#The sun is out and it's below freezing that's unnatural

[maple-seed]

Pray for me, besties. I'm a tropical creature. I'm not built for this.

[pookalicious-hq]

pt.1 - first glance... miya atsumu x reader

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˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚part of the all japan youth summer games crossover event! synopsis: atsumu realizes love at first sight is a real thing when he falls victim to it himself. tags/tws: crossover au, insta stalker atsumu, swearing, fighting, love at first sight, jjk!mma!reader word count: 2.6k

He wasn’t someone who believed in ‘love at first sight.’ The whole idea seemed ridiculous—how could anyone genuinely fall for someone without even knowing them? To Miya Atsumu, that was just dumb. Obsession, maybe. Fascination, sure. But love? Never.

At least, that’s what he used to think.

Now, he’s standing across the street, eyes locked on you. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the street, reflecting off the glass windows behind you. He didn’t mean to stare, but something about the way you move—quick, sharp, with the kind of confidence that suggests you’ve done this a thousand times before—freezes him in place. The air feels heavy, the distant hum of traffic blurring around him.

He notices it immediately—the way your body tenses, the subtle shift in your stance as you speak to the guy. The (probably natural) blond with the cocky grin who’s crowding you, his voice low but just audible enough to grate on Atsumu’s nerves from across the street. The way his hand inches too close to your arm makes Atsumu’s jaw tighten.

His legs were carrying him across the pavement, the scuff of his shoes on the concrete loud in his ears. He can feel the heat rising in his chest—righteous, determined—as he prepares to step in. The guy looks like the type to push boundaries and Atsumu figures it wouldn’t take much to ‘accidentally’ knock him over.

But just as he’s ready to intervene, you move.

A blur of motion.

Before Atsumu can even register what’s happening, you twist the guy’s arm in one fluid motion. The soft crack of joints bending the wrong way cuts through the air, and in the next breath, you kick his knee out from under him. He collapses with a grunt. Atsumu barely catches his breath, his heart pounding in his ears. You stand there, perfectly calm, as if you’d just brushed off a speck of dust.

Holy shit. That was the coolest thing he’d ever seen.

The shock on his face still hadn’t faded. The heroic plan he’d crafted—his chance to step in—had vanished, slipping through his fingers. He’s only about ten meters away, close enough to see the guy crumpled at your feet, but it’s the gritty scrape of his shoes against the empty sidewalk that snaps him back to reality.

Your eyes lift to meet his—sharp, guarded, with a flicker of something he can’t quite name. His chest tightens under the weight of your stare, locking him in place like he’s been frozen mid-step, teetering between awe and disbelief.

The air feels heavy between you, still and charged with something he doesn’t understand. The way you look at him—unwavering, unreadable—roots him to the spot, the silence stretching out as if the world itself is holding its breath.

Then, without a word, you turn and leave, your steps quiet against the concrete. The warmth in the air fades with you, as if the sun itself slipped below the horizon, leaving him in the sudden chill of your absence. Alone, except for the guy still groaning on the ground, Atsumu stands there—utterly breathless, the world feeling a little colder.

The next day, Atsumu can’t get you out of his head. The image of you, twisting that guy’s arm with such casual precision, loops in his mind like a broken record. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it again—the fluidity of your movements, the snap of your opponent’s joints bending unnaturally, the sharp sound of his knee hitting the concrete, and you, standing there, completely unfazed. It’s the way you moved, like you were born to fight, like you were in complete control of everything around you.

He can’t stop thinking about how effortless it seemed. How you handled it all with cold precision, no hesitation, no drama. Nothing like the showy nonsense that always accompanies a fight in the movies. It was real, raw, and... powerful. Atsumu feels his pulse quicken again when he thinks about it.

Later that day, he finds himself telling Samu, his words tumbling out faster than he can think.

“I don’t even know who she is! She just… took down this dude like it was nothin’,” Atsumu says, still a little breathless from the memory. He laughs, but it’s half nervous, half in awe. His fingers drum against the table as he relives it again, still caught in the shock of what he saw.

Osamu, as usual, is the calm one. He doesn’t even look up from his phone as he arches an eyebrow, his voice low but knowing. “If she was able to take a guy down like that, she’s probably part of the MMA program, idiot.” He shrugs, the sound of his phone clicking like a faint echo. “Ya should just forget about it. Yer never gonna see ‘er again. Plus, she sounds way outta yer league.”

But Atsumu can’t let it go. The image of you—confident, beautiful, in control—clings to him like the sticky summer heat, relentless and inescapable. Every time he tries to focus on something else, his thoughts drift back to you. He’s distracted in class, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his desk, the soft scrape of the pen’s nib against paper matching the way his thoughts keep circling. Even when he’s practicing, he can’t shake the memory. His body moves automatically, but his mind is somewhere else, replaying that fight over and over again.

That evening, as the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the city streets, Atsumu decides he’s had enough of trying to ignore it.

It’s not like him to let something linger, especially not when it’s this damn interesting. He needs to know more, to understand what kind of person you are, how you move, what drives you. This isn’t just a passing curiosity—it’s gnawing at him, growing stronger by the second.

A few days later, after asking around and hitting dead ends, he finally finds it: your Instagram. His fingers tremble slightly as he types your name into the search bar. The screen flickers to life, and there you are, your feed full of clips of you fighting—every video more intense than the last.

Each one hits him like a punch to the gut, his chest tightening with a strange mix of admiration and disbelief. You fight like you were born to do it, each move smooth and sure, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. He watches, transfixed, as you take down opponent after opponent. The power in your punches, the way you anticipate every move, the way your body flows with the fight—it’s mesmerizing. The crowd in the videos roars with every takedown, but all Atsumu hears is the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart that matches the rhythm of the fights.

There’s something magnetic about it. About you. About the way you make it look so easy.

His fingers hover over the screen, pausing on a video where you’re facing off against a particularly big guy. It’s over in seconds, and Atsumu finds himself rewinding it again, then again, just to catch every movement, every shift of muscle, every flicker of determination on your face. You don’t just win—you dominate. And with every second, Atsumu feels that same spark of something unfamiliar in his chest, something that makes his stomach flutter and his head spin. It’s not just admiration. It’s something else, something deeper.

Finally, after more scrolling and more clicks, he finds the name of the gym you train at: Jujutsu Kaisen Curses. It’s a name he’s heard thrown around before, whispers of a place known for its brutal training and the toughest athletes in the country. But now that he’s seen you in action, it’s clear: this isn’t just some regular gym. It’s where people like you go to become something more.

Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, feeling suddenly out of his depth. He’s used to the world of volleyball—his world. But this? This is different. The people who fight at places like Jujutsu Kaisen Curses don’t play games. They don’t just train. They live and breathe this life.

And you, the girl who knocked that guy down like it was nothing, belong in this world—this completely different world, one that’s far removed from the shiny courts and bright lights of volleyball.

He stares at your Instagram feed again, the blue light of his phone casting shadows on his face. A strange feeling bubbles in his chest. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he can’t get you out of his head. Not anymore.

The buzz of excitement fills the air as Atsumu and Hinata make their way through the crowded arena, the concrete floor vibrating beneath their feet with every step. The place is packed—far more people than Atsumu expected for an MMA event. Rows upon rows of bleachers stretch out before them, a sea of faces all eager for the same thing: the fight. But for Atsumu, it’s not just any fight he’s here for.

It’s your fight.

Hinata’s voice cuts through the noise as he pulls Atsumu along, a grin plastered on his face. “Man, I didn’t realize this was such a big deal! Look at all these people! Looks like an actual pro event.”

Atsumu’s response is distracted, his eyes scanning the arena, trying to catch sight of the ring. The walls are lined with posters, some flashy, some understated, all advertising the fighters, but none of them matter. Not to him.

“Yeah,” Atsumu mutters, a hand running through his hair, his eyes flicking nervously from the crowd to the bright lights overhead. “But you know why I’m really here, right?”

Hinata shoots him a knowing look, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah. You’re here to see that girl you’ve been stalking? Are you gonna ask for her autograph?”

Atsumu’s cheeks heat up, a little embarrassed, but the thrill of anticipation still buzzes through his veins. It’s not like that... not exactly. He’s here because he has to see her in action again, to see if the fight really was as effortless as it seemed from the clips. There’s no way he’s going to let the image of her slip away. Not after everything that’s been swirling in his head.

They reach their seats, and Atsumu’s stomach does a flip. The crowd around them is growing louder as the lights dim, a ripple of excitement running through the stands. The air feels thick with tension and anticipation, the hum of murmured conversations vibrating through the stands. He takes a seat, feeling the hard plastic beneath him, but his eyes are glued to the far side of the arena, where the fighters will enter.

Hinata, practically bouncing in his seat, grins at Atsumu. “This is gonna be awesome! You’re gonna love it! I Yuji said that some of these fights get crazy.”

But Atsumu’s barely listening. His mind is focused entirely on the ring. He’s seen the posters with your name on it, your face etched into his memory from those Instagram videos. It’s surreal—he never imagined he’d actually be here, sitting in a seat, watching you live.

The first match starts, but Atsumu doesn’t really care. He watches, but his mind is still on you. Every fight feels like a blur until the announcement comes:

“Next up, Yin from Jujutsu Kaisen Curses, second-year fighter in the Flyweights.”

Atsumu’s heart skips a beat. His fingers tighten around the edge of his seat as the lights flash, and he leans forward, every nerve in his body on alert. The crowd roars in approval as the first fighter enters the ring, but Atsumu’s gaze doesn’t stray. He’s waiting for you. He’s waiting for the moment he’s been replaying in his head since he saw you take down that guy on the street.

The buzz in the air heightens as your name is called, and the crowd’s cheers almost drown out everything else. It’s not until the spotlight falls on you, your figure emerging from the shadows, that Atsumu feels like he can finally breathe again. His eyes lock on you instantly. You’re even more striking in person, the way you carry yourself with confidence, the kind of confidence that makes everyone else in the room fall quiet in comparison. The way your presence cuts through the noise, commanding attention with each step, each movement.

Hinata leans in, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. “Whoa... she’s got a whole vibe about her, huh?”

Atsumu nods, his jaw tightening. He can’t look away, not even if he tried. There’s something magnetic about you—your posture, the way you move, the way your eyes scan the crowd as you make your way to the ring. It’s like you already know how this will end, and everyone around you is just watching you prove it.

Your opponent, a figure that dwarfs you, sneers as you step into the ring, but you don’t flinch. You barely acknowledge her, your focus already set. Atsumu’s heart races in his chest, his fingers tapping on the plastic of the seat in front of him as he leans forward, eyes locked on you.

The bell rings.

Without hesitation, you strike. It’s fast. So fast Atsumu almost misses it. Your body moves like liquid—graceful but lethal. The crowd erupts into cheers, but Atsumu’s only focus is you, his eyes tracing every movement. You dodge, duck, and weave with ease, your opponent’s attacks missing by mere inches. The power in your strikes is undeniable, each one landing with precision, each hit making the crowd roar even louder.

Atsumu’s pulse quickens. It’s nothing like he imagined—no flashy moves, no over-the-top theatrics. Just pure, raw skill. You’re in your element, and watching you, Atsumu realizes, this is where you belong. He’s seen good athletes before, but nothing like this. The fight, the tension, the thrill of watching someone completely dominate... it’s all new to him. And he can’t look away.

A few minutes in, the fight is already nearing its end. Your opponent is panting, and stumbling, and in the blink of an eye, you take her down, a swift kick that sends her crashing to the mat. The crowd goes wild, but Atsumu barely hears them. His chest is tight, his head buzzing with the adrenaline of watching you. You’re standing there, breath steady, not even breaking a sweat, and Atsumu’s heart skips again.

He’s been hooked. Completely.

“Holy shit! That was insane!” Hinata says, practically vibrating in his seat. Atsumu doesn’t respond immediately. He’s still watching you, still absorbing the fact that you’re standing there, victorious, and it’s like his brain hasn’t caught up to his heart yet.

