#The use of darkness on the page and the horror in the half face we can see.... Im normal

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - The World Revolving

1 | 2

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

While exploring the ruins of Card Castle, Kris stumbles across a bound god of chaos hiding just under the surface...a foe way more formidable than any they've faced yet!

PHEW I swear, it feels like I've been working on this particular scene forever! Been distracted by many things...other comics, continued wrist troubles, winter break, etc... but finally, it's done and here! This one is probably the most gnarly one yet in terms of body horror, so heed the warning tags!

The latter half will be out tomorrow!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - A wide shot as Kris, Ralsei, and Susie make their way through the card kingdom castle…a wrecked ruin, with half-broken towers and ripped banners fluttering in the open air. Lancer sits happily on top of Susie’s head. “Are we there yet?” asks Susie. Lancer replies with a simple “No.”

Panel 2 - Closer on Kris as they look downwards. Something has caught their attention. In the background, Susie and Lancer repeat the exchange: “Are we there yet?” / “No.”

Panel 3 - Kris notices what looks like a trail of parchment torn into different shapes, leading down into a lower level of the ruins. 

Panel 4 - Kris begins to follow the scrap paper trail across large stones, straying off of the pain path through the castle ruins.

Panel 5 - Ralsei notices that Kris has wandered away from them. Susie and Lancer also look on in the background. “Kris? Where are you going?” asks Ralsei.

Panel 6 - Kris points at the scrap trail leading down into the rocks, still focused on it. “The old shopkeep, Seam…they mentioned something about a path cut from pages…”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Side view of Ralsei as he watches Kris descend down, and cautiously holds up a hand in warning. “It’s not wise to wander too far off-course, Kris!” he says. 

Panel 2 - Kris doesn’t seem to pay attention to the warning. In a wide shot, we see them following the trail down a series of large stone steps that seem to be shaped into a spiral. At the bottom of the spiral is another stone with unknown markings on it. “They said there could be something useful to us at the end of it…” Kris says.

Panel 3 - Wider shot of Kris now at the bottom of the spiral. Ralsei, Susie and Lancer watch warily from above, back on the main path.

Panel 4 - Kris approaches the stone at the center of the spiral. It seems to be covered in moss, but something else catches their attention first–

Panel 5 - Closer on the stone, it shows that it has markings on it: a cross, divided up into the four card suits. Kris leans in closer to observe and brush the dirt from the stone. “There’s something here…” they say.

Panel 6 - From high above, Ralsei sees Kris focusing on the stone in the spiral. “Kris? Hang on just a second…” he says, holding out a hand in warning.

Panel 7 - Closeup on Kris’s hand as they brush against the marked stone. Their thumb touches a trigger hidden on the side of the stone, which gives a sharp ‘CLICK’.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Kris lets out a surprised yell as very suddenly, they plummet down beneath the stone–

Panel 2 - Their yell continues as they vanish into what is revealed to be a sudden trap door, opened right below where they were standing. 

Panel 3 - The remaining Fun Gang look on with shock and surprise, and call out as Kris vanishes. Susie gives a shocked “Woah!” and Ralsei cries out “KRIS!”

Panel 4 - A vertical panel as Kris plummets down into open darkness, their limbs flailing. Light from above shines on them as they fall.

Panel 5 - With a grunt of pain, Kris lands on what appears to be a sandy hill–

Panel 6 - And continues to tumble down the hill, sand trailing behind them–

Panel 7 - Very wide shot as Kris’s fall continues, showing that they are sliding down an enormous sand hill, like the inside of an enormous hourglass. Only a single shaft of light shines from where they fell. Otherwise the area is empty darkness.

Page 4

Panel 1 - Kris’s finally slides to a stop somewhere in the sand. They grit their teeth, and try to get back onto their feet. 

Panel 2 - Kris suddenly springs back up, eyes wide in shock, as a strange, bellowing laughter booms around them: “UUH HEE HEE HEE…”

Panel 3 - Kris looks ahead of them…at the very bottom of the sand pit, like an antlion at the bottom of a pit trap, sits what appears to be a bulb, or a closed circus tent. 

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris gets to their feet, very wary. “Who’s there?”

Panel 5/6/7 - Multiple panels as the enormous circus tent moves, and begins to unfurl itself…showing massive hands made of bone and stretched tent material, like sinewy skin. Each bony finger is tipped with an enormous scythe. The creature lifts itself up enough to show the a jester’s head, hanging upside down from the bottom of the tent. The jester’s face sports slit eyes, multiple hoop earrings on its pointed ears, and a smile of jagged teeth. 

Panel 8 - Wide shot as Kris stands tiny before the enormous form of Jevil - a creature of bones and tent skin and scythes, balanced precariously upside-down over what appears to be a bottomless pit. Jevil looks at Kris and declares, “WELCOME, WELCOME, LITTLE LOST HUMAN! YOUR FREEDOM IS WITHIN REACH!”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris looks up in fear and confusion at the giant creature, and tries to step back. “What are you?!” they ask.

Panel 2 - Focus on Jevil’s upside down face as he grins back at Kris, and says, “A GOD, LOST HUMAN! A GOD OF CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 3 - Kris stands small against the chaos god as he continues to grin down them. “COME CLOSER, AND WE SHALL ENGAGE IN SUCH MERRIMENT!”

Panel 4 - Kris eyes the enormous scythes at the end of the fingers, and continues to step back, extremely cautious. “A god, is it? I think I’d prefer the rest of my party be here for any ‘merriment’,” they reply.

Panel 5 - Jevil twists his head to the side with curiosity and glee, and replies. “I INSIST! I SEE YOUR SOUL DESIRES CHAOS! WHAT EXCITEMENT, WE ARE KINDRED SPIRITS!”

Panel 6 - Focus on Jevil’s scythe fingers as they begin to move through the sand, creaking with the effort. He is beginning to spin.

Panel 7 - Shot from above on Jevil as he spins faster and faster, the tent body and splayed scythe fingers blurring into a hypnotic spiral. The wind howls around him with the spinning.

Panel 8 - Kris jolts forward as the winds pick up around them. The spinning is creating a gyre, drawing them in closer.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Kris tries to slow their slide as Jevil continues to spin and spin, drawing them in closer. The winds and movement are hard to resist. “LET US PLAY, PLAY!” Jevil cries in delight. “TRUE FREEDOM AWAITS YOU!”

Panel 2 - Kris looks up at the revolving god, unable to stop their slide through the sand. The winds whip their hair and cowl around them. However…

Panel 3 - “If I can get past those blades and make the jump…” Kris thinks to themself, as the scene shows Jevil’s smiling face through the whirlwinds.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris. They grimace to themself as the wind continues to buffet them and pull them in, and finish the thought: “...One good swing should sever the head and end this!”

Panel 5 - Kris pulls out their sword as they continue to slide closer to the edge of the gyre. Jevil looks on as they say aloud, “I don’t know that I trust a bound god’s concept of freedom.”

Panel 6 - Jevil tilts his head down at them, still smiling as always, and replies, “BOO HOO  HOOEE HEE! AND DOES YOUR SOUL KNOW IT?”

Page 7

Panel 1/2/3 - Multiple panels as Kris slides down the sand, holding their sword at the ready. They ready their sword in another panel, back to the camera, facing down a laughing Jevil. The final panel includes a closeup of their hand gripping the sword, although their hand is shaking. Across all panels, Jevil continues to taunt them: “IN THE BELLY OF A ROAMING BEAST, IN THE OWNERSHIP OF A DEMON PRINCE, IN THE RIGID RULES OF YOUR LIGHT WORLD? IS IT THERE?”

Panel 4 -  The scythe fingers swing by in a blur as Kris slides into the gyre, and pulls their arm back, ready to strike with their sword–

Panel 5 - A black and white abstract panel - something sharp slices through the darkness, and strikes home.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Kris’s face as they look shocked into silence–

Panel 7 - And the camera pulls out to reveal that their sword arm is gone, sliced off completely at the shoulder. They can only look down at the stump where their arm once was in horror.

Panel 8 - Kris screams as they’re thrown helplessly into the center of the whirling gyre, blood streaming behind them from their severed arm. Jevil faces them with glee and declares, “NO, NO! YOUR FREEDOM IS HERE!”

Page 8

Panel 1 - The panels are jagged now, coming apart along with the world itself. Kris is trapped in the searing whirlwind, orbiting around Jevil’s spinning head. The world is a blurred tornado. Jevil cries, “A SIMPLE CHAOS IS ALL YOU NEED! UNRAVEL MIND, BODY AND SOUL!”

Panel 2 - Kris is subjected to the god’s command. They scream into the void as their body is unraveled in the gyre, starting at the stump and spreading out to the rest of them in strips of cloth, flesh and bone. 

Panel 3 - A massive panel as Kris is completely torn apart at the seams. Their glowing soul is revealed as their body is peeled away in stips from them, leaving only a few bones and muscles trying to stay together. 

As Kris is pulled apart, Jevil’s voice rings out: “SEE, SEE HOW ALL THE RULES AND ORDERS HAVE TRAPPED YOU? HURT YOU AND KILLED YOU?” In the strips of Kris’s body pulled apart are scenes that seem to confirm Jevil’s worldview: Empire guards chasing down Kris as a young child. Toriel kindly shooing Kris away from a pie they were interested in. Asgore keeping Kris from plants he knows are dangerous. Kris on the altar as they are sacrificed to the demon. Kris giving up their soul to Ralei. Kris being devoured by Susie. Kris trapped at a door by Mr. Society and Mr. Elegance, keeping them from advancing with rules. Kris being revived, again and again, by Ralsei’s control over their soul. “BUT HE HAS SHOWN ME, IT ALL MEANS NOTHING, NOTHING!”

Page 9

Panel 1 - The panels continue to be jagged and harsh as the rest of Kris’s body is completely obliterated in the whirlwind, leaving only their soul spiraling in the gyre. Jevil’s voice continues: “NO RULES, NO HURT, NO PRISONS FOR YOU! SHARE YOUR JOY WITH ME!”

Panel 2 - Kris’s soul begins to break under the strain of Jevil’s version of joy: a swirling mess of eyes, teeth, claws, screaming faces, beasts and sinew and armor. They all close in on their lost soul in a mess of chaos and madness.

Panel 3 - As the winds turn to pure darkness, Kris’s soul begins to dissolve in the gyre as well, broken in the relentless chaos. Jevil’s voice rings out once more: “SHARE YOUR SOUL WITH ME, A TRUE CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 4 - As Kris’s soul is nearly dissolved and lost in complete blackness, another voice cries out: “KRIS!” From the darkness, Ralsei’s glowing eyes and fiery claws reach out to grab Kris’s soul before it’s lost. 

[eyepatchdate]

WAIT my 4th fav comic page is from lex luthor the unauthorized biography where the journalist actually gets to be face to face with luthor

[benevolentbones]

me before you | spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst!!! kidnapping, graphic depictions of injury, death, female reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: you go missing on a job and spencer goes ballistic

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy a touch of angst! i think this is my longest fic i’ve ever written:) reblogs & comments appreciated <3

“where is she.” spencer’s voice boomed as he bursted into the conference room. every set of eyes in the cramped police department office shot to the loud sound.

spencer stood in the doorway, his fbi vest still strapped to his body. his hair was disheveled and brushed off of his face, his white button up was half buttoned and the sleeves were messily rolled up to his elbows.

his eyes scanned the room, flickering over the local police force until they landed hotch. he stormed into the room, his face contorting with rage. before hotch could even utter a word out, spencer’s hands were on him, gripping a handful of the older man’s shirt.

“where is she, hotch.” he snarled, hotch using his hands to create a distance between him and spencer.

derek immediately jumped up, pulling spencer’s flailing form off of his superior. everyone watched in shock and horror, spencer had never acted like this, and certainly not on a case.

“we don’t know.” hotch stated, a calmness to his voice, but he was as just concerned as spencer was.

“why- get off of me-“ spencer fought back in morgan’s strong hold eventually breaking free after lashing around.

“why did you let her go in without back up- are you out of your fucking mind.”

“outside. now.” hotch breathed, he didn’t want complete strangers to witness whatever was about to occur. he walked calmly through the doors, his oxfords thudding against the marbled floor.

spencer followed suit after shaking derek off, his steps messy as he fumbled behind hotch, who made a turn into a private empty office.

“reid-“

“no. don’t go there- what were you fucking thinking hotch-“

aaron leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his chest. spencer stood a few feet across from him, pacing the room.

“we didn’t know what we were in for, the house was clear..” he trailed off, recounting the events that took place an hour prior.

~

you, derek and hotch were staking out the potential unsubs house, it was a bungalow in the suburbs and a pretty run down one at that, sitting behind the van you had driven in.

“morgan, take the front. y/n, follow me around the side.” hotch spoke, his dark eyes landing on you.

you nodded, following the older man to the side of the house. from your position you could hear derek shout.

“FBI open up-“ followed by the sound of the door slamming open.

you continued to follow hotch to the back entrance, which he swiftly broke down and then entered the house.

he held his gun up, doing a sweep of the back room. “clear” he yelled out,

from the next room over he could hear morgan yell back. “hotch look at this-“

the dark haired man quickly walked to where morgan was.

they stood in the middle of the living room, the place was run down and smelled like mold. on the weathered coffee table laid a videotape recorder and a note.

hotch bent down, picking up the note. the words ‘i got you, your turn.’ were etched onto the page, hotch turned his attention to derek who beared the same confused expression.

