied you before they landed on the dagger in his hand. His eyes were the most beautiful green that you'd ever seen now. It had worked. Killing you had freed him.

"No," he croaked, tears forming quickly in his eyes as his hand dropped the dagger in order to cup your face. "No, stay with me, stay with me," he whispered, dropping to his knees to hold your dying body.

You whimpered against his body, the pain unbearable and your body beginning to shut down but you kept your eyes on him. "It worked..." you whispered brokenly, your voice hoarse and blood trickling down from your mouth, "I... I s-saved... you."

"Indeed," he whispered in a hurry, tears falling like rivers down his cheeks, "indeed you saved me and now you must live to see the fruits of your labour!"

"I... cannot," you replied softly, a pained smile crossing your lips as relaxation began to fill your body. You were so tired. "I had to save you," you whispered, mustering up all your strength to speak with him, "I had... to... you're... their only... hope."

"No," he hissed, holding your cheek, forcing your eyes to remain open, "stay with me, I can't let you die."

You smiled at him and squeezed his wrist as you felt sleep begin to overtake your consciousness. "I... love..." you whispered softly, your words more difficult to focus on now, "...you."

Loki's eyes widened and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your brow, sobs racking his body. "I love you too," he whispered firmly, pressing another kiss to your brow, "don't leave me... please. I'm so sorry."

But when he looked down at you, your eyes were closed and you were still. You were dead. Loki's heart shattered as he stared down at your lifeless body, caressing your cheek as he sobbed. His mind was clearer than it had been in months and he could not celebrate. He could never celebrate.

You were gone. And he... he was still here.

Main tags:

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @silverfire475 @chantsdemarins @iamsherlocked1479 @kittiowolf210 @just-someone11 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loki-laufeyson-1054 @fictive-sl0th @coldnique

[railroadlion]

ENTROPY

Entropy is the main recurring villain of Catoms. He once ruled the microverse with an iron grip on chaos! But one day, all the Catoms came together and used their powers of creation to form Non-Metal city, and create a new era of order in the microverse! With order overtaking chaos, entropy lost almost all of his power, and his body turned to stone.

Now, with his floating head wishing to regain his former glory, entropy sows seeds of chaos all over the microverse, hoping to one day collapse catom society, and regain his place as Tyrant of Chaos!

[ei-w]

blind for all time always [ao3] (words: 500; tw: physical abuse)

[a short fiction that wanted to write itself today]

---

Glass shattered in the quietness, jingling on the ancient tiles. Only a second later did Clockwork recognise the noise could be traced back to their chest construction. Gloved fingers rushed to grip around the frail part to keep it together, retraining it from any further loss.

As they had fallen to the ground, the frame and casket must have been damaged, the vessel over their core crashing on a section, spreading spiderweb fissures through its entirety. The corner didn't exist anymore on the upper right side. Loose shards hung in mere air, not yet developed enough hairlines separating them to join the fallen pieces on the dorm floor. The chest broke, unchangeably. It deformed for eternity.

The Master of All Time halted in recognition of the seriousness of the harm that the sudden strike of power induced on them when roughly pushing them to the floor with a blast. A minute, maybe a second, departed them to end up with an exposed core, with no protection in case of any other assault. They had never experienced such fragility. It was cold and biting -- like death felt, dread overtaking one's existence.

The event shocked them. In an unfortunate moment, Clockwork glanced at their attacker with a hissed sneer, to the figure who towered vastly above their weakened laying body.

Pariah's eyes were burning. His crown and ring glowed threateningly in the faint light of their lair, flaring with power and anger within the dimness of their private dorm.

Their love never behaved like that, yet this treatment was justified. Clockwork knew it was. They went too far this time, and their meddling was revealed for Pariah, too. It was like a stab across a mortal heart. Unforgivable betrayal, a ploy summoned behind the curtains of the commander, as if laughing at his obliviousness…

Ectoplasm dripped next to Clockwork's aching tail that curled on the tiles. The old greyish blueness shone with shiny greenness now, seeming alien against the natural dull colour. Their contour quavered in the shadow of the tyrant. Fear reverberated from their core even though this attack was foreseen for a while. Deep down, Clockwork was struck with the terror of the continuation to unfold.