The fight’s over, but for Atsumu, the moment is just beginning.

a/n: omg atsumu is such a stalker but he's just obsessed mk? there will be a part two pookies <3

taglist: no one <3 lmk if you wanna be added!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Guys, guys...

What about a Dark version of my The Last Animus AU?

Perhaps Reader was the last animus in their past life, but was killed by or were killed due to the adult platonic yanderes?

Maybe Reader was their adopted dragonet from a random egg they found or were given. Maybe Reader is their flesh and blood dragonet, but who inherited the magic or was magicked into being an animus by one. Maybe Reader was a mysterious hatchling given to them by an ex (friend, lover, enemy, etc. ). Either way, some of them had Reader with them since they were itty bitty, if not in the egg. And maybe they weren't always nice to Reader, or maybe they did care about them, but the moment they discovered they had magic... that they were an animus... They grew colder. Meaner. More dangerous and volatile than they were before. Yet Reader, for some reason, doesn't leave then or hurt them, even if the adults goad at them to do it. To prove how wicked they are. How dangerous and unnatural they are, for being an animus...

It comes to a head when Reader, when asked if they ever made a spell for the adult platonic yans or enchanted something for them, answers they did... Yet before they can say anything besides yes, they're driven out. Roared at and almost attacked as they try to explain themselves. Reader flees into the night/dawn, flying as far away as they can...

Yet the adults don't leave it at that. All of their worst fears about animus dragons, about Reader, were true... So with thundering wings they go to form a group of animus hunters, with the intent to stop the "monster" they didn't kill when they should have... It takes a few weeks, perhaps even a few months, to hunt down Reader. And it doesn't take but a few false kind words, a couple of hollow apologies and white-washed promises, to coax them out...

And it only takes a moment to send sharp chakrams through their wings, grounding them, while one of them delivers the killing blow, driving a long, sharp spear through their chest, impaling them into the cold earth below...

And all Reader can do is cry, laying there as their sobs and wails echo into nothing in the wide emptiness around them, their tears stinging their eyes and chest hurting with each breath and shiver... Their eyes burn, as they lay there in their final moments, realizing too late that they were never accepted... Never cared about... Never loved...

Their cracked sobs soon turn to gasping whimpers, and those too soon turn to fading sighs... And then they're gone...

And the world turns to H*ll.

The ground around them, stained and wetted by their blood and tears, freezes over, sharp spikes and crystals sprouting from the dirt, almost impaling several of the hunters. The very skies darken, the sun or moons blocked by shadowy clouds, as freezing rain and crackling hailstones crash around them. As the hunters start to panic, the earth starts to crack open, fissures forming and sending rocks tumbling into their inner chasms as the remaining dragons take flight, hoping to outrun the chaos all around them. Yet as they all separate, nothing gets better...

The adult platonic yans end up having to detour through a few kingdoms as they try to head back home, only finding chaos and terror everywhere they go. Entire cities on fire by blazing lightning... swathes and swathes of dead, rotting prey... Bloodied rivers and lakes, with frozen shores and burning water... And it only grows worse each passing moon cycle...

They eventually make it back home, sheltering inside to wait out what can only be considered the end of the world... And they're left with nothing else to do except look through their things, until they reach Reader's small cave/room/section... The small area is dark, until they light up a small lamp to shed light. They find well-loved scrolls and books, mostly fantasy, about happier lives and friendships and family... Worn blankets, curled up into a corner of the room, lined with almost every item Reader owned, be it a raggedy stuffed dragon or hand-made necklace or small wood and stone carvings... It feels... surreal, beinh in the room of their old child... Yet as they look further... they find hidden inside a carved-out book a small scroll... But written on the scroll are spells... spells made by Reader...

One to keep the adults' food warm until they eat it... One to keep their blankets warm at the perfect temperature... A few that protect their rooms and home from any accidents or disasters... Two that will alert Reader to when they are upset, and when it is safe for Reader to approach them... And at the bottom, written in scratchy letters, is a spell that makes it so the adults are unable to be mortally wounded or able to die an unnatural death...

And suddenly...

They realize they made the worst mistake of their lives.

They'd... They'd thought Reader was evil- they were an animus, they could do anything or make anything reality- they even admitted to enchanting them-!

But they didn't think for a minute that Reader had only used their magic to help them, had they? They hadn't even given then the benefit of the doubt. They'd... they'd just... yelled at them. Chased them off... And they even... They...

They feel ice creep down their spines, pain biting and clawing ooen their hearts and chests, strangling the words from leaving their throats...

They'd... killed... them.

They'd killed their own kid.

And whatever excuses or denial they had came tumbling and crashing down, breaking them thoroughly inside and out, leaving nothing but a shell of who they used to be.

They... they had helped murder their own dragonet. One they'd raised, who they'd known for their entire life-! They'd just, they'd- their talons- the screams- the wailing- dark ichor bubbling out- frozen dirt and burning skies and they were dead and its all their fault.

They leave, hoping to escape the new h*ll they'd created. Yet over the years, the decades... dragonets are born less and less. Eggs start coming out cracked, never to hatch. The kingdoms fall into chaos and fear as their world slowly dies around them... Until a discovery is made, kickstarting the first bit of hope anyone had had in ages: Animus touched items are unaffected by the deaths of the animi.

Bowls that double anything put in them; holes in the ice that always gives a seal to the hungry talons reaching down; spears that heal wounds; jewels that let others talk in their dreams; earrings of protection; armbands that summon real, fresh rain and storms; the list goes on and on, but one things is clear to everyone: Whatever an animus enchanted is unaffected by their deaths. Whatever those items do is not cursed or double-edged.

This gives rise to the cults.

They start small, dragons preaching about how the moons and spirits and great dragons have left them, abandoning them due to their greed and cruelty. That the animus dragons must have been their chosen ones. And now that they're all gone, they have started to kill their world. Dragons start praying, offering small items and begging forgiveness and making promises to never do such a sin again. And it only grows from there, as soon sacrifices are made, leaders are chosen for the cults, and each one starts to dedicate themselves to certain animus or to several, each writing down what was known about them and their life. Hymns and oaths are written down, soon chanted through the temples that rise from the ashes of the old world... And then the final act that starts to renew the world around them, starts to heal it:

The execution of those who used, hunted, or spread lies of the animi.

Greedy queens are ripped from their thrones, cast into the tearing talons of their subjects, who rend them limb from limb, out of anger and fear and desperation, for letting their greed and bloodthirstiness help bring down the dragons who'd served them faithfully. Animus hunters are soon the hunted, being brought back to the temples and either killed or converted, leaving nothing much either way. Any dragon who speaks ill of animi is disposed of or corrected, and this is how the new age begins...

It takes centuries before the first animus reincarnates.

The enchantment Reader made to keep them alive is the only reason the adults are still around, as they can't bring themself to take off the one thing they have left from them, the one last thing Reader did for them... They've had all of that time to grow, to change, to remake themselves and to start fixing the world around them. Perhaps they help dragons in need; perhaps they travel and share stories of Reader; maybe they even run their own temple or two, ones dedicated to their dragonet...

But when they find the new animus dragonets, as they slowly pop up over the different kingdoms...

They decide to raise them. To care for them. To accept then and love them and protect them, the way they should have all those many years ago...

It's lonely, waiting for the day that Reader will come back...

But they'd wait another thousand years if it meant they got to see them again, to apologize... To try and be a family as they should have been from the start... And they have plenty of siblings and other parents for Reader, don't they? Enough dragons and dragonets so they'd never be lonely or wanting for anyone... Just... please.... They beg their dragonet to come back... This time they'll do better, they promise...

[only-lonely-stars]

Splintered Ice

Oneshot – (FFN) (AO3)

Summary:

For all intents and purposes, the Ice Emperor is dead. However, his ghost remains, in icy joints and frosted eyes. How can Zane trust himself not to become him again? How can he heal? How could anyone begin to forgive him?

Ice cracks. It splinters. It shatters. Zane shivered; every movement, punctuated by the sound of fractures. What was it like to move freely- to not be frozen to his seat? To feel human, instead of frozen? To feel alive…

Crack, crack, crack, snap. The cold anthem of his existence. An orchestra of fractured glass. Horrible, beautiful.

Everything was white and gray. What did color look like, again? His mind was sluggish. No matter where he looked, the world was hidden by a panel of frosted glass, shielded from his tyranny. Maybe it was better that way.

The door creaked open, and Zane's frosted eyes slowly panned to it. He started, edging away as Pixal approached him with a plate of hot food and a sympathetic smile. Whatever she was saying was lost to his ears; he backed away, trying to tell her to flee. What if she froze? What if there was no way for Kai to thaw her? What if he controlled her?

No sound escaped his throat; only the sound of cracking ice. Pixal smiled gently and nodded; she gave him space but stayed in the room. How foolish. Zane shivered violently, snowflakes falling from his hair. Why wouldn't she leave? Didn't she value her safety?

Logically, Zane already knew the answer. She was a nindroid, like him. She believed he wasn't a threat. But what if he was? What if she was wrong?

Something clinked loudly on the ground; an icicle, falling from his hand and joining the pile below.

Was it just Zane, or did it feel like the world was tilting off its axis? He leaned on his hands, trying to support himself as the world spun out of order. What was happening to him? The warmth of the sun streaming through the window felt far-away, glinting off his metal in a painful glare on the permafrost.

Pixal shielded her eyes, and Zane felt pure, unadulterated guilt. It swelled up in his stomach, hot and painful and unnatural. He hated it. How could he let this happen?

Zane hugged himself tightly, attention turning inward. Maybe he deserved this, as punishment for freezing the Never Realm and all its people. Because he believed Vex. Maybe he deserved this for so blindly thinking he could safely reboot that accursed mech. It- it was all his fault, anyway! If he hadn't dragged it into that cave, or hadn't tried to fix it, or had looked around before he interfaced with it, or had backed up his memories again, or had just thought twice about what Vex said, this wouldn't be happening!

He heard a muffled voice, murmuring comforting words, but he knew he didn't deserve them. Pixal was always so compassionate. Too compassionate for a slow, outdated droid like him. An old operating system in a new body- a relic, whose only value was his power source.

Was he always like this? Maybe the veil had just been lifted away, showing the true horror of his nature– his inhumanity, finally on display for an entire world to see. It was all he could do to afford himself the mercy of gratitude that it wasn't Ninjago that saw his awful nature. They used to know him as a beacon of justice, light, and truth. What was he now? A tyrant? His memory banks were empty of decades of information. What had he done for the past twenty years? Thirty, perhaps? Maybe even forty? All of it was blank, wiped from his mind by the very staff that corrupted him.

Where was that accursed staff, anyway? Had he truly broken it? Even now, he could remember the feeling of it in his grip, heavy and slick. It released hidden power– did it also release hidden intentions? Maybe he had always wanted to rule. He still felt its heavy weight in his hand, cold and cruel.

Zane shivered again, and more snowflakes fell into the food before him. The world had stopped spinning, leaving him feeling numb. The plate of food in front of him was no longer steaming, having its heat sapped by his ice.

The frost over his eyes was thicker, but he saw Pixal, edging closer to him. She put her hand on his, and Zane felt even more numb. She had to know he was going to freeze her, right? Did she really trust him enough not to be afraid? He frowned, unmotivated to correct her mistaken trust. She would see eventually. He remembered so little about her anymore, but he remembered that she would never budge when she chose to do something. She was grounded. He didn't remember being like that, even though he knew he was once. Didn't someone once tell him that time erodes memory and mind alike?

Maybe it would be okay to submit to her affections, just once. Surely it wouldn't hurt her, right? Slowly, he knitted his fingers together with hers, as small chunks of ice splintered from his joints. She held his hand tightly, and murmured in his ear. Zane shook his head, clearing the frozen fog for a moment. He needed to eat; as one of the perks of being Borg's most advanced machine, he ran almost like a person would. Including digestion.

Pixal raised a piece of warm bread to his mouth, and he ate without tasting. The warmth radiated through him, gone too quickly. He ate more, giving her a faint, frostbitten smile. She was too good for him. How did he deserve her care?