“what does that even mean? l/n get in here.” he yelled out, attempting to get your attention to see if you could help make sense of things.

a few moments passed before he called out again. “y/n?”

hotch walked to where he had left you, the back door was still wide open, he eyes trailed down to the ground, which was when he saw it.

your gun.

from outside the sound of a engine starting up rattled, the tires screeched as the vehicle pulled onto the road.

fuck

“morgan, take the camera and the note- she’s not here.”

~

“what so you’re telling me you left y/n on her own? knowing that she fit the description of all the unsubs victims- you can’t, you can’t be-“ spencer cut himself off, letting out a choked sob.

“reid i am sorry. we will find her.” hotch reached a hand out to touch spencer’s shoulder, a wave of sadness washing over his body as he watched spencer begin to break down.

with hazel eyes brimming with tears threatening to fall, spencer sunk into hotch’s embrace. letting out shaky breaths in between cries.

“you- have to get her back- i need her- she-i can’t let her- go first.“ hotch rubbed soothing circles on spencer’s back, which proved to be hard through the bulletproof vest.

“we will find her, reid. let the team work, go home. you need rest.”

hotch was right, it was nearing two in the morning and spencer had not slept for almost thirty six hours. the circles under his eyes were noticeably more dark, looking nearly hallowed out.

spencer pulled away from the hug, his doe eyes red and puffy from the crying.

“i’ll send morgan with you, we will notify you when we find something. and we will.”

“okay. thanks.” the younger male sniffled, his tired eyes meeting hotch’s as he walked out of the office.

~

your eyes blinked awake, a slight grogginess to your vision. the florescent lighting above you hurt your eyes and your head ached.

you attempted to move but felt your hands and legs bound, your eyes darted around the room. you were tied up, sitting on a wooden stool, the room was practically barren except for a pile of sheets in the corner, a table lined with tools and a camera on a tripod. the red light blinking intermittently.

you spotted a small rectangular window at the very top of the wall, it was covered in weeds from the outside. i’m in a basement.

you wriggled, attempting to break free but only causing yourself to get rope burn, you hissed in pain.

“fuck sake.”

the metal door in front of you swung open, revealing a tall man dressed in black. he had an eerie grin etched on his face, his striking blue eyes staring at you like you were something to eat.

“hello agent l/n, nice to see you’re finally awake.” his voice sounded rough, as you ambled into the door, closing the door over leaving it a few inches ajar.

“thomas wilson.” you spat out.

“you have a smart team, y/n. you managed to find me just after five kills. bravo.” his voice laced with a mocking tone.

“it’s a shame they didn’t have your back.”

you stayed silent, eyeing his form as he began to circle the stool you sat upon.

“but i fear- this may be my last kill, so i’m going to be thorough.”

you felt your stomach drop. you were hoping, praying that maybe the team was on the way, that they would be able to get here in time.

you tried your best to read thomas, you could tell by the way he limped around you that he was injured, and he didn’t seem a hundred percent confident in himself. maybe you had a chance.

“how’d you get hurt? i’m a medic, i could help you thomas. you don’t have to-“ your attempt at empathy was cut off by a strike to your face.

the man pulled back his fist, as you slowly recoiled your head. you could feel your eyes swell, staring intensely at him through wisps of your hair that fell over your face.

“silence. we don’t have much time. i need to prepare.” he muttered to himself, walking towards the table to your right.

you racked your brain, trying to think about the other victims and their similarity to you. hair colour, eye colour, frame and stature, age. but they were all single women, involved in prostitution in one way or another. maybe you could convince him that way.

“i’m engaged, thomas.” you spoke, trying to get his attention. “i know your other victims were all single- i have a fiancé.”

“where’s the ring.” he didn’t bother looking back at you, your empty hand flexed into a fist. you never wore your ring on the field.

“i can show you photos- my phone, it’s in my jacket pocket.” you were trying to delay whatever he had planned, you were grasping at straws.

thomas limped towards you, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. it was turned off, but he rebooted it, unlocking it and going straight for your camera roll.

he caught the bait.

~

“sir- y/n’s phone just turned back on.” garcia practically shouted.

“can you track it? -emily alert the swat team now.”

“on it sir.”

the majority of the team piled into cars, fbi vests strapped to their bodies. garcia sent the location to hotch and the cars sped off, it was just twenty miles from where you were taken.

“you sure this is the right place?” hotch spoke out into his phone, a slight anxiousness to his voice which didn’t go unnoticed by penelope.

“yep. i quadruple checked, the satellites picked up the van dropping the unsub and a victim at this exact address.” garcia stated from the other end of the line, faint clacking of the keyboard could be heard from her side.

“thank you, garcia. keep me posted.” he muttered before ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“did anyone tell morgan?” hotch spoke, morgan had brought reid home and was told to stay with him incase of any updates.

“just now sir.” emily spoke, shutting her cellphone.

~

“see- that’s me and my fiancé, spencer. he works with me.” you stated as thomas scrolling through thousands of pictures of you and spencer.

you could tell this caught him by surprise, you were sure his other victims probably pleaded for their lives, saying they had families and partners to get back to. it made you feel sick.

“it’s not too late- thomas please let me go, i don’t want to leave him.” you mumbled out, fighting back tears at the thought of how distraught spencer must feel right now.

“i- i cant it’s too late. i have to do this.” he stuttered out, still scrolling through pictures on your phone, his face frowning when he came across your engagement photos.

“can i call him, can i say goodbye?” your eyes met his pale ones, you could see from his expression he was thinking things over.

“fine.”

he searched up spencer’s name on your phone, pressing the call button and holding it beside your ear.

spencer was in a car when his phone started to buzz, morgan had received the call about your location and immediately told spencer who refused to let the older man leave without him.

spencer picked up immediately once your contact came up on his phone.

“y/n- are you okay- are you hurt?” he blurted into the phone, putting it on speaker so derek could listen in. he felt a sudden relief at the sound of your voice.

“spence. i- i’m not hurt.” you paused briefly, eyeing the man next to you. he was listening in. “spence, i love you so much.” you mumbled out, white hot tears staining your cheeks.

“baby? what’s happening.” spencer questioned, his hazel eyes beginning to well up.

“i love you- and i’m sorry, i don’t think i have much time left.”

“no. no no no- you promised- me before you-you can’t leave me“ he rambled out, his heart sinking as tears began to flood from his eyes. derek gripped the steering wheel, pressing his foot down on the pedal, they were nearly there.

“i know baby- i tried-“ you choked out a sob, hearing spencer crying broke you.

thomas was getting visibly frustrated, his grip on your phone tightened. “that’s enough.” he muttered out.

“i have to go spence- i’m sorry i love you so much.” and with that, thomas had ended the call. tears streamed down your face as you tried to muster up the ability to stop.

the older man ambled back to the table, he had laid out a number of weapons. you recalled the details of how the other victims died, each one exactly the same down to the last cut. thomas likely suffered from remorseful ocd.

the man turned back to you, a knife in his grasp. he could tell he was battling within himself, he didn’t want to do this, but he felt like he had to. you could faintly hear the sound of cars passing the house, praying that someone would show up.

“i’m sorry” he muttered out as he brought the knife to your collar bone, pressing it into your skin and dragging it across.

you screamed, a wave of pain engulfing you. blood quickly began to trickle from the laceration, staining your white shirt a crimson hue.

if this was how you were going to die, you were going to make sure it haunted him forever. your eyes locked onto his, forcibly making eye contact as he switched to your left side, beginning to slice the other side of your collar precisely.

you gritted your teeth, feeling the cool metal of the knife drag across your skin. he pulled back, now pressing the bloodied knife to your throat. he was behind you, all you could do was stare straight ahead at the door in front of you.

suddenly the door burst open, hotch standing before you with a swat team piling into the room.

“drop your weapon.” he commanded, his voice booming as he pointed his gun at unsub. you have never been so relieved to see aaron hotchner in your life.

“i can’t, i have to do this.” thomas muttered out, his hand shaking as he pressed the knife to your throat. he began to press it firmly against your skin, you winced out at the pressure.

hotch immediately fired a shot, the bullet sinking into the unsubs shoulder causing him to fall back and shout in pain. a member of the swat team rushed to thomas, restraining the male as he put a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

hotch was by your side in seconds, unbinding your hands and legs. “are you okay?” he questioned, concern lacing his usually stoic voice.

you nodded, rubbing your throat once your hands were free. you attempted to stand up, wobbling as you placed your feet on the ground, you felt weak, the bleeding around your collars had slowed but you were still losing blood.

“let me.” hotch scooped you up in his arms, carrying you up the stairs and out of the house. it was dark, and there was a swarm of swat cars and an ambulance waiting for you.

a car pulled up to the scene, the passenger door swung open and spencer stumbled out, barely getting his seatbelt off.

“y/n?!” he called out, scanning the area, once his eyes landed on your form in hotch’s arms he sprinted over.

“spence-“ you began before you were engulfed in a tight hug, hotch passed you over to spencer, making his way to the ambulance to alert the medics.

“i thought- you were-“ he blubbered out, his eyes puffy from crying.

he fell to his knees, his hold on you not wavering. you wrapped your arms around his neck to the best of your ability. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, rocking you in his arms.

“i’m going to get blood on you-“ you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood.

he let out a short laugh, followed by a small cry.

“i’m okay spence- i love you, i’m okay.” you reassured him.

“i’m never letting you go again.” he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath.

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea

[descendantsramblings]

Just a short cute thing where Fem! Reader and Maleficent are dating and Mal just loves teasing her gf by turning into her dragon form in small

Pure fluff, thank u :>

“Short cute” is speaking my language rn. So glad to be back to writing long stuff but between these and writing a layout for a Dead Boy Detectives fic I needed a good head canon or Drabble 🖤

Also I wrote and edited this whole thing while on the clock at work so forgive me if something is a little odd, I HATE typing on mobile because it’s easier to get typos.

Play

Maleficent x Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Summary: watching her girlfriend study can get just so boring

Warnings: descriptions of Maleficent turning into a dragon but it’s really nothing (at least as a horror and body horror fan it’s absolutely nothing but I’ll warn you just in case), fluff

Word Count: 1.1K

Pic because finding gifs of my girl (who’s almost always background or literally on Hades lol) is so hard

She can’t say no one warned her. Of course, Maleficent thought her girlfriend hung the sun, she was humanities own light source. All aglow when she was excited and warm enough that the dark fae was constantly convinced she had a fever. She was obsessed with her, but that doesn’t mean the rest of her friends lied when they said dating a hero kid could get so boring. Not that (Y/n) in general was boring, it was actually pretty easy to get her running around with the villains, but when she felt like being good? She could get obnoxiously good. Like straight As helping out in soup kitchens type of good. Which if the pixie was honest, she found that side of her girlfriend extremely endearing. Sometimes she even wonders if that sweet half of her is what saw Maleficent as worthy for her. Not that she’d ever admit to that out loud, it would wreck her image. If the fact that she could watch the girl complete mundane tasks in complete infatuation didn’t already kill her image. Or at least she normally could watch her like that.

The girl had been studying for an hour, rewriting her notes in a decorative and color coded way that she swore made it easier for her to study. “Rewriting it makes me think about it harder, Mali. Engraves it into my memory.” It sounded like an excuse to her, seemed to her that the girl just liked to look at pretty things. Not that she minded, whatever she wanted to do was fine by her, (Y/n) was her own woman. And Maleficent loved to be the pretty thing she was looking at, so who was she to complain about other ones? But Mali was starting to wonder if she and Tinkerbell had something in common. If she didn’t get her girlfriend’s attention soon she was sure she’d just fall over and just die. She was growing weaker by the second, she was positive of that. And getting the girl’s attention away from swirling pretty calligraphy into a notebook was proving to be impossible.

Every nuzzle to her neck was met with a playful push. Kissing her face just earned the pixie a “Mali, doll, I’m working.” It was infuriating. Why let her in if (Y/n) only planned on ignoring her? Her pale arms make their way around the princess’ waist, face falling against the girl’s back with a dramatic sigh. “I’m almost done, Doll. Just two more pages.” Two more? That won’t do, she needs more attention now. “Come on,” she drags the word out pulling away from her girlfriend with a whine. “Since when are you so good?” “I’ve always been good, Doll. You’re the villain between us, remember?” She uncaps a different pen, readjusting the notebook before her. “You don’t seem so good when you’re out running around with me and the other VKs. You ask how high when Uliana says just just like Morgie does.” It gets her a hum, pen tapping against the page in the speedy pattern. “Yeah well, if I make Uli happy she’ll do my hair. No one else here can braid like she can.” Mali laughs, “Fine, then if we can’t cuddle, let’s go see if she’ll do your hair. Give me something.” “I’ll be done soon.” She scoffs, lightly smacking the back of the girl’s shoulder, “You said you were doing homework.” (Y/n)’s eyes roll, sparing the girl a look over her shoulder, “Studying is homework, Mali.” Now her eyes roll, throwing herself back on the bed, “This isn’t studying. Studying is reading over notes, this is some other thing.” She hums, “Maybe that’s why my grades are higher than yours.” It’s a playful remark, the girl poking her tongue out at the pixie before turning back to her work.