Still, they knew this moment would eventually come. They had ignored it until this moment, though. They had loved the man, and still would love him after everything, but until now, they hoped their visions were wrong about this day.

This moment had formed in their mind long ago, along with Pariah's first appearance. They had always refused to accept this future -- that everything would be led to the here and now.

The truth was, even after their core was shattered, and a part of it would be ripped out by the one they loved, Clockwork knew they would refuse that this horrific event ever happened. They would forget that they suffered through this harassment by his hand and had survived it -- barely, but they did.

They were blind. Always blind. Blind for Pariah.

[impuretale]

BG3: Preview of the Next Chapter (in Progress)

[Baldur's Gate III Fic: Rectified (Ao3 link)]

There is a period – in that terrible instant that you can feel your body dying, the last impulses of your brain trying to command every fiber, jump-start the organs that are no longer responding, the desperate, flagging, painful fight against oblivion – where your thoughts race to wonder if these are the last ones you are having, right now. When does thinking stop? When does I come to an end? How many more seconds? Even as a person of faith, even knowing and able to quantify the existence of a soul, this terror remains. Not even promises of rest or eternal suffering can overtake it, not in the moment when it finally arrives.

For Enver Gortash, what it managed to eclipse was something rather more than faith or even just the strong idea of an after: the shadow passing over his vision of that familiar hand, ever-present and commanding, a patch of dark somehow stark against nothingness, closing into a fist around his inner being. After a years-long and tireless climb, his soul was at last conferred to bitter failure, and his god awaited the last beat of his heart with passionless finality.

For those that would reach this precipice, whatever awaited them past the edge, there was always the revelation of something after. That the I did indeed go on existing for many, even when there was no longer a brain and nerves for that idea to travel by.

And that was surely what the fingers of the Black Hand was waiting to clench around, to punish.

But the hand was gone. And for whatever span of time that there was no physical body to contain that I, as certain as Gortash was somewhere in the core of him that such a thing occurred, suddenly that time was over.

Blackness and a void at first. Nothing. Blessed nothing.

Then the strange warmth of slowly ascending consciousness. Ears that heard the hiss and whir of machinery around him, the gentle awareness of limbs, of a beating heart, of taking shallow breaths. A mind methodically and silently checking that each cluster of flesh machines it was in control of were indeed there.

A twitch.

Something moved, somewhere behind his eye. Nestled somewhere in the soft curvature of his being, back where originally there had been only the steady voice of the Tyrant, but more present, with more weight, intruding.

A flash of memory. No clear picture, just the certainty that something had occurred that explained it.

But interrupted too quickly by new sensation: a rush of panic and his stomach dropping as gravity took hold of him.

Vision returned just in time for his face to meet the floor.

Gortash groaned, burning pain radiating up through his body as it remembered what hurt was. The battle in his office felt distant like a dream, as did memories of grave injuries, their absence bringing more awareness to his still-awakening form. He felt a shudder in the floor beneath him, the touch of it almost leathery where needles of hurt finally left his fingers. He heard the crackle of fire and the rush of wind somewhere nearby, and all of these collectively finally induced him to try to move, to take inventory of his surroundings.

If anyone was going to see the too-organic formations around them, the row of empty and broken pods, including the one they just fell from, and know these things as Illithid, it would be someone who had not just seen the inside of one of their colonies but also came and went from it willingly and fearlessly more than once.

This man, right now, was overtaken with neither will nor the absence of fear.

And where instinct still had him reaching for that voice and presence for answers, even reassurance, even knowing that it had just been poised to rend his very soul? Instead, that squirm that made his teeth hurt and his empty stomach threaten to retch, and all of the calculations began to come, at last, together.

No.

[the-eternal-quest-for-balance]

This is the breakdown they've been trying to start since George " The Criminal " Floyd died of a drug overdose and the Country got set on fire. Folks, as bad as you think it is, it's worse. As bad as you think their plans for you are, they're worse.

If y'all pray, I'd suggest you up your knees time.

The destruction, loss of life, and misery, the UniParty, Globalists, Communists, as well as the Tyrant Party in the majority, is about to unleash to get their way, stop an election, possibly make another attempt on Trumps life is only just starting.