The food was gone before Zane realized. When was the last time he had eaten? Either way, the room felt less cold. Stable. Almost like home. With Pixal, anywhere felt like that, he was remembering. He felt safe.

He blinked slowly, watching the frost on his eyes break off as ice and fall. His ears were ringing- weird. Pixal took the dishes and kissed him on the cheek, but he was unable to look at her; as he tried to turn his neck, the sound of ice breaking heralded his effort. Instead, he focused on clearing his mind. A few deep breaths brought a sense of calm, and Zane relaxed a little. He hadn't hurt Pixal. She was safe from him.

A few more bits of ice fell out of his hair, looking akin to diamonds. Zane smiled for a fleeting moment. He would be okay, right?

He sighed. "Okay" was a relative term at best, after all. For now, for his own safety (and more importantly, for everyone else), he would stay isolated. He laid down, looking at the ceiling as tendrils of frost again invaded his vision. Just for now, he would wait…

It wasn't hiding, right?

No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. It was really self-preservation.

Zane smiled faintly, closing his eyes. It was a good idea to stay away, just for a little longer. Even if it meant locked, icy joints. Even if it meant an inability to sit up. Even if it meant disappearing. It was in everyone's best interests. It was a good thing.

[eleonoraalbright]

Evil of the Thriller

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

Excerpt: You heard the door slam and realized it was too late. There was nowhere left to run or even hide. A cold hand clutched you shoulder, and you wondered if you'd ever feel the warm sun against your cheeks and enjoy the sweet, summertime air with you friends. Would you ever see them again? Would you ever see Peter again?

A/N: The gif below doesn't really have anything to do with the story. I just found it sorta halloweeny and funny. Also, there's a little bit of mild gore.

Something moved in the bushes behind you. Spinning around to see the source of the sound, you saw nothing. You took a deep breath to calm your rattled nerves. Maybe walking in the dark by yourself wasn't a good idea.

You did a complete three-sixty to see anything suspicious, but the grounds of Xavier's Institute were silent, except for the occasional hoot of an owl and the slight breeze that rustled the leaves.

Ten minutes ago, it seemed the perfect opportunity to take a peaceful midnight stroll. Now you were regretting the decision. You stood still and peered into the shadows of the trees in the distance.

Was someone or something lurking in the darkness? That was absurd though. The school was protected by state-of-the-art equipment and regularly tested, and who would attack the mansion with the X-Men ready to defend it? Managing a small smirk, you stepped forward to saunter among the maples and oaks of the forest under the beautiful moonlight.

You froze, however, when the shadows shifted in an unnatural way and emerged a sight which almost stopped your heart. You were paralyzed as a monstrous horror, fixated on your figure, stalked closer.

No help was to be found, there was only yourself. Raising your hand, you sent an explosive shock wave concentrated at it. The hideous creature crashed into a thicket of black spruces, but it rolled sideways and continued toward you.

You blasted it repeatedly until your hands were aching. The beast was nearly upon you when you began to run faster than any Olympic runner has or ever will. In just mere seconds, you reached the door and flung it open. You bolted it shut and shouted into the empty foyer.

The others needed to be alerted to the beast clawing at the entrance. Professor X could freeze it with his mind, Ororo could strike it with lighting, Peter could race it to the ends of the earth. They could succeed where you had failed.

Sprinting up the stairs and down the hall, you banged on doors and shrieked for the students to wake up and kill the monster waiting for them outside. No one came. The rooms were vacant and the beds deserted. You were alone.

You heard the front door crash and realized it was too late. The horror was already inside. There was nowhere left to run or hide. A cold hand clutched your shoulder, and you wondered if you'd ever feel the warm sun against your cheeks and enjoy the sweet, summertime air with your friends.

Would you ever see them again? Would you ever see Peter again? Tears fell from your face and onto the floor for the heinous fate that awaited you.

Closing your eyes, you hoped this beast was only a figment of your imagination. Yet hallucinations don't creak floorboards or hold you in a death grip. You were out of time. This was how you died, no last-minute escape, no daring rescue, no second chance to live.

You turned your head to see the thing that was your death and let out another scream of terror. Forty, huge eyes leered back at you with each eyeball oozing blood that gushed over to its sharpened fangs.

You attempted to use your powers and struggled to get as far as you were able to from the monster, but to no avail. There was no escaping the blood-soaked jaws that meant the end of your life. Demons appeared and joined in feasting on your body.

Teeth plunged into your neck, stomach, and arms. You unleashed hellish screams and wails that signaled your demise. You wished it could be over and that death would release you from this earth-shattering pain.

You were awakened by someone shaking your shoulders.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

Your eyes fluttered open. Peter knelt next to you, looking scared. Bolting upward, you wacked your arms to rid yourself of the devils eating them. You touched your neck, making sure it was attached to your head.

Peter secured your arms to your sides and said, "Woah, are you okay? What happened? You've been screaming in your sleep. Did you have a nightmare? What's wrong?"

You fought against him while sobbing that a beast was here, and it was devouring you. Then his words echoed in your ears. You've been screaming in your sleep. Did you have a nightmare? What's wrong? A TV was playing a horror movie.

On a table was a bowl of half-eaten popcorn, the wrappings of multiple candy bars, and two empty giant-sized bottles of soda. Pillows and blankets were piled on the couch where you were sitting.

It dawned on you that Peter and you were having your annual Halloween movie marathon. Did that mean the gruesome occurrence that you experienced was nothing more than a nightmare? Was it all fake?

You clutched Peter as if he was the last anchor to your sanity and broke into a fresh set of tears. They were tears of relief. The monster was not real and never would be. Your limbs hadn't been torn apart for demons' dinner, and Peter hadn't abandoned you.

He rubbed your back. "I don't think we should watch anymore tonight," he murmured and clicked the TV off.

You pulled away from his embrace, placed your hands on either side of his confused face, and kissed him flat on the lips. It was a wonderful, tingling sensation that forced you to completely accept reality. You stopped as soon as you started, not wanting to make Peter uncomfortable with your sudden action. "Sorry, I-"

"Hey, I didn't say I wasn't enjoying it." He smiled and resumed the impassioned kiss.

Afterwards, you asked him to stay, and he gladly obliged. When he heard about your nightmare in nauseating detail, he offered to fetch anything to make you feel better.

You rejected this because all you didn't want him to leave your side even for a split second; all you needed was him. Peter comforted you the entire night and promised to protect you from the evil of the thriller.

[dawn-of-worlds]

The Light in the Waters

Corobel starts turn 8 with 11 points: 8 (roll) + 3 (nonhoarding) + 2 (left over) - 2 (to Omeara)

The Grand Design grinds on, and time grinds with it. The experiment of the Sun-Divers having been only partially successful, the Sky casts about for another instrument; he finds it in himself. From uncreated light, he creates it: forms dart like sparks, existence billowing from essence.

Velarië’s creations were forged from the light of stars cast upon water, but these spirits are cut from the sun itself, its plasm-essence thrust into the midst of creation. Their souls are unendurable.

These are the False-Lights (or False-Fires), fugitives from the sun in the waters and the air: omens, messengers, servants, and betrayers of the Sky.

Some dive the oceans; the seas hiss boiling complaints, but cannot wholly quench them. The falling stars pierce the freezing depths far deeper than the rays of the sun. Some keep the faith and bear the light in the waters; some, safely out of sight, build their own world-kingdoms, for they who brand themselves onto reality cast life like shadows.

Here are the Aphotics--shapes of men and fish and spider-crabs, joined in a million unique forms for the strange purposes of luminous masters. Here, they breed strains of drone-larvae to serve as bioluminescent lamps; here, they breed tortured leviathans to ruminate the seabed ore into incalculable wealth; here, priests with human faces and a thousand fins interpret the instructions of fallen angels.

Here are the kingdoms of the sea-mounts and cold seeps, the bright-eyed riders of the seagrass steppes, the dwellings carved from continental cliffs illumed by the light of traitor suns.

Here is the light-deeper-than-light, the song ringing from yawning depths where the Music of the Spheres cannot reach, the empires teeming in the billowing gulfs of night. Here, below the tides, in trenches that would swallow nations, lie a million slowly blinking eyes.

Here are prophets in the boiling vents and gardeners in seabeds of fertile corpse-flesh. Here, they keep the shipwrecks and the whale-falls and all which glimmers eternal out of the sight and reach of those who dwell in air.

Here, the stars are armoured in pearl and crowned in coral and cruel as death by drowning. Here, they are encrusted with lies and tube-worms. Here, they wait, scheming.

But the Sky may still command them, erratically, for even the smallest atom of the Sun’s essence contains an indelible Purpose, and the politics and covenants of immortals are luminous and strange, and the Grand Design contains many apparent contradictions which resolve themselves only from a Grand Perspective.

And not all the False-Lights chose the seas; some chose air, dancing around masts and mountain-tops, cooled by the winds, mitigating the True Light by maintaining only a flickering and contingent existence—and these are still quite loyal to the Lord of Vision; and some in the depths were eaten, for there are things in the deep to swallow any natural or unnatural thing; and some bore the light to the underworld; and at least one bathed itself in the River of Salvation; and many chose the endless ice that encloses and dissolves all things.

Create Avatar (-7): The False-Lights emanate from the sun.

Command Avatar to Create Race (-1): The False-Lights who quench themselves in the deep generate the Aphotics.

Command Avatar to Command Race (-1): The Great Flowering Tree and its Oracles exert on the Sun-Divers an influence of development and illumination, spurring an age of urbanization, economic growth, and religious elaboration.

2 points remain.

[So, as well as mortals trying to return to the sun, we have immortals trying to escape it. Anyway, Laneth, you have some potentially life-hating, sun-despising, succor-craving, ice-desiring semi-demiurges to dispose of as you may.]

[simons-temple-of-eros]

first rough draft of chapter 1 of a love story

i'm getting tired of this i just want to write something good. posting this here before i burn all of chapter 1 to the ground hoping a better chapter that is actually Good will rise from the ashes like a Phoenix...

▸ ❀ ┈┈┈┈ ❀ ┈┈┈┈ ❀ ◂

there was still something terribly meloncholy about the lack of the woods' usual sounds and life. the lack of the usual animals - strange or ordinary - wandering around the woods was something that only seemed to get worse and worse as the days and weeks went by. and a few times the creatures he had managed to find seemed… apprehensive. fearful even.

and so that morning it came as a shock when he saw a figure floating in the rivers below.

but let's go back a little bit earlier, shall we? the time was just shy of 5am and despite the first lights of morning beginning to paint the sky the sun had yet to actually make an appearance. in short it was barely morning and most the residents of gravity falls would be still asleep at such a time.

stanford pines was not most people.

a feeling of guilt rests on top of his already heavy heart at leaving that morning without so much as a goodbye to his brother. he tries to reason with himself that he was not avoiding stanley. that it was simply not prudent to wake him when he was just going out for fresh air, but the obvious excuse rings hollow even in his own mind.

stars, it had almost been three months since… well since everything.

three months since he'd found himself suddenly going from stanford pines, lone multiverse wanderer to being dragged back into his familiar yet changed home to become stanford pines, brother and great uncle to two bright young children. three months since the sky tore open, otherwordly nightmares leaking into the small oregon town as the world had, in every sense of the word, ended and then it didn't.