She wants to play? Okay, they can play. She cuts a look to the girl, a pen cap held loosely in her mouth as she delicately drags a pen brush across a page. She was distracted enough. Turning into a large dragon took far too much energy from her, but a small one? One that could fit right in the girl’s lap? That was easy. Maleficent could barely feel it as her bones gave way. Shoulder blades and vertebrae stretching out to form the structure of wings. Purple scales forcing their way through pale skin, tearing their way into veins to beseen. She hasn’t let wings of any kind come out in so long, it felt heavenly. The stretch making her suppress a whimper. She desperately needed to do this more, instead of just when she felt the need to harass her way into getting what she wants.

Slowly, careful not to make too much noise, she flaps her wings, once, twice. By the third time, when she realized the sound wasn’t alerting (Y/n), she knew she could take flight. Fluttering through the dorm, she lands on the girl’s dresser, blowing a small puff of flames onto a candle then settling beside it. Waiting, glowing green eyes trained on the girl who had playfully become her prey. The smell of smoke would alert her, it always did. Lilac and smoke slowly and softly fill the air, making the princess look up, worried eyes glancing around the room before landing on her dresser. “Really? You’re that desperate for me?” Desperate? No, she was anything but that. While her eyes are away from the page, Maleficent takes flight again, swooping up the pens the girl was using before fluttering over her head.

“Mali, you’re just prolonging how long it will be before I can lay back and cuddle with you. You know that, right?” Her hand shoots up for her pens and the dragon flies closer to the ceiling. “This is ridiculous, you are being ridiculous.” Pens clatter into the wastebasket by the girl’s desk, the dragon swooping in to fill the girl’s lap before she can get up to retrieve them. “Are all fae this needy or just you?” The question is met with a nuzzle against her stomach, the dragon refusing to get too close to her skin in case she’d scratch the delicate stretch of flesh.

Sighing, the girl closes her two notebooks, pushing them to the side before she lays back. “If I take a little study break will you let me finish my work without whining?” The dragon crawls up her stomach, tilting her head to the side. Sweeten the deal. “If we cuddle?” Letting out a sigh, Mali curls up on the girl’s chest, her head laying just so close to her heart she feels as if she’s hearing the lubb-Dubb of it in her own head. “You’re not gonna turn back into a girl for me? Made you wait so long that I only deserve scales?” It’s not a complaint, not a real one at least. Her nails digging into the space between two wings, a glorious scratching sensation that makes Maleficent’s eyes lull closed. She was never above playing if the Royal wanted to play. She was always the winner of the girl’s long games.

[dhampling]

bramble jam girl!dadstarion, <1k

“I thought it’d be nice! Everyone likes jam!” “In what realm would we need this much jam?” - (x reader) christening this most inaugural of dadstarion fridays with the most fang-rottingly sweet fluff i could muster. enjoy! w/c: 700+

He kneels next to her with a pensive furrow, the critical moment; small wooden spoon in hand nudging little closed lips smeared already in a sticky purple. 

Bated breath. 

Astarion taps as her mouth remains closed. She looks at him with the same half-baked incredulous look he gives you - a firm ‘no’, with notes of why would you even ask me to do this, you freak?

“Come on! It’s delicious. Look!”

He lifts the spoon to his own mouth and pokes his tongue just past his lips, darting briefly into the bizarre gloop. 

The resulting wince is priceless. It tastes of nothing to him; of cinders and dead syrup. The wobble of a smile as he aims to convince her that whatever the spoon yields is lovely wrapped in a deeply unsatisfied ‘mmm’. 

Looks at him with genuine disgust. She’s too perceptive. 

Behind his back the kitchen sits a picture of disarray - spattered in bramble pulp and dotted with various wooden stirrers, bubbling cauldron atop the stove, littered granules of sugar now crystalline on both the countertop and your floor. 

“What is this?” You break your cover, his head whipping round to find yours sheepishly.

“I made jam! She won’t eat it.” 

A feeble quirk of his lips. Whoopsie! 

“Why would she eat plain jam?”

“Why wouldn’t she! Yummy jam! Yum!” He speaks in a sing-song lilt, cracking in sleep-deprivation.

“Why have you used all my brambles on said jam?”

The tar-like brew looks awful. Thick and dark, smelling of dark sugar and burnt lemon. He winces once more.

“I thought it’d be nice! Everyone likes jam!”

“In what realm would we need this much jam?”

The shoulders sag and he stands from his kneel, tilting his head to look at her and putting the spoon on the bare table. You fight the instinct to roll your eyes knowing full well he won’t be the one wiping the sticky spot later.

“I don’t know! Jam!”

Hands wide around his head, a tired smile wracked with mirth. Eyes round.

He tried. He really did try. Recipe book pages open on the side now splattered with maroon fruit juice. The air is thick with the smell of sugar. You take a spoon from the silverware drawer and try a little straight from the pan, blowing the purple globule to cool it; and it isn’t bad in the slightest. 

Not particularly good, granted, but he’s neglected the aromatics - you presume because his target audience is just breaching a year old. You clear your throat in preparation for the most saccharine baby voice you can muster.

“Little love! Look!” 

You take the spoon from Astarion and suckle on the cool jam, smiling animatedly and nodding in visible contentment. A joyous ‘mmm’. 

She watches on with genuine awe. Nods along. Her own attempt at a ‘mmm’ sounding more like a kitten mewl. Chubby fingers reaching for your spoon in little bunny bounces until her face looks to be on the verge of crumpling with want.

He watches on in amazed resent, eyes soft. 

“She can tell you don’t like it. That’s why she doesn’t want it.” 

You refill her spoon from the pot and blow over it for a minute or two while he lifts her gently from the ornate baby chair and brings her little form over. 

“That was witchcraft. I’m calling in on the nearest guild of mage-breakers first thing, you know.” He whispers as she burbles and reaches out for your warm hands. You press a small kiss to the high of his cheekbone. 

She grabs messily for the spoon as you bring it to her lips. Opens wide in anticipation of ‘the red dragon’; one of the smallest seeds on top of the gloopy pile christened after Lae’zel with both you and Astarion wailing in mock horror as she eats your long-time friend. Her little laugh is like a singing bell, the messy flicks of her tongue as she relishes the taste and bounces in his arms.

“No. She simply just reveres you. Why would she eat something if she knows you don’t like it? Clearly something of a tastemaker in those little eyes.” You smile at him with a slow blink.

He looks to you and back to her with the warmth of a Kythorn highsun. Rests his head atop yours.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So long, farewell; until we meet again.

This is the concluding story to the corresponding blog event, A Fellow in Need is a Friend Indeed. ahyduaysovfva SORRY IF THIS IS SHORT, I wanted to wrap it up quickly so I can scream more about Halloween--

Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were sent after the submission period, disregarded rules, or simply did not catch my interest 💦 Apologies!

Be Honest with Me.

Strange posters had started to crop up all over NRC. Few at first, but they became more numerous over the week, culminating in clusters of them stamped in the cafeteria and rows lining every hallway.

They were colorful and glittery, proclaiming of a great, once-in-a-lifetime show coming to campus. The stars, a traveling fox and cat duo. Immediately, the culprits were clear.

“You used the library printers for THIS?!” Raven demanded of them, thrusting a flyer she had torn down in Fellow’s face.

“It was free!”

“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should!” She slapped a hand over the words plastered on the page. “kume c the greatist sho? You can’t make these claims—they haven’t been reviewed and approved by the proper authorities! And there's spelling errors all over!"

“Oh, calm down!” He poked her square in the forehead. “See, this is why you should come to our show. It’ll really teach ya how to live a little, laugh a little.”

"Wh-What...!!" Raven collected herself, then shot Fellow her fiercest glare. “Do you even have a venue or a stage crew secured for your performance…? How do you intend on putting on a show when there's been no planning put into this event?"

He held up a finger, shushing her. "You ever heard of a diversion, kid? You don’t need fancy stuff to have fun.”

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His grim was a wolfish invitation. "Come on to the theater and you'll see for yourself."

... I came.

Raven scanned the courtyard. Several students had gathered, spanning all seven dormitories. A few had posters in hand, and some of the Ignihyde boys had even come prepared with light sticks.

No stage was set, no decorations set up.

No fanfare at all.

I wonder what this grand show is going to be.

Raven folded her arms and leaned back against the trunk of an apple tree. Peering through the leaves, she could make out the final blips of sunlight. Golden, touched with pinks, oranges, and reds.

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

20.

40.

An hour and a half.

Mob students fidgeted, double checking the time on their phones, on the flyers. The sunset bobbed, then drowned in darkness. Warm colors bled into black, the stars popping into view.

Raven frowned.

No show.

Had Fellow written the time down incorrectly? Was he running late, perhaps too caught up in his own preparations? Did something happen to postpone...

“You ever heard of a diversion, kid?“

A diversion. An activity that keeps the mind from being too serious. Recreation, pastime. Neither of those definitions.

A distraction. Divert attention to one thing. and you won’t be paying attention to another.

Raven's thoughts skidded to a halt.

Wait a minute.

"If we're all here..." she said out loud, "then who's back at the dorms watching our things?"

All heads in the courtyard snapped to her. Realization and horror were etched into the students' expressions. They tore off for the Hall of Mirrors, pushing and shoving each other to be first through the doors.

Raven raced for her own abode.

The highest room in the tallest tower. Up a long flight of stairs, two steps at a time. Behind the ancient wooden door, in that dusty attic was--

She barreled inside, panting heavily. Her lungs burned, as if lit on fire. Left, right--her eyes darted around the room, searching for signs of disruption.

Paper, ink smears books puled high. The usual clutter, nothing missing from its place.

But the windows were open, and a brisk breeze weaving itself through her curtains, setting them fluttering. She rushed over, leaning out and staring down. The branches of a nearby tree opened to the window, and the angle at which the roof was slanted would allow for an easy slide if one was daring enough to try.

Did he and Gidel-san really just…?!

Raven pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why the distraction if they haven’t taken anything while everyone was away?

She paced her room, reexamined everything. Counted the books, checked the corner where Fellow and Gidel had holed up.

Nothing.

Raven shuffled to her writing desk, a finger taped to her chin.

What happened here…?

Then she saw it.

A book, sticking out from under her chair.

Raven crouched down and retrieved it. The cover, dented. The story, about a boy who never wanted to grow up.

Second star to the right and straight on till morning…

What she had been reading the day she had bumped into the two.

Raven flipped through the novel, stopping on a page flagged by a neon sticky note. Scrawled in messy handwriting was a short message.

Thanks for having us, kid.

Back on the road.

Talk soon, stay safe.

- Fellow

(What she assumed was Gidel’s signature followed, though it resembled scribbles more than letters.)

Raven held the note to her chest. Her ribcage constricted, squeezing her heart. They’re out there. Back on the run from their pursuers.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Mental gates swung open, as if finally unlocked by a skeleton key.

The diversion. It was to keep people anyone from knowing where and when they’d gone. No witnesses, no information to be leaked, no one put in danger if the wrong crowd comes along sniffing for them.

Raven chuckled, laying her arms on her windowsill as she looked out at the campus. The moon was high up, casting a silvery veil over the shadows that slithered in the dark. Almost protective, in a way.

“… Well, what do you know? I guess he still has it in him to be honest every once in a while.”

[madhatterbri]

War-torn | Hangman A.P.

Summary: When Y/N meets Major Adam Page, she knows she'll never be the same. Historical. Civil War. 18+.

Author's Note: My husband and I are talking about visiting Pennsylvania next year so I'm currently in love with historic AU Hanger again. Don't mind me. 😂 Please don't fact-check this... at all.

Hangman Masterlist

Taglist: @plentyoffandoms @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl

A few days after the Battle of Antietam, the Union army stayed in Baltimore. After the bloodiest battle on American soil, they needed time to gather new correspondence from President Abraham Lincoln. No one was more relieved for a break than Major Adam Page.

His horse trotted along the cobblestone streets. Adam's head hung low at the memories of what he has witnessed in the year and a half since the war began. Things didn't look like they were letting up any time soon.

Citizens of Baltimore looked on from the streets. The town had a mixture of Confederate and Union sympathizers. His army was on high alert to make sure no harm fell on them.

Y/N walked through the streets with her employer's daughter, Bella. Bella heard the rumors about how handsome the men in uniform looked. She wanted to see the soldiers for herself. Her father only allowed this if Y/N were to accompany her. With the promise of pay and not having to clean, Y/N happily accepted.

Y/N watched in wonder as the men passed by them. All the horrors they have seen from the war etched into their faces. There was nothing handsome about seeing a broken man. Bella was thrilled at the excitement of them all.

"Maybe I'll bag myself a high commanding officer," she commented happily. With all the money she had, she had her fair share of any man she could have. Y/N, on the other hand, wasn't so fortunate.

While Bella fanned the both of them to keep cool during the September heat, Y/N's eyes locked on a man on a horse. A forage cap covered the top of his head. His blonde locks fell from the cap down to a little past his soldiers. He had piercing light eyes. He was adorned in the dark blue wool coat and light blue trousers. Bright buttons, along with piping and badges, showed that he was a higher rank.