(three months since he found his brother sitting in that forest clearing wearing the wrong clothes and an even wronger look of absolute emptiness as he looked at ford like he was a stranger. three months since he realized that even though the world had been saved, a part of his own world had been taken away for good.)

no, don't think about that. stanford forcibly pushes the painful memories away with a few deep breaths that freeze in the cold air before him.

a stronger shiver goes through the scientist as he pulls his dark coat closer, the shiver in question only partially causes by the cold weather.

living close to the forests of gravity falls had accustumed the silver haired man to the sort of energy the place had. the trees and the flora almost seeming to be breathing and whispering with it's own sort of life, and it wasn't uncommon to feel like you were being watched over when in the forest.

yet ever since bill and his friends had visited and brought their destruction with them the forests seem to have changed. there seemed to be a sort of radio static that had fell over the evergreen trees, an unnatural quiet that was accompanied by the near constant feeling of being watched. not the gaze of the protective trees but a hungry gaze that saw him as prey.*

trying to ground himself to the present, ford lets his gaze wander the scenery of the forest around him. and that was when he had seen the body in the river.

it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing, the distance making him almost assume they were simply a floating piece of driftwood. a moment after he darted down the little grassy hill that lead to the gently running river below to the figure as a voice in his mind cautioned him ahead. 'keep your guard up, we don't know who this person is and if they pose a danger.'

getting a closer look at this stranger, stanford could see they were laying in the river on their side. thankfully not in deep enough for the water to drown them. their freckle-sprinkled skin looks worryingly pale, stark against their long, dark and deeply soaked hair. when checking the stranger's pulse gives him a noticable yet weak pulse ford lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

but even with the immediate concern that he had discovered a corpse taken care of, he knew that this stranger was still in danger of hypothermia. not to mention the possible injury that could have put them in an unconscious state in the first place.

'do you really think it's a good idea to bring this stranger into the shack?'

he shook off the thought. he certainly wasn't going to leave them here to succumb to the elements. and besides, he knew that stanley and himself were both quite able to fend for themselves if the stranger turned out to have ill intentions.

and perhaps the appearance of this dark haired person might be connected to the forest's odd behavior.

▸ ❀ ┈┈┈┈ ❀ ┈┈┈┈ ❀ ◂

when simon wakes up, he doesn't feel cold.

the last thing he remembers is his body sinking, sinking down into icy waters. numbness down to his very fingertips. water filling his mouth and into his lungs.

so he didn't really expect to wake up again. let alone waking up under a soft warmth.

a glace down after he fights off his bone deep tiredness enough to open his eyes confirms his suspicions that the warm softness is a blanket. the sort of blanket that has a fuzzy fur on one side and the other side seemed to be a flannel. His fingers pinch the blanket, running a thumb over the fabric sleepily as his eyes begin to scan his surroundings.

he seemed to be in some sort of cabin house. he could see various items around him, bookshelves and boxes as well as the couch he woke up on. the sunlight shining through the half curtained window told him it could've have been any later than the afternoon. it was all quite comfortable, homey even.

and it was completely unfamiliar.

this realization brings a slowly growing feeling of anxiety in the pit of simon's stomach.

'don't panic don't panic don't panic… you (probably) haven't been found by 'the family' because if you had there's no way you would'nt have woke up in chains and/or in a cage of some sort. hell, that's assuming they wouldn't have just snuffed you out as soon as they found you.'

alright, that's not helping the anxiety.

he shakes his head to clear the mounting worst-case-scenarios in his head. 'shut up, shut up, shut the hell up!'

his senses suddenly jump to high alert when he hears the door opening. simon's head turns like a frightened animal, dark hair whipping around as he turns to see a man just as unfamiliar as the room he found himself in. an older man, hair grey and looking back at him with an expression that seemed in both parts cautious and comforting. like someone approaching a feral and afraid dog. he tries not to think about how apt that description feels.

"er, you're awake." he finally speaks after a moment. "how are you feeling? are you dehydrated? does anything hurt?" as he says this he makes a move to close their distance, and although he seems like a nice enough man the little, terrified part of simon knows that all too often the face that smiles at you could easily be holding a dagger behind their back.

he doesn't even realize he had let out a growl until he sees the unfamiliar man stop short. although where people in the past would at this point chide him for his behavior, maybe snap back at him or tell him to stop being dramatic, instead the silver haired man put his hands up as if trying to calm down a wild horse.

"i'm not going to hurt you, i just need to check on your vitals." simon frowned, a part of him resenting being coddled like some little stray pup, but chooses to keep this thought to himself.

"fine." he simply says. maybe he should be more cautious but he was honestly too tired to bother. this answer seems to suffice for the man who a moment later is taking a seat on the couch next to simon to perform the improptu checkup.

▸ ❀ ┈┈┈┈ ❀ ┈┈┈┈ ❀ ◂

[atlas-of-the-mind]

Hehe lycanthropes go brr

Sometimes writing out events I want to happen in a dnd campaign seriously helps me figure out how a monster acts and what it looks like for the victim(s), and how I want to describe the monster in question

CW below the cut: Slasher horror, being hunted, minor gore, 2nd person pov

You trek into the woods, eyeing the setting sun as the general's warning still lingers in your mind. A creature is somewhere out there, lurking between the twisting trees, but what could give even the hardened war hero pause? You shudder even thinking about it, your mind conjuring up images of giant spiders and packs of hungry wolves, gnashing teeth and slimy claws. Glancing toward your companions, you can tell they feel the same, hands resting on sheathed weapons and senses pointed out past the road, into the treeline. Finding nothing but the rustling of wildlife and the chirping of birds, and then silence as the last licks of the sun's fire are snuffed out by the horizon.

Briefly, you debate with your companions over whether to make camp for the night in the woods or press onward. On one hand, sleep makes one vulnerable. On the other, movement makes one a target. And you've still got at least another day and a half before you're out of the woods -- in more ways than one. Ultimately, you decide to make camp, setting up a watch to ease some of the anxiety of your surroundings. You end up taking first watch, being the least tired of the group, and the most concerned about being hunted. Or, well. The most used to being hunted, at least.

Your mind wanders as attention lulls into contemplation, walking through the information you have and the mysteries you've yet to unravel. Were the things in the caverns beneath the lake real? Did the ancient serpent speak truth in her dying breaths? Was her following truly not the only group out there?

The slowly dimming embers of the fire twinkle in your eyes like dying stars, when the snap of a twig brings you back to reality. Quickly, you stand and scan the trees, but find nothing in the darkness of the slim moon.

Another snap, this one bigger, from the opposite direction. You whip around, catching the glint of a malevolent eye for just a moment, red as hot coals. Not taking your eyes off the trees, you slowly move to wake your companions, hissing that's there's danger, somethings here, get up. Most of them begin to rise, groggy, reaching for their weapons nonetheless.

'Where?' One asks, hushing their voice and heaving their hammer.

'I don't know.' You admit through gritted teeth, desperately scanning the trees. You're not sure whether you want to have been hallucinating or not.

'Great, it's invisible,' Your gnome companion snarks.

'I saw it, I definitely did.' You insist, gripping your scimitar, 'I just don't know where it went.'

Your friend opens their mouth to respond, interrupted by a low, hissing growl from somewhere in the woods. The sound sends shivers up your spine as you feel the normally tepid night air drop into near-freezing temperatures in an instant.

Again, you see it, movement somewhere close, this time a flash of ghostly white between the trees, rusting the undergrowth.

'There!' You point to try and follow it as it disappears again.

'What in khyber is that thing?' Your friend draws his bow.

'If it scares the general, something bad.' You swallow hard. Doubt and fear begin to creep into your bones like the cold that's now fogging your breath and frosting the ground.

Another growl, much closer, from the opposite direction of the last. Then the ripping of tree bark, the snapping of branches, the glint of a single glowing red eye, flashing from this way and that as the thing appears to circle you faster and faster, unnaturally so. It approaches the treeline, never once being seen on the road though it swaps sides over and over, and then, as you think you catch the glint of dying flame on needlepoint teeth, the forest falls silent again, the darkness still, as if frozen.

One moment, two, three pass, and... nothing. It's as if it never existed.

'Is it.. gone?' One of your companions dares to ask.

Your eyes remain fixed on the darkness in the trees. No. This isn't over. You know what it's like to be hunted. You know what this is.

'It's playing chicken.' You whisper, barely breathing, 'It's waiting for us to bolt.'

'Well, do we?' Your companions look at you. They're all as scared as you are. That's good, at least.

'I-' You search for any sounds in the trees, desperate to find what lurks in the unknown. 'I don't know.' The words sink in your stomach like rocks.

'G r e a t.' Someone groans. 'So glad we're gonna __die__ out here.'

'Would you shut up?'

The group begins to bicker, quickly becoming background noise as you keep your senses cast out into the woods. Searching. Waiting.

A fallen leaf drifts gently down onto your shoulder. Strange, as you pick it up you tilt your head back to look up, it's too early for-

'Guys.'

The fear strangling your voice quiets your friends. You feel them look toward you, then slowly follow your gaze.

'Run.'

In a clatter of metal and gear and a blur of movement, the thing lunges down from the branches. There's a scream, but you can't tell if it's from you, your companions, or from the creature, your mind and body solely focused on keeping you alive.

Cold breath bites at your heels and back. It moves silently aside from large claws digging into the road and it's heavy breath as it sprints after you. You can barely see your companions in the dark and panic but right now, there's no time for a head count.

Another scream, this one definitely inhuman, as a wall of ice crawls up the trees along the road, your feet smashing panes of glassy ice as you run.

You hear it get closer behind you. Feel it closing in. You catch a crystal of ice for just a second and immediately claws colder than ice rip across your back.

The next scream is yours. You regain your footing as you catch a glimpse of snapping jaws, feeling the rush of air as they snap shut inches from your throat. You slash blindly, desperately, with your scimitar, feeling the blade sink into something and hearing the parting of flesh, but you don't have time to register much more than that before you're sprinting again, attempting to put as much distance between you and it as possible.

An arrow whizzes past your ear, another scream echoing behind you as you hear it hit its mark, but still, it pursues you, claws raking gashes in the packed dirt.

One, two, three more arrows fly by and land with dull thunks, the glow of a starlit spell not far behind as it fires off and sears into the creature's stark white skin. Only then does it falter, giving pause and screaming after you as the road breaks into a large clearing.

You stagger to a halt in the center of the clearing, attempting to find your breath as your heart pounds in your chest. You manage to look up and grab a quick, if blurry, head count, and find everyone here. About as beat as you are, but alive at least.

You glance back the way you came, catching the distant silhouette of the spectre that hunts you. It's single glowing eye peers from a stark white face, it's body upright but wrong, a grotesque figure that leans forward toward stretched hands. You make out a long tail and large wings on its back before it disappears into the darkness under the trees again, the malevolent red glow blinking out of existence as though it was never there, taking with it the cold.

You're left shivering in the warm, summer night air. Whatever it was, it'll be back. You're sure of it.

[swordsoul17]

In honor of me actually writing FOR ONCE... have a recent clip featuring vampire shenanigans from my current wip. TW for misogyny, sex work mention, violence...

He hadn’t thought it was possible.  Virias was too tall to pass for anything other than a Paladin, but with a brown kerchief tied over her snow-white hair and tinted spectacles disguising her pale eyes and the dark bruises that surrounded them, with blush dusted on her gaunt cheeks and her gray lips painted red, she did look alive.  At a glance, anyway.  He smirked, and that was when everything went wrong.

“… regret to say the poor man did die,” the old fellow was saying to Magdlene, whose frown had only deepened.

“And you said this would-be Companion was—?”

“Short, curvaceous, red-brown hair, cut in short fashion.”  As he spoke, Magdlene stared over his shoulder at Tessela, eyes growing wide.  “She traveled in the company of a wild beast of a Paladin—black hair, scarred face, short beard.”

Magdlene’s eyes snapped to Torrek’s; with something like horror on his face, the older fellow turned to follow her gaze.  Beside the curtain, oblivious to that interaction, Lily approached the young brute.

“If you like what you see,” she purred, “bring back some coin once the sun goes down.  A lad like you could learn a lot in a place like this.”

It was obvious that she meant to place herself between Tess and Virias and the visitors, to draw their eyes while the royal agents passed.  If it had been anyone else, Torrek was sure it would have worked.  But nothing seared a face to memory like humiliation, and that mean blond brute’s eyes caught on Tess without ever making it to Lily.  As if feeling his hateful gaze, Tess paused.   The moment that passed couldn’t have lasted more than two heartbeats, but time seemed to hiccup—freezing one moment, skipping forward the next.

“Murderer whore,” said the young man, and suddenly there was a knife in his fist.  Tess’ hands were full with luggage—no wand to stop him—and Torrek was only halfway out of his seat at the other end of the room.

In one swift stride, Virias was between them.  The blade, aimed for Tessela’s heart, took her just below the sternum.  She doubled over, wheezing; the tinted spectacles clattered to the floor.

“Merciful Light,” said Tess, pale. The young man staggered backward, staring in horror at the black ichor oozing down his blade.  “You should not have done that.”

A breathless silence filled the room.  Virias’ pupils were pinpricks in the wan morning light; they swiveled slowly to fix on the young man.  A low, resonant growl filled the air, and her red lips looked all the more unnatural as they peeled back to reveal white teeth set in gray gums.  With a terrified cry, the older fellow scrambled for the door, leaving his friend behind.  “Hey!” barked Torrek, knocking aside a chair and giving chase.

He need not have bothered.  There was a snap, a thump, and the man collapsed onto the cobblestones, hat rolling in slow circles before coming to rest beside his head.  Hochstetter marched forward, stepping over the man as he seated another bolt into the track of his lightweight crossbow, acknowledging Torrek with a curt nod before marching into the Velvet Rose. 

The scene within had deteriorated dramatically.  Companions screamed; Magdlene stood frozen in a half-crouch behind the podium.  Virias had pinned the young man against the wall beside the doorway and was—

“VIRIAS VORINGARD, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT DOING THAT SHIT IN PUBLIC?”

Xena’s Share Day

show me your vampires. this is not a request. this is a demand. vampires. whatever you wanna show me about them. to me, please 🤲

[allthewhumpygoodness]

If you're still doing those themed emoji asks, could you maybe do 🛏 please?

Yes I can yes I can!! Sorry again for the super duper late answer.

🛏 - extra time in bed

They should have known something was wrong as soon as they failed to see B's familiar form wandering the kitchen, already having been awake for at least an hour before the sun was even up.

That was how C usually found them, but not this morning. This morning the hallway was dark, the kitchen floorboards silent except for the creak of their own footsteps.

But still, they hadn't picked up on the strangeness of it at first. A little surprised, but not concerned. Not yet. But when they finished making their tea and sat sipping it as the sun concluded its slow ascent past the kitchen windows, they did wonder where B could have gotten off to. And when D got up first and came into the kitchen, they knew something must be going on with them.

"Have you seen B?" they asked immediately, worried now at their absence.

D only shrugged. "They were still asleep when I got up. Probably just sleeping in - I wouldn't blame them on a day like this."

Both looked outside. Though the sun had come up fully now, it glittered over a plain of fresh snow, and B could tell just by the way the air sparkled faintly that it was well below freezing temperatures.

"I just worry," they insisted. "Have you ever known them to stay in bed this late?"

D shook their head, looking amused. "You worry about them too much. I think they can take care of themselves, C."

"Still."

C poured themselves another cup of tea, wrapping their cardigan tighter around their shoulders. D remained unbothered, making coffee for themselves and chugging the whole thing in only a few swallows. "I'll start shoveling the driveway. We won't be getting out of the house any time soon at this rate."

C nodded, their mind elsewhere. With a plunge in temperature like the one the night before, there would be plenty to do around the house. Getting the front walk cleared out would have to come first, and then they'd need to gather more firewood, stock up on non-perishables, dig out the extra winter blankets it hadn't been quite cold enough to use yet...maybe they'd even have to go into town and buy a generator in case the power went out...

But first of all, they'd need to make sure all three inhabitants of he house were okay.

C left their dirty mug in the sink, and was about to climb the stairs when they heard the creak of slow footsteps coming to meet them. The rhythm of D's shovel thudding against the driveway was easy enough to hear, and the only other person there was...

"B?" they called out, hurrying into the living room. There was B, halfway up the stairs, clinging to the bannister with one hand and rubbing their eyes with the other. One eye landed on C and blinked in bleary recognition.

"Where have you been?" asked C, "I've been worried about you."

B shrugged. "Sleeping. I guess." Alarm suddenly flashed through their tired face. "Wait - what time is it? Did I sleep too late?"

They glanced around, squinting and disoriented and looking so pitiful that C couldn't resist going to them a minute longer. Closer up, their appearance was startling; cheeks pale and eyes heavy with exhaustion, ringed with shadows. Their breath came in short, ragged heaves like they were having trouble catching it. When B approached them they wasted no time in leaning forward and flopping bonelessly onto their shoulder.

"Hey there," said C, slightly alarmed - normally they were never this affectionate, and certainly not with them. "You okay? We can hug in a minute if that's what you want - but you're about to push me down the stairs."

B muttered an apology into their shoulder, stumbling as they detached themselves. C couldn't help noticing, as they reached out to steady them, how unnaturally warm they felt.

"Sit down for a second." B obeyed without answering, looking dazed and bewildered. C laid a palm to their cheek, followed by the back of their hand to their forehead. There was no doubting the heat coursing through them.

"Oh honey, you're not feeling well at all, are you?" B looked surprised, but shook their head, as if the mere thought of lying was too exhausting.

"Just really tired," they muttered. A shiver ran through them, so badly their teeth chattered. "I was freezing all night. And...I don't know. Dizzy. Feels like I got hit by a bus."

It took even C a moment to realize their hand was still in B's hair, stroking gently. "We'll get you back into bed. You definitely need it. D's outside right now digging out the house - I'm guessing you heard the snow last night."

"Is that what that was?" B coughed a few times, and the effort of it seemed to drain them even more. C's heart hurt seeing them so small, curling in on themselves like they wanted to be even smaller. The weak groan they let out when the coughing fit was done was worse than if they'd started crying right then and there.

"Come on," said C, gently tugging at their sleeve. "You should rest. Let D and us take care of everything - you get a sick day."

"I want to help," B mumbled, even as they staggered to their feet.

"Nonsense. We can handle a little snow. You don't need to do anything at all."

They couldn't quite tell, but it looked like a shadow of relief they saw in B's eyes.

Even with B's slow, clearly painful gait, it didn't take long to get them back up the stairs and tucked into bed. Despite their verbal protests that they 'should be helping out,' and 'didn't need anything,' they made little effort to uphold their words, curling up without resistance under the warm quilts C pulled out for them.

"It'll be a cold one," they told them, "and that fever will only make things worse. You'll need to stay bundled up if you're going to be comfortable. I'll take your temperature later to make sure you haven't heated yourself up too much."

B managed only a faint, sleepy sound in response, their eyes already shut. "I feel better now," they murmured. "Just a little."

C hesitated, then planted a soft kiss on their hot forehead. "A little is better than not at all. Try to go to sleep. If you need anything, D and I won't be far."

"Thank you," said B. "Being warm...it's better."

C brushed the hair from their closed eyes. "You bet it is. Now you just stay where you are and get warm, and we'll do the rest. We're going to take good care of you."

[minsyal]

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

[colinrobinsonn]

ahhh I never write fics but here’s nandor x guillermo after this week’s ep 🥺

- x -

Guillermo sat on the front steps of the house after driving back from dropping off the Baron, the Sire, and the hellhound at their new home in New Jersey. It had been a long, long night and he should really be heading to bed but he just needed a few moments of quiet.

The night air was sharp and the dark sky had only a few clouds overhead. Today had been successful, yes, but also very scary. He wasn’t thinking about facing the Sire, or the Baron again (although it had terrified him). No, he could not let go of the horrible feeling he’d been having all day that he may lose his entire family.

He heard the front door open quietly and he turned round to see Nandor coming out the door and walk towards him.

“Ah, Guillermo, there you are. What are you doing out here? It’s fucking freezing.”

“Just taking a minute.”

Nandor came and sat next to Guillermo on the same top step, looking out onto the street and then up at the sky as Guillermo was. It was quiet for a few moments between them, then Guillermo turned to Nandor, “Was there something you wanted, Master? You were looking for me?”

Nandor didn’t turn to look at him as he said, “Oh, nothing…”

“Okay…” Guillermo let the silence linger on.

“It’s just-“ Nandor began before he noticed Guillermo shiver. He was only wearing his shirt and waistcoat and the sun was, obviously and fortunately for Nandor, yet to come up. “You’re cold.”

Guillermo put his arms around himself, “Yeah, I guess it’s a little chilly.”

“Why don’t you go back inside?”

Guillermo shrugs, not being able to explain why he wants to be outside right now. Maybe he’s enjoying sitting here peacefully with Nandor under the night sky too much. Maybe he needs to clear his head. “But your fragile human body is going to freeze to ice. You don’t want to be made into an ice chip do you, Guillermo?”

“What? I’m not going to-“ he shakes his head, huffing quietly from Nandor’s ridiculousness, “I’m fine.”

Nandor stares at him, fangs bared, like he doesn’t believe him, like he really will turn into an ice chip in a few moments. “Eesh, fine. Here,” he says as he unclasps his black cape and drapes it delicately over Guillermo’s shoulders, and then quickly turns back to look at the sky.

Guillermo froze - not into an ice chip - but out of surprise, slight nervousness, and an uncertainty about how to react to Nandor’s… kindness. “Thank you, Nandor,” he went with, looking up at his strong profile.

“You are welcome, you will not freeze now and I will not have to defrost you and ruin my precious Persian rugs,” he replied matter-of-factly, nodding his head and putting his hands straight out on his knees.

Guillermo grabbed the cape and brought it round his body to wrap up in. The material was very warm and as he brought it up towards his chin he became very aware of being surrounded by Nandor’s very distinct and familiar scent: of oils and incense and musk, of history and comfort and home.

Nandor looked at his bodyguard and felt his dead heart constrict. The sight of Guillermo snuggled into his cape with a content smile on his face challenged Nandor. It challenged him to give in. To give in to feelings of softness towards Guillermo which he mostly did not allow himself to give into, and was always weary of whenever he was around him. Or saw him. Or thought about him. For Nandor, it was Him, for he had become everything. Everything he believed in, everything he fought for, and everything he smiled for. It is suffice to say, he did not win the challenge, but it felt good to lose.

“Guillermo-“, he took a quick breath in and held it, “I came to say that I am sorry for what happened today.”

“Huh? But we did it, we-“

“Just-“ Nandor put his hand up to tell Guillermo to let him finish.

“I am sorry for how you were treated today and if that hurt your feelings. I mean, it should hurt your feelings but I don’t know if you always let it.”

“Mas- Nandor, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guillermo said. Nandor could literally be talking of about twenty different points today where his feelings could have been “hurt”.

“You know what I am talking about,” Nandor growled, impatient. He shot up off the steps and paced in front of Guillermo. Did he want to make him feel even more ashamed? He guessed he deserved it. He calmed his voice, “I am talking about the time when I allowed for you to be used as bait for the Sire.”

“Oh.” Guillermo breathed out, looking up at Nandor who had stopped his pacing now and was looking at Guillermo. There was a small silence, and then Guillermo also stood up and walked down the steps towards Nandor, cape still round him and falling far below onto the floor.

As he stood in front of Nandor, Nandor could not stand how adorable he looked wearing his cape, oversized on him. It made him feel… protective and proud.

Nandor was too caught up in his thoughts so Guillermo spoke first, “That’s my job, right? To protect you?”

“Yes, I suppose it is…” Nandor said quietly, unsure as Guillermo approached him further.

“But I would have done it anyway. I always would have.” It’s true, he went the extra mile whilst he was his familiar and even before he didn’t know of his bloodline.

Nandor did not know what to say to that. So instead he focused on how the cape was falling off of one of Guillermo’s shoulders. Without thinking, he raised his arm and pulled the material back up and around his shoulder.

He did this with such care and without agenda that it made Guillermo choke up slightly. He felt tingly all in his chest and willed himself to hold on. To not fall too far tonight, as he did so many nights, especially since Meg’s comments at Massive Fitness. As much as he was committed to Nandor, he could never let himself believe that Nandor felt the same.

The small act felt unnaturally natural for Nandor. When he fully comprehended what he was doing, he did not have the instinct to jump back and push Guillermo away, to tell him to get out of his way. Instead, the act made his next words come much easier.