"He's looking right at you. You have to come to Papa's ball tonight. He is offering an invitation to all the officers as a warm greeting to Baltimore," Bella smiled.

"What would a ranking officer want with a servant girl?" Y/N asked.

"Guess we will find out tonight," Bella sung happily and grabbed Y/N's hand. "Come. We must get you ready,"

Adam stood in front of a mansion for some ball for the officers being thrown by the richest family in Baltimore. His thoughts strayed on the girl he saw in the street. She was the only thing that provided him any sort of comfort.

"I told you fine gentlemen that he would make it safely. He doesn't have a horse now to almost lose control over because of a woman," one of his friends teased him. They had been teasing him about it all day. Adam commanded for them to shut up yet couldn't help but crack a smile himself. She just had to be here.

Adam couldn't believe his luck the moment he saw her. A silent wallflower like just himself. He walked over to her and stood next to her. They remained silent.

"You must be the host's daughter," he broke the ice. "Please send my regards on a warm welcome from him,"

The Major was still not used to high society life. A man from Virginia, he would rather be tending to the family farm than mingling with high society.

"I am not his daughter, but I shall," she smiled warmly at him. He smiled back at her. Y/N looked at all the decorations around the room. Her employer always wanted to impress the elite in Baltimore. "I wanted to commend you on your victory against the rebels in Antietam. My... friend and I were pleased you stopped the south from invading the north,"

Adam's face fell at the mention of the battle.

"I'm sorry. That was rather unlady like of me. I must go," she apologized. Y/N went to walk away. Adam grabbed her wrist. She spun around, her head hung from embarrassment. Her employer always told her she had a loose tongue.

"Dance with me while I think about forgiving you," he spoke. Her heart pounded in her chest. Y/N looked up to see him smiling.

They spent the rest of the night together. Adam couldn't recall the last time he was this happy. Y/N was a breath of fresh air from the nightmares from the war. When he was with her, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Over the next several days, they snuck out at any chance to be together. Stolen glances and kisses whenever the opportunity was granted. Everything was going well for them until a correspondence from President Lincoln came in. The army was to report out to their next location by morning. Heartbroken, he went to tell Y/N the bad news. They both basked in equal sadness.

"Stay with me for the night, please. I don't know if I'll... if we'll," she stopped. She couldn't bring herself to finish that sentence. Men in the army were dropping at an alarming rate. After a brief moment of silence, he agreed.

Y/N couldn't remember the moment they made it to her bedroom. Her clothes lay somewhere on the floor along with his. She had never dreamed of this before today. To be with a man before marriage, but this one was different. She could feel it.

"Are you sure?" Adam asked nervously. His forehead pressed against her. Strong, muscular arms held him above her. "Once this happens, we can't go back,"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she assured him. "When, when you come back, we will be together proper,"

That night was the best night in her life. She never knew a man could be so gentle and loving. When morning came, he promised he would write to her.

As the war waged on, their correspondence suffered. The South wouldn't relent despite key victories from the North. Finally, in April 1865, the war ended when General Lee surrendered in Virginia. The men were allowed to return home to their families. Before he could make it back to his farm, Adam knew he had to see his Y/N in Baltimore.

Adam made haste to get there. He didn't want to waste another minute away from her. The city looked the same despite being gone for two and a half years. With flowers in hand, he knocked on Y/N's door. She answered the door and let out a shocked sob.

Her arms flung around his neck. Tears wet his uniform. Adam dropped the flowers to the floor and clung to her as if the Heavens would steal her from him. He closed his eyes and took in her scent. A little blonde boy with bright green eyes appeared from the door. He had tiny army soldiers in his hands.

[cipherswilldatabase]

Event: Beautiful Dreamers

Chapter 01 - Gideon Gleeful

Chapter 02 - Pacifica Northwest

Chapter 03 - Dipper Pines

Chapter 04 - Wendy Corduroy

Chapter 05 - Stanley Pines

Chapter 06 - Jesus Ramirez

Chapter 07 - Mabel Pines

Chapter 08 - Fiddleford H. McGucket

Chapter 09 - Robbie Valentino

Chapter 10 - Stanford Pines

Dreams are something of a mystery. No one, not a single scientist, knows why we dream. Are we simply filtering through memories as we sleep? Are our subconscious trying to tell us something? Or are we tapping into a realm beyond our reality?

=============================================

While Ford has always had sleeping issues – mostly due to mild insomnia and overnight studying, both Stan and Fiddleford could testify – his stint with Bill and dealing with multiverse horrors had given the six-fingered man a fear of sleeping. 

It was as vulnerable as you can get, both in the physical and astral/mental plane.

It took the joint effort of Stan and Ford to get the latter some well overdue rest weeks into their boating trip. Granted, Ford would sometimes be stubborn about it if something he was fixated on got his entire attention. But, if there was a sign of Ford getting sleepy, Stan would talk his brother into their room to take a nap on Stan’s bottom bunk.

▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△

Ford had taken notice of the different changes to his dreamscape.

His first time there was that of starry space, marked by words and equations and a plethora of books, when he first encountered Bill Cipher. It wouldn’t be until sometime later that he learned this was just the upper half of his mindscape.

On ground level, there was golden wheat as far as the eye could see. In the sky, endless stars, constellations, and galaxies.

After the creation of the portal and the entering of said portal, he could no longer see the starry sky above, blocked by the oppressive smog that coated the skies. He was also surrounded by three reminders of his greatest failures and mistakes: A broken dream, a torn bond, and the loss of a friend.

Now…after everything…things were different. 

The broken down portal was still present in the distance, but it no longer casted a looming shadow in Ford’s mindscape. The sky was no longer obscured, revealing the brilliantly starry sky, somehow much more vibrant than before, the original Stan o’ War was repaired, and small blue flowers decorated the swing set. There are a few new additions. 

In the starry sky are constellations, but not the classic 88 ones Ford recognizes from his home dimension. And already lined, too. He still needs time to study them, but of the ones he could decipher…A six-fingered hand, a needle (?), a nautical compass, a pen (or pencil), a cube…and a triangle with an ‘X’...

In a spot within the wheat cleaned away for a couple of shelves containing numerous books and a table containing a DD&MoreD board and a chair with a vibrant sweater hung limply.

While Ford was enjoying the new look…he couldn’t shake off a sense of unease.

A black book fell from one of the shelves. Ford approached the fallen tome and went to pick it up and put it back. The moment he touched black leather, an ice cold chill surged through him. He turned the book around and – in the middle of a triangle – a crimson eye opened on the cover and stared directly at him.

He dropped the book like it burned him and it opened itself and the pages flipped from an unknown source. 

Ford looked at his hands – sources of his pride and disdain – shaking and black veins were becoming visible as small, triangular particles manifested.

He can feel the veins spreading in his body, like a parasite…

More crimson eyes made themselves known around Ford. Each and every one of them looked at him.

The air around grew dark…the sky above turned red and cracked…the eyes continued to stare…

And he regrettably stared back and shuddered as he somehow saw himself within the black of a slitted pupil.

Those black veins have reached his face…

He was just as red as all of the eyes…

And…his right eye…the white turned black and his blue iris a deadly crimson and slitted…

And bleeding?

▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△-▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△

After having a nap of his own on deck, Stan went to their room to check on Ford.

The elder twin was still sound asleep and Stan was just going to leave it at that. Every moment of rest was precious for them. That is until Stan noticed a look on Ford’s face, as he was facing away from the wall.

There was a look on Ford’s face, his forehead and brows bunched together, his nose would twitch, and there was a faint hint of a snarl curling his upper lip. Whatever Ford was dreaming…it wasn’t pleasant.

As much as Stan wanted to wake Ford…he felt he shouldn’t. The scientist had already gone through an all-nighter and Stan didn’t want to interrupt this sleep. Instead, he tip-toed his way to the bottom and carefully - as best as he could - lowered down to take a seat on the mattress and hope that the shift in weight doesn’t wake Ford. Stan reached over and started carding his fingers through Ford’s dark gray curls and prayed that this would soothe his brother’s mind.

Stan felt both pride and relief when he heard Ford’s breathing even out and his face relaxed. Stan closed his eyes, still stroking his brother’s head and just enjoying this silent moment.

A small drop of blood trickled from Ford’s right eye and stained Stan’s pillow.

=============================================

X QXPQB LC TEXQ FP QL ZLJB.

[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 25: Shadows

You have become a shadow in your own home.

You exist. For now, that has to be enough. You know that the days are slipping by from the passing glow and fade of sun around the edges of the heavy red curtains on the windows. When wine doesn’t offer enough escape, you find yourself turning to the endless shelves of books in the house. You used to be the type who favoured blades over books, but now the pages that you lose yourself in are worth more to you than any weapon. They are a shield against the darkness that surrounds you, and gods know you could use the protection.

You still hate being alone. Astarion is gone more days than he is here. You can’t help but wonder how much the incident with the Fist has disrupted his plans for the council. If he’s worried, he never shows it. And if the stacks of correspondences that arrive for him daily are anything to go by, there are still plenty of people out there who want to remain in his good books.

 Even when Astarion is around, he sometimes tires of your constant company, commanding you to wait in mindless silence in your bedchamber until he wishes to see you again. To avoid this fate, you begin to follow him less, although it pains you to do so.

You know you should stay away from the west wing, that den of Flaming Fist and New Watch, lest the sunlight burns you, or some other Fist discovers your secret, but you find yourself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The bustling noises, and the energetic buzz of people hard at work, are proof of a world that is still thriving beyond the stone walls of your living tomb.

So you have taken to venturing into this hive of activity, keeping to the places that the sun cannot reach even with the curtains thrown back and the windows flung open. You haunt the alcoves and the inner corridors, stepping lightly from one shaded spot to the next. You only go directly after you have drunk, so you need not fear your hunger getting the better of you. When you find a place in the half-gloom, obscured from the view of the flurry of living beings around you, you sit, read, and absorb the tumult with a feeling close to joy.

You never try to speak to anyone. You do not crave communication. Besides, it would be useless, tongue-bound as you are. You only wish to know that you are not entirely alone.

You are sat like this, in a dark alcove, reading, lost in an imaginary world, when a voice interrupts you.

“A good one, is it?”

The voice is so painfully cheerful it makes you wince. You look up into the youthful face of a human man - a boy, really - wearing the uniform of a Flaming Fist. He grins at you.

“The book, I mean. It’s a good one?”

You stare at him, frozen. When was the last time someone spoke to you with good will? Someone new? Someone free?

“Never been much one for reading, me,” he continues. “My sister loves it, though. Reckon she’s read more books in t’ past year than most read in a lifetime.”

He seems to have finally noticed your utter lack of response. His grin stays in place, but his brow furrows slightly as if he’s just remembered himself.

“I’m Lucas, by the way. What’s your name?”

You purse your lips in something that isn’t quite a smile and give a small shrug.

“Cat got your tongue, eh? Ah, well. Worse parts of you to lose. I should know.” He reaches down, beaming, and knocks on his left shin, which emits a hollow clunk. You raise your eyebrows at his enthusiasm. He seems to take it as encouragement.

“Great, ent it? I told everyone at the Mermaid that I lost it in t’ Battle of Baldur’s Gate and now I get free drinks all the time.” Then he continues in a lower voice, “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually lost it on the journey here. Horse bloody fell on me. Total nightmare. Still, got to look on the bright side, don’t you?”

You blink incredulously. Somehow, he is still talking.

“Anyway, best get back, supposed to be on duty. Get lost in this bloody house all the damn time. Good to meet you, o’ silent lady of the books.”

He crumples into an inelegant bow, then lopes off down the corridor. You are left entirely too bewildered to get back into your book.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Mistaken Identity

Actually quite long (about 42 pages in my tiny notepad), because it's a full one-shot rather than part of a multi-chapter idea. Although that's not to say I won't add pieces later

The distress beacon had been Sig’s, but the shape lying limply in the dust was most assuredly not Sig. The gathered Wastelanders looked at each other with grim expressions: this felt like a trap.

"Circle around," Damas signed to the driver of the second car, "Check for an ambush. I'll see if it's one of ours."

"Be careful," the woman signed back. A dimple between her brows suggested that under her heavy scarf she was frowning.

"I'm always careful."

Even so, Damas took extra care in approaching the crumpled form, gesturing for Kleiver to follow him in case of attack. He'd assumed that the person -- or corpse, hard to tell at this distance -- would be larger up close. But as he drew near, the figure remained small, and slight. They were dressed like a Havenite from the Slums, wearing stained, threadbare layers of clothing. A filthy scarf and dismally battered goggles half covered matted green hair; they didn't seem to have any more protection from the sun than that. Foolish Havenite.

Two small animals lay beside the stranger, breathing shallowly. Pets? That seemed an unusual step for Haven, letting an exile take anything important to them.

Damas glanced at the stranger, but kept his attention focused on the ground, looking for Sig’s beacon. It didn't take long to find, considering it lay beside the stranger's hand. Damas picked up the beacon and turned it over in his hand. There were no obvious signs of tampering. No blood or scorching or anything else to indicate that the beacon had been taken by force.

"How did you get this?" Damas murmured, not really expecting an answer. Whoever this was, they were barely alive.

"Er...lordship?"

It was not like Kleiver to sound hesitant.