“Guillermo… it should be my job to protect you. You came into my life, and it is a dangerous one. I have… taken too much from you, and you should not be willing for me to take your life.”

The double meaning was there. Yes, he was talking about what happened today, but Guillermo could not help but apply Nandor’s words to his own vampiric dream.

“No.” Guillermo could not, would not, keep going on like this. “It’s not that you have taken too much from me, Nandor,” he said with conviction, “it’s that you haven’t given me enough.”

“Guillermo…-“

“I’d die for you,” Guillermo said bluntly and laughed, “you know that? I would actually die for you. Not become undead, not become a vampire, I would die.”

Nandor looked away from him and took a step back, “Do not speak this way, Guillermo.”

“And I’m fine with that, I am,” he continued, “you’re not taking anything away from me, I’m giving it to you, because I want to. Because that’s how I feel.” Guillermo felt breathless from the outburst and he was slightly shaking, not just from nerves, but because the cape had unwound itself from his middle and only lay across his shoulders again. He shook his head slightly; tonight of all nights he was going to go there. “How do you feel, Nandor?”

“I-“ Nandor was stunned and his brain was working overtime to keep up with his little ex-familiar.

In all of his anxious tension, Nandor’s hesitance was too much. Guillermo huffed and span round to go back inside.

Nandor’s chest clenched and his heart fell, he couldn’t stand the sight of Guillermo walking away from him anymore. “Wait-“ he said as he grabbed Guillermo’s hand and gently pulled him back round to face him. The cape fell off his back.

Guillermo looked up at him, small tears in his eyes as he waited with little hope. His optimistic heart started again, however, when Nandor brought his hand up and drew his fingers through the front of Guillermo’s hair, sweeping it gently to the side and pushing small strands behind his ear. Guillermo’s heart was beating so hard he was sure Nandor could hear it, feel it even. His hand landed delicately on Guillermo’s cheek, like he was touching something precious, and he leaned in.

As their lips touched tears ran down Guillermo’s cheek which Nandor smoothly wiped away with the pads of his thumbs, as he brought his other hand to Guillermo’s other cheek. Guillermo was once again encased by Nandor, except this was the real thing and infinitely better. Guillermo’s hand found its way to Nandor’s neck, his fingertips pushing their way into his hair.

The kiss was gentle and undemanding; a shy but loving meeting with someone you have loved for years. Nandor pulled away but only slightly, so their foreheads rested against each other’s. Their eyes were both closed as they breathed unevenly with each other.

“Guillermo, I would die a thousand times over for you to have one more minute alive.”

Guillermo, teary, giggled dizzily and with relief at the vampire’s words and opened his eyes to find Nandor’s still closed.

“Hey,” Guillermo said as he leaned away and gently urged Nandor to open his eyes by putting his hand under his chin, “so… we’ll protect each other, right?”

Nandor had opened his eyes and was looking down at Guillermo who wore a bright, understanding smile on his face. His cheeks were quite pink and so Nandor leaned down to pick up the fallen cape and pull it back around the smaller man. He held on to Guillermo’s hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the top of it, where the knuckles lay. “Always.”

[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #10)

The plot thickens! Chapter #10. Thanks for continuing to read! Please just feed him already! Somebody give this tiny man a snack!

Previous: Chapter #9

Next: Chapter #11

CW: Angst, injury, animal attack (kinda?)

________________________________________

A FRACTION OF JUSTICE

Chapter #10: Inferno

Word Count: 3,552 Read Time: Approx. 28 mins

[Alexander’s POV]

What I found as I rounded the corner and cautiously navigated the loose gravel alleyway between the two buildings, was exactly what I’d hoped for. The green bin was overflowing with foul smelling trash, it’s impenetrable lid cracked open and exposed to the mid-morning breeze. A red and white plastic bag, tied at the top by its handles, had cascaded to the muddy ground. My heart leapt in my chest as my spine straightened. Now, to hope and pray this bag contained food scraps. 

As I approached the building, I made sure to take stock of my surroundings, paying attention to anywhere I may encounter humans. To the far left, around the corner of the building, was the driveway, on this side closest to me, was a door with one lopsided concrete step, which I assumed gave access to the garage? It was a door that, presumably, wasn’t opened often. In front of me were the trash bins, unnaturally bright in the clear sun. Just to the right of these (and the plastic bag that was my only source of hope), was a potted plant, a rose bush by the look of it, looming in its terracotta pot, faded from exposure and dusted with potting soil around its rim. This was just next to four short steps that led to the shared porch. Those steps and barren wooden platform with no discernible cover lead to the front doors of each apartment, best to avoid it altogether. That was all I could really see from my vantage point. 

I slipped beside the bin, hiding in the shadow of it’s great plastic hull and dirty, torn up wheels cast onto the rocky driveway. Unsheathing my wooden dagger, I easily split the bag open, and it tore like the fatty belly of some bloated and beached whale. Trash spilled out onto the ground, wadded up paper towels, plastic… So much single-use plastic. Had these people never heard of recycling? Sweat poured on my brow as I clamored around, stepping further into the bag of waste. Please don’t let there be anything truly stomach churning in here. I kept rummaging around, until I caught a whiff of something salty and processed. My stomach growled in yearning. Perhaps the crumbs at the bottom of a wrapper somewhere? Just as I was about to bend down and investigate, I heard a sound that made my blood freeze. 

It reverberated across the hairs of my neck like a low thunderous warning. My initial instinct was to flee, my breath shallow, knees weak. But as I began to turn over my shoulder and face my new adversary, another emotion rose to the surface: hot, blinding rage. ENOUGH ALREADY!!! I couldn’t take it any more. 

As I gripped my handmade dagger, I turned to face what I already knew was waiting for me. A pitch black muscular frame of fur and whiskers, emerald green eyes dilating in hungry fascination at what it assume was prey below. I didn’t even cower. Thrusting the sharpened edge into the sky I screamed at the top of my lungs “NO MORE! NOT TODAY!! I WILL SLASH OUT YOUR EYES IF I HAVE TO! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!!” I waved the weapon around trying to look as big and menacing as I possibly could. 

The cat hesitated, tail lashing like a serpentine nightmare all its own. Chest heaving I stood my ground. Then, it skittered off, mewing as it kicked up dust with its paws. That’s what I thought. 

Proud that I had successfully tamed the beast, I turned on my heel to return to my search, when I was greeted with the real reason for the feline’s sudden flight. A giant shoe planted itself right where the cat had just been. The footfall actually blew my hair about as my heart practically exploded out of my chest. Biting my tongue to stifle a scream, I scrambled backwards on my hands and heels into the only cover from human eyes I could find; the bag of trash. The ragged, worn out converse paused only for a moment before tearing off down the drive way, each stride vibrating the packed gravel. I shook from head to toe… was that it? I stayed stock still, unable to see a thing but the rocky ground, I listened intently.

A female voice cried out, “Ugh!! Not again… Elvis! ELVIS come back here!! You know you’re not supposed to be outside and certainly not eating the fucking trash! Come HERE you little bastard!!” That animal with inch long fangs and claws doesn’t seem so little to me. I could hear the scuffle of rubber soles on gravel and then a sigh of victory while the cat yowled in defeat, “Ha! Gotcha! You know of these days I’m not gonna bother chasing you down and you’ll get hit by a car… you owe me…” the cat responded in kind by hissing and spitting. “Oh shut up, you drama king. This is what you get for sneaking out. Why the hell can’t Mrs.Collins just remember to close the door all the way? I have way more important shit to do than look after other people’s animals… come here, I'm gonna show her the mess you made…” Footsteps suddenly got louder and louder. 

Oh no. She was going to pick up the bag! All these humans had to do was peer inside the slash I had made in the plastic to see me cowering in their trash! There was nowhere to run where she wouldn’t be able to see me. If I wasn’t injured, I believed I could out-maneuver this woman who was apparently so skilled at catching runaway animals… but with my leg… she’d crush me in a fist within the blink of an eye. I didn’t have more time to ponder alternatives either, because the ground suddenly dropped away as I was lifted up, up, up into the air. I gripped on to the thin, stretchy plastic of the bag, hands slick with sweat, terrified I’d lose my footing and find myself dangling and exposed clinging for dear life in plain view.

The cat continued to protest, hissing violently. Looking down, I could see this human was holding the bag at about the height of her hip in her left hand, I could see the whole length of her leg as it rose and fell, taking steps towards the porch. I can’t be seen by humans. I can’t be someone’s plaything again!! What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? 

Before I could rack my brain for a solution, I heard the cat let out a violent yowl, and then everything lurched as I found myself suddenly airborne. In the instant all this happened, I heard a cry of surprise and pain followed by shouting, “Ouch! Jesus Christ, you little shit! That fucking hurt!” Evidently she’d been scratched, and the pain had made her jerk, causing me to go flying. She’d made it halfway up the porch steps, and as my spinning, nauseating vision came into focus, I came face to face with my incredible stroke of luck: I was going to fall into the plant. It would still be horrendously painful, but at least I wouldn’t find myself with broken vertebrae. And, it didn’t seem she had noticed me at all. 

I squeezed my eyes shut as leaves and twigs came up to slash me. I tried to cover my face with my forearm as much as possible, but as I continued to fall, the appendages of the plant scuffed, bruised and battered me, until, with a sudden lurch, I was suspended upside down. Then all was still. Crunching my abs and curling my spine, I lifted my head to see how I’d been stuck. I was suspended halfway though the plant, still at least another five or six inches to drop to make it to the soil at the bottom. 

I could hear knocking and frustrated grumbles from the woman as the cat’s protests continued non-stop. “Stupid, fucking cat… I hate— Hey, Mrs. Collins! Elvis got out… again. This time he tore into the trash….” I heard an elderly voice gasp in concern as if she had never considered this sort of thing to be possible. I tuned it all out. What did I care about these humans and their escaped feline? I could hardly blame it for wanting to avoid captivity, even if it had just tried to eat me. 

Blood pooled in my head as I gazed upwards, my shredded t-shirt bunching against my chest, I had to hold it down with one hand just to be able to see. Finally, amidst the criss-cross labyrinth of the twisting branches, I could make out the source of the problem. My stint was hooked on a sturdy part of the plant. 

Damn. I’d have to somehow gain enough momentum to grapple onto a branch above and stay upright and then untie the stint to free myself. 

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry about your arm! Why don’t you come in and I can take of that and fix you a nice cup of tea? Hm?” 

“No. That’s fine… thank you.. like I’ve been mentioning all week I have a lot of studying to do so… if you could please make sure to close the door so he doesn’t get out again that’d be great…”

“Of course, dear. I just don’t know how that even happened in the first place. Come here, Elvis-Welvis… Mommy’s got you…” 

I wanted to vomit. These humans and their obsession with owning other creatures. It made me sick. I didn’t have time to listen to any of this. I had to get out of this nightmare before anyone got any bright ideas about bringing a new five-inch tall companion home with them. 

I started to swing my body, trying to get up high enough to grab the branch directly above me. The first time, I missed completely… the next my fingertips just brushed the bark. So close. The third one would be the charm. I swung back, only to be greeted with a simultaneous hiss of black fur as a feline shape came hurling straight for me. 

“ELVIS!!” Both women shouted as the cat leaped from the elders woman’ arms and pounced through the wooden slats in the porch fence, to bat at me like a toy. I realized I’d made the plant shake with my movements, catching the keen eye of the predator, hellbent on catching its prey, regardless of the consequences it suffered from the humans around it. 

“Leave my roses alone!! Bad cat!” I watched as the hissing ball of fur was plucked easily from the ground, despite its best efforts to cling to the wood grain with its claws. “Here. Mrs. Collins, I really don’t have time for this. Just keep him inside, okay?”

A few mumbled apologies later and the squeaky door shut. I stayed stock still, despite hanging upside down and losing feeling in my legs down to my hips. I could hear the converse-wearing woman shift her weight on the creaking porch boards. “Goddamn…” She mumbled to herself. Please don’t come any nearer, I can’t take anymore. Her footsteps approached. I hated this human. Why couldn’t she just leave me be?

I heard the creak of old wood as she descended the porch steps. Please just go back to where you came from. Just keep walking. I can’t hang upside down like this forever. But no, of course she did the opposite. What had I ever done to deserve this kind of horrendous anticipatory anxiety? Instead of passing me by, she stood looming directly over the plant. I didn’t dare to breathe, trying to not move a muscle, praying, I’d somehow remain unnoticed, I could barely see her, so maybe she couldn’t see me? I gripped a branch of the plant, digging my nails into the flesh of the bark to keep from trembling. She stood there unmoving, for a painfully long while, before descending to a crouch, getting even more dangerously close to my vulnerable form. What horrible fate awaited me once she spotted me, dangling there, defenseless and vulnerable, literally ripe for the picking? I wanted to cry as her head cast a shadow over me. “Hmmm…” she breathed, what was she seeing? Had I been found? “That cat’s gonna kill you if I don’t bring you inside, isn’t he?” My heart stopped. Was she speaking to me? Was this the beginning of the end? “You’re probably wilting from the cold too, aren’t ya? C’mon, let’s get you inside.” The plant. She was talking to the plant. Was this woman mentally ill? It certainly seemed so. For a moment, I celebrated the realization that she had utterly failed to see me despite dangling inches away from her. However, that elation soon crystalized into bitter fear: If she was taking the plant indoors, that meant I was going to be trapped inside. I couldn’t free myself from here without her spotting me. Any large movement would register and I’d be a goner. Better to ride out the storm. I was smart enough to figure out an escape once her back was turned. 

Even through the hyperbolic lies I told myself, I knew my chances for freedom were dwindling every second. When she lifted the plant in the air, with some grunting on her part and stomach-churning sways back and forth on mine, I felt as though I was being marched, unwillingly towards certain death: If not physical, than spiritual. I would die inside if I was tortured and toyed with again. My heart pounded at lightning speed as I felt the breeze of the chilly afternoon dissipate for the stagnant, circulated air of the indoors. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, indeed. With a painful thud that made me bite the soft flesh of my cheek to keep from crying out, the plant and I were placed on the floor, just inside the entryway. I hated the sound of the door closing. I was trapped in here. For now! Don’t give up yet! 

It hurt to not only hang but be thrashed about so wildly while upside down for so long. I was grateful for the stillness, but desperate to get upright again. She stood over my hiding spot once more, musing, “Perk up, lil’ buddy. The cat won’t get ya in here…” she paused, still not moving,  “Oh my fucking god, I’m talking to a fucking plant. Have I gotten to that point in sleep depravation where I’m losing my grip? And, now I’m talking to myself… Fuck, I need to get back to work…” Well, at least you’re willing to admit you’re crazy. Yes, please go anywhere else than right here. I don’t care what you do, so long as it’s far, far away from me. Now, shoo before every drop of blood in my body pools in my head. Moments later, she shuffled off, leaving this half of the apartment in solitary quiet. 

After waiting about thirty seconds to make sure she really wasn’t coming back, I immediately sprung into action. Now certain I didn’t have an audience this time, I tried once again to swing my way upwards. After five exhausting tries that left my brow slick with sweat and my face flushed, I managed to hook an elbow around a branch, as my hands got to work untying the dirty, tattered fabric from around my leg. So much for keeping it aligned to heal. In one fell motion, the stint came loose and I crashed to the ground, soft potting soil clinging to my face and hair, as I dug my way out from my haphazard landing position. Ouch. My whole body was in pathetic shape, every part sported a bruise, scrape or open wound of some kind. The dirt stung fiercely as it mixed with blood and my open sores. My stomach seemed to writhe and moan simply to add to my plethora of distressful sensations. I was starving now. Could I risk stealing food from this human before disappearing without a trace? 

First, I had to tackle getting down to the floor. Try as I might to clamor down carefully, I still ended up falling six or so inches to the ground. The hardwood beneath me was not kind on my joints or injured knee. But, hey, I’d made it past the first step towards escape didn’t I? Before me was the living room. Furniture towering like mountains overhead. Against the opposite wall from where I stood, were bookshelves, distressfully crammed full of books, pictures, shot glasses, trinkets, souvenirs, records. It was a snapshot of this person and her interests. I didn’t care to peruse it.  I wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter, anyway. I did notice, however, that these shelves were not flush with the ground, but actually had a shallow underside, supported by stout, wooden legs. A wonderful place for a pet like me to slide under, out of sight and beyond reach to await his opportunity to make a run for it. 

To the left of all this, was the kitchen, shining linoleum gleaming in the overhead light. I noticed, delighted, that the kitchen sported a back door. Two means of escape are better than one, after all. Now, all I had to do was slip into her pantry, which, thankfully was left cracked open… I knew it! Laziness and selfishness are humans’ forte… I’d grab the first thing I could find and retreat with it under those shelves. I could wait there for a whole day if I rationed my food intake properly. 

To the pantry, then. I knew this was the most dangerous part of my plan, so I focused all my energy on going as quickly as possible. Once I finally arrived at the threshold, I was met with my first obstacle: the lowest, wooden shelf was still over two feet above the ground, over four times as tall as me! I groaned. Why can’t anything be easy? 

I was quick to find a solution. Wasting no time, I hobbled to the side, where a few lanyards hung with I.D.s hung on hooks. I craned my neck to read. It was an I.D. card for Harvard. So this woman was a student. I boiled with jealousy. What I wouldn’t give for a higher education, you lucky, ungrateful… I squinted to read the name printed in small block letters… Natalie. 

Well, Natalie, I’m going to help myself to a small snack or two, now. You’d better not have a problem with that, you greedy, awful human. And if you do, I will not hesitate to defend myself. Besides, I’ll be out of your hair before you even knew I was here. Thanks for the food! Hope to never see you again! 

With that, I used my dagger to slash holes (small ones, out of view) into the plastic covering of a pack of water bottles. These served as hand and foot holds as I clamored up the pile of squeaking mass-produced vessels. I licked my dry lips. How nice a long drink of cool water sounded right now. Too bad I was too pathetically tiny to even hope of twisting a bottle cap open. Even if I could, I should do my best to not leave a trail of my presence here. 

I tried to keep my injured leg as straightened and relaxed as possible as I ascended, but was not always entirely successful. Once I found myself balanced atop this man-made plateau of blue and white plastic, I found I could, somewhat easily, leap up and grab hold of the shelf above me. Unfortunately, however, it wasn’t as simple as that. Of course not. Everything within reach of my raised platform provided so thin of a lip on the shelf above that there was no way I’d be able to pull myself up there, with enough room to stand on the shelf. Instead, I’d have to grab on and shimmy across, until I was no longer beneath the safer height, dangling instead, with only the floor beneath me. If I fell from this height, it would be enough to break a few bones. Bring it on, I can take it. 

I soon found myself in that exact position. My body weight supported entirely by my grip strength. All I had to do now, was swing my legs, hook my heel on the top of the shelf and pull myself up. I was going to eat! Finally!

Despite my screaming muscles, I started to swing myself to my left, trying to get enough momentum to get my leg high enough to catch. I kept glancing down at my right side, checking to see how my injured leg was taking all this back and forth motion. 

On my fourth try, however, all efforts ceased as I was rooted to the spot with fear. As I twisted back from inspecting my wound, I recognized that I was no longer alone. I shuddered, feeling as though I may simply pass out, my stomach dropped: I’d been found. 

[sweetest-honeybee]

Dunno if anyone has asked you this yet or not, but here goes; what's the environment/biomes like in your Hels? Is it similar to the overworld or the nether? Or is it a mishmash of both?

I’d say a mash of both except oceans/snow because it’s too hot for there to be any.

The districts are usually separated by “biomes” and are named after whatever kind of land they were built on. It’s INCREDIBLY hot and a lot of fire and lava around. The farther out you go though, the colder is gets and you’ll see less and less fire/lava.

I also wanna add that it’s like. Always nighttime, there’s no sun there but it’s not covered by a roof like the nether yk?

(and also including what hels live there while I describe these bc why not)

———

Okay so Oblivion is incredibly cold. You might find some frost there but it’s dry freezing temperatures and wind on solid rocky ground (Waltz and Hex actually live there, and Zaun sometimes explores the first 100 feet or so) (Farthest out in their fraction of hels that you can go)

The Depths is where you’ll find a lot of people going in and out of Hels. It’s a deep cylindrical cutout in the ground (this is also where you’ll find hels kitchen and other shops/restaurants/activities) (The very center of their fraction of Hels, hottest and most fire/lava covered area there)

———

Hornet Hills is like hilly plains. Black grass, reddish dirt almost like netherack but much stronger. (Vespa rules, Sever, Gea, and Boogey sometimes is around) (Current largest district)

Bach Ridge (“The Ridge”) is very mountainous obvs. As close as it is to Oblivion, you’ll find a lot of lava running down the sides of the mountains n whatnot. The air there is also heavily polluted and there’s always little flecks of metal or ash around. (Bach and Clap rule, Boogey)

Ash Valley is a valley next door to the ridge. It’s got more of a basalt delta kinda deal going on but with like, more walkable area. (Helsknight rules, Evil X) (Smallest actual district)

The Dead Islands are floating islands and below them is a foggy forest of unnaturally tall and thick spruce. The islands is where the people lived and they’re the only district who would actively use elytra. A lot of the trees bellow are very charred and black near the top, not a whole lot of actual greenery. (This was Lesions old district before he was killed)

The Falloffs is a district of floating ghost ships over a void of fog. The district starts after you reach a cliff. Definitely some warped forest vibes. (Jhost rules, there’s other people there but idk who yet, my notes say the Hels!Keralis)

Then there’s the Edge of Oblivion, very self explanatory. It’s the transition from the Ridge to Oblivion, rocky but not mountainous. I like to imagine a lot of the rock there is like blackstone. (Not an actual district and has no ruler but this is where Zaun and Expulse are)

I can include the mines where Sic lives, it’s just a network that runs under all of the land districts. Most of it isn’t used anymore though, at least not for resources. Those unfortunate enough to try travelling that way won’t make it to their destination.

———

Unlike the nether, water doesn’t just disintegrate entirely so they just pinch some from the overworld and technically if they wanted to just create a biome of snow and ice they could, but they would have to do it manually themselves (which would be difficult) . It just doesn’t naturally occur.

But yeah that’s what the districts look like :)

[paragonrising]

welcome to jurassic park @stxrlxrds >:3 

She was high above the clouds, eyes alight with a golden glow as she blazed through the sky without a care. She laughs as a storm below her rages, lightning surging through the swirling dark. Up here, she’s immortal, nothing can touch her. She’s safe, in the light of the sun.

         Her joyful grin falters only slightly, as a sad realisation comes to her: she was dreaming. Her gaze moves to the hurricane below her.

         Fuck.

         And she falls...

Carol grunts as her brain urges her to wake up. Reality drags her away from invincibility, making her frown as something presses against her waist – Goose most probably, damn cat. Her brows knit together as she shuts her eyes tighter. She doesn’t want to wake up. Something tells her she should dread waking up, that unconsciousness and sleep were a mercy.

         She feels a breeze on her face. It's gentle and cool, and feels nice compared to the humidity. In the distance she can hear birds. There’s a metallic taste in her mouth, and she wonders if she bit her tongue. Begrudgingly, her eyes slowly open. A hazy landscape of green and brown. She blinks, face contorting in confusion. Leaves, trees, foliage, the muddy ground—

         A frightened yelp escapes her as she flails. She’s suspended in the air, and the only thing keeping her from plummeting down onto the ground was a god damn seatbelt. There’s a strange, unnatural groan of plastic and metal that makes her abruptly freeze. Seatbelt, why was she wearing a seatbelt? Carol looks over and finds that she’s the only passenger remaining in a row of seats that have become haphazardly wedged in a tree.