"Do you...know this kid?"

An odd question. Damas looked up with a quizzical expression and found the big Wastelander peering down at the face of the figure. Kid?

The king pivoted on his heels to get a better look at their find.

Sunken cheeks. Dark circles under large eyes. A pitiful patch of stubble that might’ve been a first attempt at a beard on an otherwise startlingly smooth face. Precursors, he was a kid, wasn't he? He could've been anywhere from sixteen to nineteen -- in his state, it was hard to tell.

"Scrawny thing, isn't he?" Damas remarked. He took hold of an iron ring strapped to the boy's chest and tried to shake off a nagging sense of familiarity in the boy's features. "A channeler, maybe? We could use one of those. Honestly, I'm impressed that he's still breathing."

He glanced up. "What makes you think I'd know who the whelp is?"

Kleiver looked back at him with an unusually uncomfortable expression. He gestured awkwardly to the boy's face.

"Well he's...I mean- well look at 'im! 'S just weird, is all."

"What's weird?" Damas scoffed and hoisted the boy up by the iron ring.

The boy's head fell back and for just a moment, something around his neck glittered in the fading sunlight. With a curse, Damas dropped him as if he'd been burned. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back a step, swearing under his breath.

"What fresh hell is this?" he demanded.

That was where Phobos found him after completing her perimeter check: staring in horror down at a much younger version of his own face.

Phobos crossed the space between their vehicles to touch his shoulder.

"Damas?"

"I...who is this?"

"Damas." Phobos shook him gently. "Hey. Hey. Are you just going to leave him lying there?"

The king blinked and inhaled sharply as he seemed to come to. "Right," he muttered, "...right. Pho, take my staff."

"What? Oop-!" Phobos hastily grabbed at the staff Damas all but dropped. "What the-!"

In a daze, Damas knelt and slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.

"Gods. He really is scrawny."

He shook his head and hoisted the boy up.

"Kleiver, get the car started. And someone grab those animals!"

Phobos's eyes flicked from Damas to the half-dead castaway, and narrowed.

"Damas...who is that?"

Her husband turned to face her, a disturbed shock stamped clearly on his face.

"I don't know," he said grimly, "but he's wearing a Maridius amulet."

■■■■■■■■■■

The Rift Rider idled, ready to take Samos and the child back in time. Ready to begin the cycle of pain all over again. Jak bit his lip and folded his younger self's fingers back over the proffered amulet.

"No, buddy, you keep it," he said gently. "Try...try to remember something about your family this time. Maybe remember me."

The tiny boy pouted, then threw his arms around Jak’s neck. "Za?" He whispered in Jak’s ear, the closest he'd ever come to saying his name.

Jak closed his eyes and hugged the kid tightly. Precursors knew he wouldn't get a lot of hugs in Sandover. "No, buddy. Za can't go with you this time. You have to be really brave for me, okay? There's...there's a kid on the other side of that gate who really really needs a friend. Can you look out for him for me?"

Sniffling, the little boy let go and nodded. "Brave like you," he signed. Then, rubbing his eyes, he sat back down in the craft.

Jak took a slow breath, then looked to the younger Samos. Doubtless this version of the sage was going to withhold just as much information as the older one. Jak didn't trust him to warn Mar about Errol. And he'd be blasted if he let that swine get his hands on the amulet in any timeline.

"You know, I didn't have the amulet when I got back to the present," he said casually. "I think you locked it up for safekeeping right before we fixed the Rift Gate, but I never saw where in the house you put it."

Samos took the bait too easily. "Oof! Yes, I suppose it would be bad for the kid to meet the Baron with that thing on. Thanks for the heads-up."

All too soon, they were gone. And not long after, so was Jak, headed for Dead Town. It had been a selfish ploy, a bid to give himself some semblance of a connection to his past. He couldn't remember having the amulet yet -- but he'd had trouble remembering a lot of his early years ever since the experiments began. "Traumatic amnesia", Daxter called it.

But if the amulet was there, if his ploy had worked, then maybe he'd get something back.

It took him an hour to sift through all the debris in the old hut, even with Daxter's help. The ravages of time hadn't left many places for treasure to remain undiscovered in. But just when Jak was beginning to fear that someone had found it decades before, his hand brushed over a brick in the old planter circles that lacked the same grout as the others.

Leave it to Samos to hide such an important artifact under a giant, vicious, carnivorous plant. Had he fed it to the thing?! The amulet was down where the roots had once been!

Still, Jak could admit to a sense of relief that washed over him once the amulet was in his hand. Clearly he'd changed the past at least enough to have an emotional connection to the pendant. He tucked it into his tunic, resolving to put it on a chain the first chance he got. He wasn't going to let anyone take it from him again.

■■■■■■■■■■

The last thing Jak remembered was collapsing beside a boulder, desperately trying to stay conscious only to fail seconds later. He could hear a voice -- not Daxter or Pecker -- nearby, and as he focused on that, other sensations began to filter in.

Softness beneath him.

The smell of eco med-gel.

An itch in the crook of his elbow.

A sticky dryness in his mouth, like cotton.

And something off about his skin. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his skin felt different somehow. Cleaner? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would it be clean?

It took a monumental effort to open his eyes, and he regretted it immediately. Light stabbed into his retinas pitilessly, and Jak let out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. In response, a shadow fell over his face, shielding him from the unforgiving glare. First a blur, then a shape, a face slowly swam into focus.

"Ah, you're back with us! Thank the Precursors, that was a close one, eh?"

Jak blinked up in confusion as his brain slowly processed the presence of one of the most beautiful women he could ever remember seeing. Not that he could remember seeing that many women in his life. Her skintone was so deep that the light framing her glanced off her cheekbones in little flashes of garnet and amethyst. Coils of hair spread out behind her head in an artful halo, providing most of the blessed shade across Jak's face. He squinted up at her for a long moment, trying to determine whether he was hallucinating in the desert.

"....'m I dead?" Jak croaked, then winced at the dry soreness in his throat.

The angelic stranger laughed in surprise. "Dead? No, quite the opposite, kid. Although you got pretty close."

"Where am I?" Jak tried to sit up, and something tugged at his elbow.

Instantly, he froze. He knew the shape of a needle.

Bile crawled up his throat, and his heart thundered in his ears as he forced himself to turn his head and look.

A bag of clear fluid hung from a stand beside a cot he'd been laid on. Descending from the bag, a long tube fed the fluid through a needle secured to his arm with bandages. A high whine escaped him, and the room seemed to spin.

"Whoa whoa whoa- kid, kiddo, look at me."

The mysterious woman suddenly took his face in her hands -- rough hands. A warrior's hands.

"Ssshh, hey, you're okay. You're okay, chico. It's just saline, that's all."

"W- what-?"

"Saline. It's a...kinda like a saltwater solution you give to people suffering dehydration."

One of the calloused hands cupped the back of his head, rubbing a thumb comfortingly over stubble.

Stubble?

Jak's breathing quickened and the room spun faster.

"What-!" he gasped, and his breaths began to squeak. "What did you do to me?!"

"Hey now, breathe. Breathe." The woman began to sway back and forth where she sat, dragging him along with the rocking motion.

"Inhale with me, yeah? In and out, in and out. I've got you."

"M- my h- my h- hair-!" Jak squeaked.

The woman clicked her tongue. "Oh, ohhh, you can feel that, huh? Yeah, you were overheated. The mats in your hair were just doing damage to you, longterm. The doctors didn't have any time to waste, so they shaved it out to cool you off."

She continued to cradle his face with her other hand, offering him a full, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get your okay, chico. But...I mean, you wouldn't wake up! Not even your orange friend could get a response. He gave us the go-ahead."

For the first time since waking, Jak felt something like relief. "D- Daxter?"

"Mm. The mouthy one? Yes."

"Where-?"

The woman pulled back and turned away for a moment. Jak wondered why he felt minutely disappointed by that. He wasn't that touch-starved, was he? When she turned back, she held a cup and pitcher in her hands. The sight of the water trickling from one container to the other made Jak's throat ache all the fiercer.

"Here. Slow sips now, little bird. Don't make yourself sick like your friend did." The woman settled back into her seat at the edge of the cot. She made a vague gesture with the hand not holding the pitcher.

"At least he made a quick recovery. My husband took him back up to our place. When you're cleared by the doctors, we'll take you to him."

Jak gulped down the water, ignoring his visitor's protests. It was cool, although not cold, but even that was like heaven on his irritated throat. Droplets leaked from the corner of his mouth, and the IV tugged painfully as he reached up to catch them. He didn't think he could afford to waste even one drop.

"Hey hey!" The woman reached for the cup, and Jak jerked back out of reach.

"Not so fast, chico, you'll make yourself sick!"

Jak growled softly behind the rim of the cup and hitched up his shoulders. If this lady wanted to take the water away, she'd be in for a fight.

"Whoa!" The woman raised her brows. "Calm down. The water isn't going anywhere, I promise."

"I don't know you," Jak retorted, "How do I know you keep promises?"

Now the woman began to look a little annoyed.

"Fair enough," she begrudgingly allowed. "Considering the state we found you in, am I to assume that if I take that cup you'll bite me or something?"

"I might," answered Jak coolly.

Something bittersweet passed over the woman's face and lingered there at the corners of her mouth as she forced a smile.

"Well that wouldn't be very nice of you, but I can't say it wouldn't fit with every other kid in Spargus."

Jak lowered the cup slowly. "Spargus?" he asked, tilting his head, "What's that?"

"It's home," she answered. "The city of the forgotten and the betrayed -- and the hunter."

Jak raised the cup again and muttered darkly, "Well that's ironically appropriate."

"Let's start over, huh?"

The woman leaned back and carded a hand through her teased-out coils.

"My name is Phobos. I was with the convoy that found you and your friends in the Strider Range."

"...oh."

Jak grimaced. This woman had rescued him, hadn't she?

"I'm, um. I'm Jak."

Embarrassed, he gestured to the cup, the IV, and looked away. "What do I owe you? I don't...I don't have any money."

Phobos shook her head. "It's fine, chico- er, Jak. When people come to Spargus, those who have life debts pay it back by contributing to the overall survival of their new home and neighbors, depending on how old they are when they arrive."

"How old they are?" Jak fiddled with his now empty cup awkwardly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Phobos gave him an amused glance. "Uh...kids are kids? This isn't Haven, hey? We don't even let people take the citizen applicant training course until we know they're eighteen or older."

She scooted closer and held up the pitcher. "Cup."

"Huh? Oh-"

Jak tilted the cup toward her but didn't let go. He watched her refill it and puzzled over the idea of a city in good enough shape that kids didn't have to work. Maybe there weren't metalheads out here.

"So...do you people normally pick up half-dead people and bring them home?"

"As long as they aren't half dead because they tried to kill us, yeah," Phobos said with a careless shrug. "Strength and survival: it's the two things Wastelanders respect the most. So when we find somebody in the badlands who isn't a dried out corpse, we know we've got the makings of a tough little survivor."

Surviving was, by necessity, Jak’s best skill. But considering the kind of jobs he got when people knew that, and how it had turned out last time, Jak decided not to advertise that fact. It already nagged at him that someone had seen his scars, and the bruises from the arrest, and every other injury he'd gained in the name of helping a city that hated him. Spargus wouldn't get the same freebies.

Eventually, Phobos stood up and put the pitcher back on a low counter that extended out of sight behind a curtain. She dusted off her yellow tunic and stretched her back with a soft grunt.

"Alright. I guess somebody ought to tell Damas you're awake and talking," she said, more to herself than to Jak.

Before Jak could ask who Damas was supposed to be, something careful and calculated slipped into Phobos's voice.

"So...just you and the critters, huh? Your parents know where you are?"

Hands tightened into claws around the wooden cup.

"I never had parents," Jak growled.

One more thing to "thank" Haven for, apparently.

"Ah." Phobos's eyes widened in an oddly dismayed expression. "Sorry, I..."

"Why?"

Jak's eyes narrowed at her.

"Literally no one has ever asked if I even had parents before you. You're fishing for something. What do you want?"

Then it hit him: if the woman had seen his scars, she had seen his amulet as well. Was that what she was getting at? Probing to see if any other ill-fated Heirs of Mar existed?

"Uh..." Phobos puffed out her cheeks and blew the air out. "It's...complicated. I'm gonna let Damas take this one."

"Who's Damas?" Jak demanded.

Phobos made another odd grimace and lifted a radio from the countertop.

"Hey, Damas, the kid's awake," she said, ignoring Jak's question.

A raspy voice crackled through the speaker.

"He is? Has he said anything yet?"

"Well, he threatened to bite me," Phobos joked before growing serious. "Take it easy when you come down, he's pretty worked up. Bring the orange guy if you can."

"Understood. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah," Phobos sighed. "He doesn't know who we are, where we are, or how he got here. I don't think you're going to get any answers out of him."

"......oh."

The guy she called Damas sounded strangely...emotional.

"Er...alright. I'll...I'll see what I can do when I get there."

Jak glowered at Phobos's back. He hated when people talked about him like he wasn't there.

Out of habit, he reached for his collar to run his fingers over his amulet. That always helped him slow down when his thoughts were racing too fast. His fingers brushed against loose linen; the tunic he was wearing were not the one he'd had on the last time he was awake. Jak's stomach felt like it was plummeting from a precipice as he finally looked down at his body. Someone had dressed him in loose, lightweight clothing. There was no sign of his own clothing.

Or his amulet.

Fighting down feelings of violation and revulsion, Jak gripped the thin sheets in hands like claws.

"Where are my clothes?" he snarled, "What did you do?"

Phobos didn't look overly concerned, which only agitated Jak more.

"They're being checked for trackers or other bugs," she said with a shrug. "Haven's been trying to find our city for years. Can't be too careful. Look on the bright side: it's probably the first time they've ever been washed."

She leaned over the cot, and Jak jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

There wasn't much room to retreat on the small bed, but Jak tried anyway.

"Who stole my amulet?"

"Hey, calm down," Phobos raised a placating hand, but dropped it quickly when Jak flinched. "Nobody stole it."

"Don't lie to me!"

Jak was over the verge of panic now. He was alone, powerless, right back to being poked and prodded like a doll. Like a lab rat.

"What do you want?!"

Grimacing, Phobos stepped back and grabbed her radio again.

"Hey Damas? Hurry it up, will ya?"

"I'm en route."

"Good. Because he just noticed the absence of a Certain Something and he is losing it right now."

"Rot. Okay, just- rot! Try to keep him calm, I'm bringing it, okay?"

The man's voice rose and fell oddly. It almost sounded like he was running.

Phobos ran a hand through her hair and puffed out her cheeks. This was not going as well as they'd hoped. Could've been worse, she acknowledged, but this kid's reactions were giving her a bad feeling. The scars, the reaction to the IV and having been given new clothing without his knowledge, it all painted a pretty grim picture.

"Damas is bringing your amulet down," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. (How did one talk to agitated teenagers?! Why weren't they as easy to calm as toddlers?) "He'll explain everything, chico, I promise. Just...stay here a minute, okay?"

Jak warily watched the woman walk through the curtain, listening and counting her footsteps. By the sound of it, he was in the back of a narrow building. There was someone else up there, wherever Phobos had gone, but they rustled around opening drawers instead of speaking. If there were guards, Jak couldn't hear them. He hoped there were none. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to fight them off.

A door slid open with the sound of a chime, and Jak stiffened as a heavier tread entered the building.

"About time!" he heard Phobos greet the person, "He's all yours."

"Allegedly," the voice from the radio answered.

"Mmhm. You're cute when you're in denial. Better get back there before the poor kid has a heart attack."

When the curtains parted, Jak was in the act of climbing off the cot to look for something -- anything -- to defend himself with. He froze, locking eyes with a weathered Wastelander covered in scars and armor. He looked like the kind of guy Sig would run with. Jak stared at the man and wondered if this was the guy who allegedly had his amulet. Were those piercings on his skull?! Despite himself, Jak wondered how the man slept without ripping whatever he used for a pillow.

"Easy, young one," the man murmured, holding out his hands as if approaching a skittish animal. "Easy. You're in no danger."

"Usually when people tell me that, they're lying," Jak retorted. He backed up, silently cursing his shaky legs, until his back touched the wall and the IV tugged painfully at his arm. "Where's Daxter? What do you people want with us?"

The armored man lowered himself to sit on the end of the cot and folded his hands in front of him. "Your friend is perfectly safe," he soothed, "Well, unless he tries to use the water wheel as a carnival ride, I suppose. But he doesn't really seem the type to do that kind of thing."

"You didn't answer my other question," Jak said pointedly. "What do you want?"

"Answers," the man -- Damas, probably -- replied steadily, "Just answers."

"Like what?" Jak edged closer to the IV, trying to relieve the horrific sensation of the needle.

Then his visitor reached into a cloth pouch at his belt and drew out a familiar shape.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked, holding up the amulet.

Forgetting the needle, Jak lunged for the pendant. Pain lanced through his elbow for an instant, hot and dull, and he pulled up short. He'd learned long ago not to rip needles out. There would just be more if he did.

"Whoa!" Damas dropped the amulet on the sheets and reached out as if to steady Jak. "Slow down, boy, you're going to hurt yourself! You shouldn't even be standing right now!"

Jak, unfortunately, agreed. But he locked his knees and kept his eyes on Phobos's friend, just as he had on Phobos.

"Give it back," he rasped, holding out a demanding hand.

Damas frowned thoughtfully. He picked up the chain and considered it for a few seconds before dropping it into Jak's outstretched hand.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

With time-travel being too unbelievable an explanation even to those closest to Jak, he settled for the most open-ended version of the truth he could manage.

"Ancient ruins," he muttered.

The chain slipped down around his neck, and he visibly relaxed once the familiar weight rested against his collarbone.

Damas made an interested sound and folded his arms. "Ruins, eh? How did you find it?"

Evasively, Jak shrugged. "I just...knew where to look."

"And does this happen to you often? "Knowing" things?"

Hm. He might’ve been a little too open-ended there. Jak braced his back against the wall and begrudgingly clarified.

"I'm not a seer. It's just with eco stuff."

Damas nodded. "Ah! I understand. So what made you decide to keep such an odd little trinket?"

He wasn't being very subtle. Jak could do blunt too.

"It's mine. That's it. And I know what you're trying to do."

A hint of tension lined Damas’s neck and shoulders as he tried to play casual.

"Oh? And what am I trying to do, young one?"

Jak curled his lip at the man. "You're trying to get me to say I'm an Heir of Mar, probably so you can get some of his artifacts. What, do you want the Precursor Stone too? Well you're too late."

Any semblance of relaxation dropped from Damas like a cloak. He straightened, and the air filled with an undercurrent of warning. It was almost like eco -- enough that Jak wondered if the man could channel.

"Explain that, please."

It didn't sound like a request.

"What, exactly, do you know about the Precursor Stone?"

Jak gripped his amulet for calm.

"Not a myth," he said shortly, "Not meant to be used as a weapon, and not a rock."

He lifted his chin and met Damas’s hard eyes.

"I opened it. It can't be used anymore."

"Opened?!" Damas recoiled slightly. "You've touched the Stone?"

Suspicion colored his voice, but strangely he didn't seem to be getting hostile.

"Where did you find it?"

Agitated, Jak snapped, "In a tomb designed by some sadistic obstacle-course lover obsessed with "manhood", guarded by a bunch of loudmouth Oracles. Be glad you missed it."

He wondered if he was just setting himself up for problems later. If the Wastelanders knew he could speak to Oracles and traverse ruins, they'd probably make him pay off the medical care by finding artifacts for them. Story of his life.

But Damas looked shaken by the statement, not shrewd. He seemed almost to pale, and drew a hand over his face to rest over his mouth. His eyes bored into Jak's with an unsettling intensity.

"The amulet truly belongs to you, then," he finally acknowledged, in little more than a croak. His fingers pressed into his jaw hard enough that Jak wondered if the man would have fingerprints there later.

"How...how old are you, boy?"

What did that have to do with anything? Annoyed, Jak shrugged.

"Like I know? Fifteen, sixteen, what's it matter?"

"You don't...you don't know?" Damas looked even more shaken. "No one told you your own birthdate?"

Jak didn't want to talk about this. He finally slumped to sit at the head of the cot and crossed his arms sullenly.

"Y'know what, that's none of your business. Where's Daxter? I'm not saying anything else until I see him."

"I can arrange that."

Damas stood and absentmindedly picked up the wooden cup.

"You should er...try to sleep some. Heat exhaustion will leave you weak for a good several days-"

"Are you Damas?" Jak interrupted suddenly, as Phobos's attempted reassurances came to mind.

Damas turned. "Yes?"

He looked like he almost expected something else to follow.

Jak pulled his knees to his chest and rested folded arms on top of them. "The lady who was in here said you'd explain what you people wanted from me. And why you took my amulet."

The Wastelander looked, Jak thought, rather like he had just swallowed a bee. He made a few awkward hand motions -- some of it almost looked like signs -- and tugged on a tuft of hair at his chin.

"Ah...that is..."

He picked up the pitcher and splashed water into the cup clumsily. He was unsettled.

"The crest of Mar has...connotations. Doubtless you've learned by now, but when people see it they form...expectations."

Damas cleared his throat and handed the cup over to Jak.

"I removed it from you before the monks could see it and develop those expectations. I...wanted you to be able to focus on healing without the distraction of history zealots."

Well, that was marginally better than Jak had been imagining. He didn't exactly trust that the man was telling the truth, but at least he hadn't tried to sell it or something. Jak acknowledged his visitor's words with a curt nod and sipped at the water slowly. Idly, he wondered if his general age fit this city's "too young for serious work" bracket or not. After Haven, he honestly didn't know whether he hoped so or not.

Damas was staring at him. It was subtle, but intense, and Jak could feel his eyes. It made his brain itch, and he felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Are you in any pain?" Damas asked suddenly, apparently in response to the squirming.

"I don't like being stared at," Jak answered gruffly.

"...ah." Damas cringed and looked away. "Apologies. You just...look very familiar. I was trying to place whether I might have met you or someone you were related to in the past."

"Not unless you were in Haven before Praxis took over," Jak grumbled bitterly, "Or you took a tour of his prison labs in the last two years."

You're talking too much, Jak. Wait for Daxter. Why are you volunteering this information?

Well. He knew. He was scared and disoriented and angry, and he wanted to shock someone. Anyone. It was the dark eco talking.

"The labs?!" Damas dropped the pitcher with a crash. A terrible look flooded his face. "Did...was your whole family there?"

"Rot! Why are you guys so obsessed with information about my parents?" Jak was getting tired of repeating himself. "You know as much as I do! Even the freakin Oracles wouldn't tell me what the amulet meant until I got to the Tomb!"

From the front of the building, the third person finally called out.

"My lord, if you keep getting him worked up, I'm tossing you out. He's supposed to be resting!"

"I'm working on it, Petros!" Damas retorted sharply.

He closed his eyes and made a visible attempt to calm himself before turning back to Jak.

"Sorry. I know this is confusing. I am...having a difficult time finding the right words to ask the right questions." He made a helpless gesture. "Finding you, practically on my doorstep, with that amulet has upended my understanding of the world and my place in it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jak demanded.

Damas gingerly took a seat at the end of the cot again and, sighing deeply, reached into his pouch again.

"The last time I was in Haven for an extended period of time was about fifteen years ago, at the end of the last major campaign against the metalheads."

He opened his hand, revealing a second amulet of Mar in his palm.

"After Praxis betrayed me- after the hardships our city has faced over the last few years-"

He shook his head with furrowed brow.

"I- I thought I was the only one left. And now here you are, and I have more questions than answers."

Jak blinked, then blinked again.

"Well," he said in a strangled voice, "That makes two of us."

[voonydapunk69420]

The Shadows Take Family.

(Warning, this is an alternate universe horror story for Alan Wake 2. I wrote this and originally posted it in a google doc in the Remedy discord. My mutuals should all add me on discord I like talking about Alan Wake and nerd stuff on there.) "FBC Investigation Department Steven Yoke reporting in, Code 7721, More shadows have appeared, and I was sent to investigate." The agent spoke into the ham radio he had in his cabin.It was lit up like a christmas tree and unable to be invaded by the taken. Truthfully the taken were the least of his worries, he killed at least 3 of them when he had gotten here, using a flashlight and a suppressed HK USP to avoid any loud noises alerting the townsfolk. His fears weren’t about the Koskela’s or the taken but instead the cult. Steve though hadn't heard anything recently from the cult of the trees. Just some chatter that a possible leader in their organization had disappeared and was suspected to have become one of the taken. His suspects as to who were short in numbers, Blum, Ilmo, Jaako, Rose, fucking Pat Maine for all he knew. This town wasn't his favorite place to be stationed, the only good thing was the coffee, and even that seemed to be getting worse every time he was there. He would hear something outside of his cabin, a voice corrupted but recognizable from the advertisements in town, a leader in the two towns of Watery and Bright Falls. "And AlL BeCause of your SHIT COFFEE!" An originally humorous line corrupted by the Dark Presence taking him. It was Ilmo Koskela. "They got Ilmo Koskela, the shadows got Ilmo Koskela this is not a drill." He said grabbing his flashlight and gun getting ready to take out the taken, the broken deer mask half resting on Ilmo's face as Steven stepped out. "FBC FREEZE MOTHERFUCKER!" He said but before he could shoot, clonk, he was knocked out by something else from behind, he was dragged to the lake. MIA isn't too bad for a man who's probably never able to retire. He would still be reaching for his side arm besides the suppressed pistol, it was a Gen 2 Glock 35 which had a flashlight equipped to it. Before he could even try to shoot the taken though something else had happened. Ilmo and the Taken that trapped the agent both tried to drag him into the water, Ilmo quoting his ads some more. "It's not a-moosing!" As he was speaking more, and more getting close to the lake a powerful light was shown on the two, his brother Jaako wouldn't let him be corrupted for long, Two shots from a pump action shotgun rang out. Jaako got ready for the ritual to kill the taken. "I'm sorry brother." Jaako said as he grabbed the knife and drove it into his brother's chest slowly carving out his heart. It was the ritual, it was something Jaako hated doing to those he knew. But now they weren’t the locals, they were monsters. It sickened him that this was needing to happen but he understood why. "We watch from the trees, We fight the shadows!" The other cult members chanted as they took the heart out and placed it down on the table, pulling out a page of Hemingway's writing and replacing it with one from Rose about the brother dying a death to a cult. They put the clicker in the hole in his chest and clicked. Soon after they got ready for the next one, Jaako was still heart broken. All he hoped was that this would give his brother the rest he deserved. 