         Her mind is blank for a beat. Why was she here? What the hell had happened? Jesus Christ, why was she in a fucking tree—

         Vacation. She’d been going on vacation. She’d been on a flight—

         No, they. They’d be on a flight.

         Where was Quill?

         Dread turned her blood cold as she turned her head to look at the seat next to her. He’d been right there. He’d given her the window seat. She eyed his seatbelt. It snapped, and hung open uselessly.

         “Oh shit,” she murmured, panic escalating, “shit, shit, shit…”

         She refused to believe her best friend was dead. Her gaze returned to the forest floor, there were a few, small pieces of debris. Paper or some such scattered about…

         Quill!

         She wasn’t sure if she simply thought his name or shouted it. He lay face down, motionless on the jungle floor. She couldn’t make out if he was breathing or not from her vantage point, if he was hurt she had to help him. She wouldn’t entertain the notion that he could very well be dead, she refused to.

         Carol braced herself in her seat best she could, sucking in a nervous breath as she reached to unbuckle her seatbelt. Her body slid forward, muscles straining to keep herself from falling the distance to the ground. She scowled, glancing at an overhanging branch. She reached for it quickly and managed to swing herself over, her sneakers touched nervously to the wood beneath her feet.

         “Quill!” She called to him, hoping, as she stood there, that he’d come to. He didn’t move. “Quill!”

         Still nothing.

         “Fuck,” she murmured under her breath, carefully making her way to the trunk. Climbing down wasn’t really that graceful, and she almost fell out of the tree halfway down.

         But as soon as her feet touched solid earth, she ran to him. Carol slid down next to him, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it.

         “Peter,” she said, hoping perhaps his first name would draw out a noise. A terrible fear was beginning to rise up in her as she rolled him over. “Peter wake up,” she insisted, as if that would somehow compel him.

         She pressed two fingers to his pulse and felt a wave of relief come over her. At least he wasn’t dead. Her gaze rose as she heard other voices in the distance, people shouting. There were more survivors of the crash.

         “Peter,” Carol frowned, “wake up or I’ll eat all your Oreos.”

[puppypeter]

These are all dark fics, READ THE TAGS before reading the fics. It is your responsibility to check whether what you are about to read is something that you can stomach. While most of these fics are based around trauma, recovery etc many feature triggering scenes or flashbacks as well as darker themes. Please be safe and don’t read them if they can be triggering for you! Proceed with caution! Most of them are Hydra Trash, but still not just the ugly bits as I like there to be a plot. Hiding them below the cut:

between scylla and charybdis | 21590 words

Sam Wilson has been witness to a lot of things he wishes he could unsee. Civilian families shot dead in their cars because of miscommunications at checkpoints. Riley’s body spiralling to the ground in a smoke-plumed plummet. His own face in his bathroom mirror after waking up hung-over as hell at two in the afternoon, the day after the anniversary of Riley’s death, year after year after year.

And now, in an abandoned bunker on the outskirts of Boston, a seemingly unremarkable manila folder at the bottom of a filing cabinet.

Berceuse | 10730 words

There are strange, new things Bucky needs from Steve.

Dreamers Often Lie | 11040 words

As far as Bucky remembers, sex is something that is painful and terrifying if you wake up while it's happening. As the Asset, sleeping through sex was a rare treat. When Steve lets Bucky know he's interested in a sexual relationship, what Steve doesn't know is that they have fundamentally different ideas of what that entails.

despite the threatening sky and the shuddering earth (they remained) | 71532 words

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Fire And Water For Your Love | 77084 words

When the Avengers investigate an abandoned HYDRA base on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., they unexpectedly encounter a dark-haired man with a torn metal arm, who leads them to an even more shocking discovery deeper inside the base. The Avengers must reconcile what they have found with the lies S.H.I.E.L.D. has been telling for decades.

Give An Inch | 5070 words

The Captain has a warm smile and clear, open eyes. The Soldier knows these are tricks. He's fallen for them before and he won't do it again.

Humans As Gods | 4818 words

"HYDRA's scientists had been delighted to find their serum-reversal procedure had worked. Their jubilation was dampened by the discovery that Steve's smaller self might no longer be Captain America-sized but was still 100% Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers was now mad enough to spit nails. A minor oversight in the design of the containment area meant that smaller-Steve had simply wriggled out of the now ridiculously-oversized restraints like an angry ferret escaping a paper bag, and punched the nearest technician in the nuts.

Chaos ensued."

HYDRA scientists successfully de-serum Captain America, only to discover that they are utterly unprepared for Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier follows his instructions to the letter. This works out just great.

The Only One That Needs To Know | 6571 words

Bucky can't control his body. He can only control what secrets he keeps.

I Was Wearing My Blue Coat | 11503 words

Following exposure of his past as the Winter Soldier, anonymous postings of explicit video footage, 63 charges of murder and the wrath of the Internet, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes finally steps into the limelight and tells his story to Zenat Patel of the New York Times.

Compliance Will Be Rewarded | 4767 words

Someone told him once: "Compliance will be rewarded," and he remembers pressing his head against a man’s leg in open supplication. He remembers hands in his hair, and a gentle grip on the back of his neck. He remembers a man telling him "so good, so good for me aren't you?" And he remembers nodding his head in a desperate attempt to be exactly as good as he was supposed to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bucky Barnes is physically free from Hydra, but the hold on his mind lingers still. All he wants is to go home, and he'll do anything he can to get there.

To Burn Your Kingdom Down | 12370 words

The Avengers go after a Hydra splinter cell with a nasty habit of brutalizing their prisoners. Steve has some ugly history with them, and when a rescue mission gone wrong leaves him and Sam in enemy hands, the situation gets uglier still.

Worth The Wound | 7709 words

The asset knows that maintenance is better than punishment. But with Steve, maintenance becomes more pleasant, soft and gentle and everything he could dream of. It was only natural that he decided to prolong that maintenance a little longer.

The Spaces In-Between | 6971 words | Part 1 of What We Tried So Hard To Hide Away

"Memories are like buckets of water: they weigh on the heart and the brain until the body fails. You're blessed to stay forgetful and young, Soldier."

Sometimes blessings feel like curses.

Illuminate The Scene | 7086 words | Part 2 of What We Tried So Hard To Hide Away

The doctors had wanted to keep the Soldier. Shock him and freeze him until he was fixed, or tear him to scrap if he couldn’t be repaired so that he wouldn’t be an entirely wasted investment. Steve is the only thing stopping them.

When the Soldier can't trust his own body, how can he trust anything?

All These Riots Of Broken Sound | 83790 words | Part 1 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

When Steve and the team return to Avengers tower to find Bucky gone, they must venture into B.A.R.F. to figure out what triggered him to leave and hunt those who wronged him. Trapped in a simulation of Bucky's worst memories with rogue HYDRA agents waiting to strike, 100 years of secrets, lies, pain and love drive the team to their limit and push Steve towards a realisation that is a century in the making.

I Was Lost But Left A Trace | 3585 words | Part 2 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

Disorientated, the Asset reached up to wipe at the moisture on its cheeks and was shocked to find it clear, instead of the crimson it has been expecting. It didn’t understand why this misidentification had caused uproarious laughter from the technicians.

“It is not blood,” the Asset told him, “but it is still a malfunction.”

This sobered the technician a little, and he nodded tightly.

“Yes. It is. But we will fix you.”

I’ll Always Be Blamed For The Sun Going Down | 9907 words | Part 3 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

He knows he’s in the right place. He has heard the guys at the docks laugh and joke about the queers who come out after dark, looking to earn a little extra cash. He has seen the johns, when he’s been out late enough, skulking in the shadows like predators hunting for their next meal, looking for something in particular. Sometimes they look at him.

A small, rusty pen knife that his father had picked up in Europe during the Great War sits heavy in the breast pocket of his jacket. Just in case.

Book Of The Moon | 16019 words | Part 4 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

In 1929, Bucky Barnes falls in love for the first time and resigns himself to never telling a soul, let alone Steve, the object of his affections. In 1943, half a world away from the man he can never have and fighting for his life and his sanity, something new begins to bloom.

Habeas Corpus | 18054 words

An unexpected incident in the field leaves Steve Rogers facing the infiltration of a Hydra base and retrieval of important intelligence, all while pretending to be the Winter Soldier. Unfortunately, there are important aspects of the Soldier's past that Bucky hasn't disclosed, and Steve has no idea what he's really walking into.

Bullies | 14979 words

Written for the MCU trash meme prompt:

I wanna see Steve being messed with by his secretly-HYDRA coworker buddies. I want them generally fucking with him, "accidentally" doing terrible things to him or getting Steve into awful situations, telling jokes that aren't really jokes, gaslighting, performing sexual-assault hazing under the guise that "that's what people do now," pressuring him into other sex shit, anything, just fuck Steve up.

Steve isn't failing to fully catch on because he's dumb or oblivious: it's just that he is Steve, so he wants to believe the best of everybody, and he doesn't want to believe that he could be working for/with bullies and that (as Natasha says) he essentially died for nothing.

Not Unwanted, Not Unloved | 50320 words

They'd resigned themselves to never becoming parents - until Bucky gets pregnant and drops off the grid without even a whisper to his mate about his condition. Steve will still raze the earth to find him, but that doesn't mean he likes what he finds.

The Tones That Tremble Down Your Spine | 13889 words

Tony tells him they’re planning a party for Steve’s birthday. He knows how parties are supposed to go.

Lacuna | 62875 words

The Winter Soldier doesn't remember Steve Rogers, but he needs Rogers' help.

OR: The one where Bucky doesn't remember Steve, but falls in love with him anyway.

Not A Perfect Soldier | 93354 words

In a world where HYDRA was wiped out in the '40s, Steve is found by the Army rather than SHIELD. General Thaddeus Ross wants a perfectly obedient super-soldier at his command, and to that end, he sets out to break Steve to his will. As Steve struggles to come to terms with all he has lost, his life in captivity is only made bearable by the presence of another prisoner-- another super-soldier known only as "Soldat". Then the Avengers strike a deal with Ross to "borrow" him for missions, and Steve is faced with a team who dislikes him, an organization he doesn't trust, and the question of what he's willing to do to escape Ross's clutches.

For Want Of Him | 103174 words

It's the twenty-first century, and Steve Rogers has never been more alone. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, is now gone, and a dark, bitter loneliness claws at him, raking bleeding gashes into his heart. And then there's Brock Rumlow. Rumlow is like salt in his wounds; vicious, and cruel. But his dark brown hair and teasing smirk reminds Steve of someone long dead, and his New York accent sounds like home...He's a soldier like him...he understands. And Steve makes the fatal mistake of trusting him.

The Same Measure | 4943 words

The Winter Soldier was never allowed to stop unless an injury was too grievous.

To Be Unmade | 5114 words | Part 1 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

For the asset, things only ever get worse. The external scars fade quickly enough. The internal ones dig deeper and deeper.

But the internal scars are called love, and doesn't that make them worth the hurt?

Do Not Put In The Icebox | 7143 words | Part 2 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

When the asset malfunctions on a mission, Rumlow and Rollins learn more than they ever wanted to know about Pierce's hobbies.

And then everyone has pancakes.

The Knowing Makes It Worse | 4130 words | Part 3 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

No is a bad word and invites punishment.

Or, Alexander Pierce is a very bad man who delights in manipulating and degrading the asset.

Love Is For Children | 5303 words | Part 4 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

Bucky understands how the game works. He can't understand why it makes Steve cry.

But Natasha and the other Avengers are there to help.

I Just Wanted To Be Sure Of You | 4461 words | Part 5 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

Bucky has Bucky Bear; it's only fair for Natasha to have something of her own.

Visiting a toy store wasn't strictly necessary, but if Tony wants to throw money around, no one's going to complain.

“Till The End Of The Line | 6069 words | Part 6 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

It's hard to take a friendship right back up when so much has changed over seventy years.

Particularly when HYDRA's conditioning resurfaces.

*if you feel that any of these fics shouldn’t be in this list please just send me a message! :) I have read them all but over the past 1+ years so some of them I might not remember all the details of :)