[msklassickilla]

Wisps of Obsession Ⅰ

Summary:

Legend said on a night with a full moon along with a lit candle you could call on anyone. I didn’t know if I believed that back then but now I know for sure it’s true. He shows up on a full moon night just to stake his claim before the shadows call him home.

Willow.

A name etched into my essence with his bare hands..

Pairing: Jeff Hardy/Willow the Wisp x Nyx Gordan (Black OC)

Author’s Note: This one is a dark romance with Jeff’s alter, Willow the Wisp. Apparently he’s bringing it back so that will be. I love psychological thrillers so much of this is focused on that aspect. Hopefully I will do it justice. Very excited for this!

Warnings: None.

Disclaimers: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

The bass from the club still pulsed faintly in my ears as Kayla and I stumbled out into the cool night air. She was teetering on her heels, clutching my arm for balance while laughing at nothing in particular. Her auburn hair, damp with sweat from dancing, clung to her flushed face.

“You have to admit,” she slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at me, “tonight was epic.”

I rolled my eyes, steadying her as we crossed the parking lot. “If by ‘epic’ you mean you stepping on my foot five times and spilling half your drink on me, then sure.”

Kayla smacked my arm lightly, giggling. “You’re such a buzzkill, Nyx. Just embrace the chaos once in a while.”

“Someone has to keep us alive,” I muttered, scanning the dimly lit lot for my car. The fluorescent overhead lights flickered ominously, casting jagged shadows over the asphalt.

That’s when Kayla stopped short, yanking me back by the arm. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing toward something lying near the edge of the lot.

“What’s what?” I asked, exasperated.

She let go of me and wobbled over to the object, crouching unsteadily to pick it up. It was a small, battered journal, its cover worn and smudged with dirt. Kayla held it up triumphantly, as if she’d unearthed buried treasure.

“Look! It’s like fate or something,” she declared, flipping it open.

“It’s trash someone left behind,” I corrected, but she was already engrossed.

The pages were yellowed and filled with uneven handwriting; some words smudged as though written in a hurry. Kayla’s eyes widened as she skimmed a few lines, and then she gasped. “Oh my God. This is it.”

“This is what?”

She turned to me, her face alight with drunken enthusiasm. “The legend! The one about calling on him. You light a candle, say his name under a full moon, and he comes.”

“Him who?” I asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Willow the Wisp.” She said it like it should mean something to me. It didn’t.

“That sounds like a bad horror movie title.”

“No, it’s real,” she insisted, clutching the journal to her chest. “And we’re trying it tonight.”

I sighed. “You’re drunk. Let’s just get you home before you end up summoning a hangover instead.”

☂︎

Back at my apartment, Kayla was still on her mission. She sprawled on the couch, the journal open across her legs, a cheap candle she’d fished out from my kitchen burning on the coffee table. Her excitement hadn’t waned, but my patience had.

“Go on! Say it! I dare you!” Kayla’s voice was thick with anticipation and alcohol.

I crossed my arms, glaring at her. “Why don’t you say it, huh? You seem to believe it’s true.”

“Exactly. I believe it, so I’m asking you to do it. If I ask and it’s real, he’ll come after me. I don’t want those problems,” she explained, her tone too casual for someone suggesting supernatural rituals.

I shook my head, leaning against the couch. “You’re unbelievable.”

She waved the journal at me like it was the answer to life itself. “Come on, Nyx! You don’t believe in anything, so what’s the harm? Just humor me.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes, but before I could argue further, Kayla slumped back against the cushions, her eyes fluttering shut. Within minutes, she was snoring softly, the journal still clutched in her hand.

Finally. Peace.

I glanced at the candle, its flame flickering in the dim room. The rational part of me screamed to blow it out and go to bed. But something—curiosity, annoyance, or maybe just a need to prove Kayla wrong—kept me rooted in place.

“Fine,” I muttered to no one. “Let’s get this over with.”

The journal was open to a page with the instructions scribbled hastily. Light a candle. Say his name. That’s it. The name stared back at me, inked in jagged letters: Willow the Wisp.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling foolish. But I wasn’t about to let some urban legend get the better of me.

“Willow the Wisp,” I said, my voice steady.

The room seemed to hold its breath. The candle’s flame flared higher, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The air grew cold, and a shiver ran down my spine.

“See? Nothing.” I said aloud, trying to convince myself. But then came the sound. A faint tapping at the window. Slow. Deliberate.

I froze, my heart pounding as I turned toward the sound. The shadows on the walls twisted and pooled in the corners, growing darker, deeper.

“You called?” a voice rasped, low and whispery, like the wind through dead leaves.

My breath hitched, and I gripped the edge of the couch, my gaze darting toward the shadows that seemed to coalesce near the window. But before I could focus, Kayla stirred, her groggy mumbling breaking the spell.

“What… what’s going on?” she muttered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

The temperature in the room seemed to snap back to normal, the shadows retreating as though they’d never moved. The tapping was gone. Only the soft crackle of the candle remained.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my voice too sharp. My heart was still racing. “You fell asleep.”

Kayla frowned, glancing at the candle and then at me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just tired,” I replied, brushing her off. “Go back to sleep.”

She blinked at me, clearly unconvinced, but her head fell back against the couch as sleep reclaimed her. I stared at the candle, its tiny flame swaying innocuously, and tried to steady my breathing.

Had I imagined it? The voice, the tapping, the shift in the air? I shook my head, willing myself to believe it was just my mind playing tricks.

But as I reached out to snuff the candle, I noticed the faintest imprint on the windowpane—a handprint, fogged and fading fast.

---

Continue to Part 2... click here

If you wanna join the taglist for this story, let me know!

[storycraftcafe]

An Uncommon Witness

[Inspired in a big way by a larger project idea that's crawled out of the quagmire. Barely edited and written in one sitting. Enjoy. TW for blood and inferred gore.]

Detective Harper arrived on scene damp and annoyed. Three days of heavy rain had flooded enough streets to clog up traffic, making travel a miserable affair. Even now it rained, the air heavy, humid, and stifling in the early morning, heavy clouds hanging low overhead as they threatened to drown half of Southbank. 

At least he didn’t have to stand around in it, like the poor bastards guarding the scene's perimeter from absent crowds.

Ducking under the white and blue police tape, Harper nodded in greeting to Constable Myles, huddled in her raincoat, moisture trickling down her dark tan cheek. 

“Another one?” Harper asks, loud to be heard through the rain, and Myles nodded, lips twisting.

“Same M.O., same symbols,” She said and they walk off path, sodden grass sucking at their boots. “Tourists found the victim on the walkways by the 88’ Pagoda, preserved. Whoever did it hung up a bunch of tarps to keep it clear from the rain.” 

“They want us to see, you think?”

“Haven’t been shy so far,” Myles shrugged a shoulder, the walkie crackling with chatter, barely audible over the din. “Maybe they wanted the rain off while they worked. Either way it’s the same. One victim, killed on scene in a ritualistic manner. Area around the body painted in blood, presumably coming from this and previous victims if the patterns consistent.”

“We know who it is?” Harper asked as they climbed broad stairs leading to the pseudo tropical-rainforest and wooden walkways meticulously maintained by the grounds crew. A popular spot in the sprawling parklands, it was a little respite from the sun and heat, nestled between the oversized ferris wheel and a whitewashed block of overpriced restaurants. If the rain hadn’t kept the tourists and locals inside, the horror on display would be plastered all over social media.

“Yeah. Mark Cooper, forty-five years old, an IT specialist, works across the river in the CBD.” Myles flipped over a water splotched page in her notepad. “Like the other scenes, his clothing and possessions were left folded neatly to the side, wallet included, three hundred in cash plus credit cards intact.” They head up a concrete ramp and step under the cover of trees, the scent of rich soil cutting through the smell of rain and metal. Their boots thunk on the wooden walkway that twists and winds between ferns, trees and over a flooded artificial stream. 

Harper spotted the tarps immediately, four of them arranged to direct rain away from the naked, ruined body posed with terrible care. One leg laid straight, the other bent, foot behind the knee of the first. The arms were stretched overhead, palms upwards and carved into a bloody mess. Cooper’s skin had been painted with dull blue bands around his limbs and torso, framing the symbols cut into his skin. His face they left alone, eyes open, covered with a strip of hand woven cloth, his expression eerily at peace.

Around him, the dark, damp wood was marked with candles burned to nubs, the white wax pooling through the gaps of the walkway, stars in a constellation of dark bloody lines encircling the murdered man.

Forensic techs went about their work like plastic garbed ghosts, snapping photos, taking samples, hunting for prints, fibres, a scrap of something to give them a foot up.

Harper paid them no mind as he studied the tableau. The same pose, the same set up. A lot of work went into whatever ritual was being performed, a lot of care which took time and effort, likely more than one participant, even if Cooper had been drugged out of his mind like the other three victims. Some of the symbols had been recognised, letters a combination of runes and various occult symbols, the body itself laid out like the Hanged Man from tarot.

Despite the humid warmth, a chill enveloped Harper and he shivered.

“And no one saw anything,” he muttered. “Four scenes like this in a public space, hours of work at least and no one saw a god-damned thing!”

Myles opens her mouth as the radio on her shoulder crackles, the voice garbled and hard to hear.

She sighs and clicks the handset. “They’ve been fritzing all day. Repeat that, over.” She says and the walkie crackles again. Harper picks out one word from the noise. Witness.

“Where?” He demanded. 

Down the slope, towards the churning brown of the Brisbane river, a trio of constables shift, looking anywhere but the woman standing in the rain with a broad black umbrella. Tough boots, jeans, and a grey jacket, she stood still, patiently waiting as Harper paused by the officers. 

“We have a witness you said?” He asked Buckler, the oldest, a tall, broad shouldered man with a fishers tan. He grimaced. 

“We think we might,” He said with a pointed look at the youngest, his fresh out of the academy partner, Mae, a slight lean man of Asian descent. “Tell the detective what you told me.”

Mae’s Adam's apple bobbed as he licked his lips. “She turned up while we were securing the scene, didn’t ask us what was going on until we were done, just asked to speak to the detective when they arrived. She’s been waiting ever since.” Mae glanced at the woman, and cleared his throat. “Might just be a freak wanting a look.”

“Or maybe she saw something,” Harper said. “I’ll go have a chat, thanks Buckler.”

“No worries, Detective.” Buckler jerked his thumb and he and Mae head along the taped perimeter as Harper ducks under the tape again.

Outside the cordon, the air felt lighter, the sound of the rain sharper on the boardwalk. 

“You asked to speak with a detective?” he called and the woman’s umbrella tilts, showing a pale face framed by short choppy brown hair, eyes bruised and shadowed from lack of sleep, but clear and piercing, examining him as he approached. Mid-thirties, Harper guessed, no make-up, pierced nose, and clean. Not a vagrant, and if she used, she was sober for the moment.

“I did. Thank you for coming to talk with me, detective…” She trailed off and Harper nodded, pulling out his notepad and a pen.

“Harper. You are?”

“Anna Franklyn. With a ‘Y’.” Her gaze flicked past him. “Another ritual murder.” It wasn’t a question. 

Harper gave her a sharp look. “You know anything about this incident? Did you see anything?”

“I know what I’ve been told,” she said, voice blunt. “I didn’t see it, but I know who did. I’m here to help them talk to you.” Anna nodded her head towards the wooden Pagoda. 

Harper’s brows rose. “Help? You’re a translator?”

Something flickered in her expression, a flash of amusement that came and went.

“Of sorts. I don’t know how long he can hold on for so, shall we?” She started walking and frowning, Harper followed her, lengthening his stride till he caught up. 

“Just a few questions before we get there Miss Franklyn, what’s your relationship to the witness?”

“Known him for a few years, more of an acquaintance than anything else. When I heard the ritual took place here, I came to see if he saw anything.”

Harper’s frown grew as he jotted down a note. “How did you hear about it?” 

“After the first two, people started paying attention,” Anna said as they turned off the walk to climb the wide shallow steps leading to the hand carved pagoda, a relic left over from Expo 88. It was a narrow, spindly thing a few levels high, no steps leading up, no purpose save for decoration. “No one does that much work, with that much detail unless it’s building to something.”

“And you know something of these kinds of…” Harper trailed off, hoping for a bite. The more people said the more they gave away.

Anna glanced at him. “I know a lot.” She paused on the top step, and dug a hand into her jacket. “Detective, whether you accept it or not, the ones doing this believe in it. And your only witness needs your belief.”  From her pocket, Anna pulled out a small, squat jar, glass, the brassy top giving it away as a repurposed pot of Tiger Balm. She held it out to him, expectant.

Harper looked at the jar, then her, and then to the Pagoda, the doors usually locked for the night standing open. It was dark, a dim warm light glowing within. Another shiver crawled up Harper’s back.

“What kind of belief, Miss Franklyn?” He asked, looking past her. The closest constable was back the way they had come, and over the rain… Any trouble would be heard but he didn’t like distance.

“The hasty kind.,” Anna said, frowning herself. “Put this on your eyes and ears or you won’t get a damn thing. Waste time and you won’t get his account.” 

Harper narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m gonna need more information before I smear an unknown substance all over myself.”

Anna’s eyes flicked upwards, reminding him strongly of the popular girls in high school, forever impatient with his clumsy attempts to chat them up. 

“It’s oil, olive oil from Greece infused with rosemary and grave dirt. It washes off.” Anna said, opening the jar and with her fingers, dabbed a small amount around her eyes, over her lips and her ears. The jar was thrust towards him, Anna’s sharp gaze pinning him in place, not a hint of mischief or trickery on her face. “Consider, you have no fucking idea what’s going on and you want to know more. I want to help. If shit goes sideways you can arrest me. How's that?”

Harper blinked. She was dead serious. 

Glancing again at the Pagoda, the familiar structure somehow more ominous in the dim morning and the rain, looming above them like a silent sentinel, Harper considered. No harm in going along for some information, right? Back up was close by and the woman was a fraction his height and weight. He had good chances if it came to violence. Still, something in his gut worried at him.

“All right.” Harper took the jar, and dabbed his finger into the oil. It didn’t smell all that bad, felt a little gritty as he applied it to his skin and it tingled, warm and steadying. “Where’s my witness?”

Anna cocked her head to the side and beckoned, leading Harper towards the Pagoda, folding down her umbrella as she stepped inside.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” she said to the empty space. There was a wooden bench to one side where a black bag sat slumped to one side. A small candle on a tin dish burned, the flame flickering once. “The detective, Harper-” She paused, glancing back. “Inside, detective.” 

Harper scowled. “You know I can charge you with interference with an investigation, right?” He growled, stepping over the low wooden threshold. “There’s no one…” He trailed off, blinking against the dark. “Here?”

On the bench sat a man, wiry and thin, bony arms leaning on bonier knees, his neat shirt ruined by a single dark splotch dead center of his chest. He looked up from his hands, skeletal and long fingered, eyes milky, face gaunt. Solid and real but everything in Harper knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He hadn’t been!

“Tadaaa,” his voice rumbled, felt as much as heard and Harper gaped. His stomach had gone cold, like he’d swallowed a ball of ice, and inside his layers of rain coat and button down and vest, his skin prickled like he stood in a static field. 

“Wh-What the f-” Harper started and Anna gave him a hard look.

“Your witness. You have until the candle burns down. Fifteen minutes,” she said and looked at the man with an apologetic expression. “Cops.”

The man on the bench nodded as if he understood. “I saw. I saw it all. They called us to witness. Will you listen?” He asked.

Harper’s jaw clicked as he closed his mouth. “Everything?” He asked and the man on the bench nodded again.

“All.”

“Alright, uh… Sir…” Harper licked his lips and flips to a new page in his notepad. “I’m listening.”

The dead man spoke. Harper took his notes. 

Finally, he had a lead.

[akronus-writes]

walking on a path of shattered glass chapter 3. The eternal sleep maker

there I was, sat on a train from my pocket dimensions connection to America in Washington, to the nearest station to a coastal California town which has been suffering a number of random coma cases recently.

While I would naturally look into this, finding the town's name on the pages for my second eldritch enemy, has caused me to stop putting this case off. Yet despite this I still slightly regretted my choice of action, because by this point I have been on this train for a day and a half, and I've run out of anything to entertain myself with except for re-reading city planning documents and week-old new reports.

Putting my phone back down on the crimson bed sheets, I left my computer and the journal as I stood up, pacing back and forth in the relatively spacious single person train carriage. In this weakened state I'm no longer confident if I could win against whatever strange creature is causing these comas, what if it sends me into one first? What if it's some sort of incomprehensible deity? What if it's just a string of medical coincidences?

I started to panic, mind flooding with more scenarios in which I'm unable to help, or that I fall when fighting these creatures. My pacing quickened as I walked wall to wall, muttering under my breath as I struggled to keep myself together. But they just kept coming, and just as I was about to shove my face into the pillows on my bed, I was interrupted by the strangely soothing voice of my "brother".

"Calm sibling, while we remain at each others sides, no being has the capability to cease our work, and nothing can overpower us," It reassured me, speaking from inside the book, which I had left on the night stand.

I could only let out a sigh as I collapsed back onto the bed, kicking my phone to the floor as I picked up and held my laptop close to me, treating it like an impromptu teddy bear.

"Now, you should probably try to rest before we get to the station, the walk to the town may be short, but investigating while sleep deprived against a foe of such a nature is... ill advised," It suggested, concern laced in its eternally echoing voice.

I sighed, leaning over my bed and placing the laptop in my hastily packed backpack, filled with a change of clothes, chargers for my electronics, and a handful of tomes on ancient lore. Letting out a yawn, I rolled back over to face the wooden walls of the room, head laying against the silk pillows as I closed my eyes, and quickly allowed sleep to take me.

As I woke up, I found myself standing in the middle of a road at night, surrounded by dull and colorless suburban homes. Around me broken street lamps sat, lights flickering like those of a cheesy horror movie. Looking up, I searched the pitch black sky for the moon, and then for even a single star, but the skies above me were devoid of light, and as I looked around me, I realized something else. I couldn't hear anything, no cars driving home late, or cats roaming the darkness, I couldn't hear anything. But as I tried to listen for even the slightest sound, I felt a breathless voice whisper into my ear "rest now, dear child," I spun on my heel, and as i did, I awoke in a cold sweat.

Looking around the room, I recognized the familiar oak and and crimson silk of the train cart, calming me slightly. Pulling myself from the bed, I pulled the curtain back to reveal the dawning sun, and the knowledge that I had a day left before I arrived at the town.

"Well, I guess you have to call the police now," The echoing voice of the eldritch rat lord commented from the book left on my bedside.

"...fine, I'll do it," I begrudgingly replied, snatching my phone off the floor as I sat down onto my bed.

"Oh no, I can't remember the number, guess I'll have to do it tomorrow-" I sarcastically began, before being interrupted.

"Yes you do, I watched you spend 20 minutes staring at the screen as you struggled to make excuses to not call yesterday morning," the rat lord quickly responded, not in the mood for my procrastination.

"Fine, now give me a second to dial," I sighed, typing the number to the station into my phone as I leaned against the walls of my room.

As I pressed call, the ringing sound of the call echoed through my room for mere seconds before someone picked up. "hello, this is the sleepers coast police department, what can we do for you?" A young woman asked from the other end.

"Good morning, my name's Akronus, I specialize in cases relating to your current Coma problem, and yes, it is probably above the stations combined pay grades," I calmly answered, examining a nail.

"Sir? is this a joke? Because this isn't funny-" She responded, clearly about to hang up.

"Ma'am, I am aware that you have many reasons to hang up right now, but at the current rate, whatever is sending these people into Comas will get you within this month if I don't stop it," I interjected, voice laced with concern.

"...Fine, I'll trust you," she replied after a moment of consideration.

"Good, tell whoever is currently in charge of the station that Akronus the occult detective is coming into town, inform them that I'm not here to incite a protest, and that I need everything they know about the comas," I ordered, pulling my computer from the bag as I spoke.

Opening my computer up, I leaned back, yawning as I thought about what I needed to do first. Whatever it will be, I'm not going to have a good day, or night.

chapter 2 chapter 4

@f4y3w00d5 @gobodegoblin @monsterfucker-research-wizard @mango-lady-of-poision @be-gentle-with-littluns-2 @the-thing-of-worms

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Space Oddity

Fandom: DC Comics, Titans (Fab Five)

Summary: Garth grew up in a carnival freakshow, and he never thought about the world outside the glass walls of the Aquarium until a group of kids befriended him. Their love and interest in finding his people might be the key to escaping the silent horrors of his home life at the carnival.

Chapters: 4/?

Characters: Garth of Shayeris, Donna Troy, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Original Character(s)

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tags: Carnival AU, Developing Friendships, Rescue, 60's AU, 70's AU, No Capes AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Childhood Trauma, Lies, Escape, Childhood Memories, Team Bonding, Fish out of Water, Tiny Garth, Beaches, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Road Trip, First Person POV, POV Garth of Shayeris

Chapter Four: Fish People

When I was twelve, Donna started to visit nearly every day. She even came alone most of the time. Donna sat in the round alcove bench that Fisher built, sharing books with me when things were slow. I’d tap on the glass when I was done with a page, and she’d smile and turn the page. Sometimes, when it was busy, Donna would follow me around the Aquarium, dancing and making silly faces. I loved that she lived in town then. We kept each other company. Until she found someone more exciting. Or at least that’s what I thought at the time.

Donna brought him one day without warning, holding his hand and laughing. He was beautiful, and I thought it was jealousy at first, but it was something much more potent than that. He pressed his face against the glass, and Donna tapped his arm to chastise him for making faces at me. I swam into my cave and crossed my arms. Donna tapped the glass. She learned Morse code for me. “What’s the matter?” Donna asked.

“Him,” I replied, “He’s mean.”

I poked my head out of the cave to watch her expression. She held up a finger to tell me to wait and then turned to the other boy and waved her finger at him. He said something in reply to plead his case, and she crossed her arms and pointed at me before reaching into her bag and giving him a notepad and pencil. His expression softened, and he gently brushed her to the side. The boy approached the tank with a sad look on his face. He tapped the tank. “I’m Roy. What’s your name?” he wrote.

I wrote, “Fishy.”

“I mean, your real name,” Roy wrote in reply.

“Don’t have one,” I replied. Roy’s face was indescribably unique. He had freckles much darker and more pronounced than Wally’s. Then Roy’s eyes were soft, large, and expressive. Then his nose… Aquiline and painted with dark freckles twitched at me. And his brows wrinkled his smooth forehead as they pushed toward each other.

“That’s cruel,” Roy replied. He said something aloud, and Donna shrugged and said something. Roy turned to her and gestured toward me. I wondered what he said to Donna because she looked as upset as Roy was. Roy kissed her cheek and left us alone.

Donna climbed the ladder and dropped an apple into the tank for me. I left my cave and caught it. I ate while she took her place on the alcove bench. We read a few pages from Antigone. I tapped on the glass, asking where Roy went. “He wanted to give us some space,” Donna tapped.

“His face is nice,” I replied.

Donna smiled, but I could see in her knitted brows she was confused. “Approval? Or a question?” Donna asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I answered. Donna’s smile quieted from a grin to a simper.

I floated upside down while she read to me. Donna was beautiful to me… And at my age, I’d just started to realize that. She read with me until I fell asleep in the tank. When I awakened, she was gone, and Fisher pulled me out of the tank. It would’ve startled me had I not been half-awake. “You’ve been asleep all afternoon. What’s wrong with you? If it wasn’t so slow, I’d send you back to bed without supper,” Fisher complained.

“Do people-? Were you ever married, Fisher?” I asked.

“I was engaged once. She died,” Fisher replied as he dried me off. I didn’t ask anything else. I’d never seen death before, but I’d heard of omens. That felt like one.

Everyone poured into the Aquarium for dinner, and Eunice sat beside me. She seemed tired. She kissed my cheek and pushed me to drink my milk as always, but I felt something wrong. I drank my milk and laid my head on her lap. “Eunice,” I whispered, “Will you stay with me tonight?” Eunice ran her fingers through my hair.

“Of course, Fishy… What’s the matter?” Eunice asked. I suddenly felt a wave of terror and nausea wash over me. It was so intense that I broke into a fever-like sweat.

“Something’s hurting me,” I whispered, “And I’m scared…” Eunice frowned. I never got sick unless my tank needed to be cleaned or I’d been out of the water too long.

“Fisher, I think he should sleep in the pool tonight,” Eunice whispered, “I’ll keep an eye on him… Besides, I wanted to talk to him privately.”

Fisher filled the pool with water, and Eunice set up her cot. “Your friend brought someone with her today,” Eunice noted, “How did that make you feel?”

“Is she in love?” I asked.

“I think so, sweetheart,” Eunice replied.

Eunice held my hand as she led me to the pool. “What does it feel like?” I asked. She smiled.

“You’ll know when you feel it… Because your heartbeat feels strange in your chest, and you can’t stop thinking about them… You’re still young, but one day you’ll fall in love-.” She stopped speaking. “Oh, Fishy, I’m sorry.” I frowned. As far as I knew, there were no other fish people like me. I hesitated, squeezing her hand in mine.

“I think-. Can I-? Can you be in love with human people?” I asked.

“I think so, but it usually doesn’t end well,” Eunice replied, “Can I ask why you have a sudden interest in romance?”

“Because I felt different when I saw her with that boy today… I think I’m-. I like them both-.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I-. Fishy, you should never tell Fisher that you feel that way about the boy. Promise me,” Eunice whispered as she held me by my shoulders.

“Why? Did I do something bad?” I asked.

“No… People might think differently of you if they knew… It’s not fair, but the world has a tendency toward closemindedness. You’re not bad at all, Fishy. I love you so much, my darling… But the world can be cruel,” Eunice warned me, “Don’t let it get to you. I want you to continue to be loving and kind like you are.” She took a cup and poured water over my gills. It felt good to have new warm saltwater in my gills. Then, she lay beside me in her cot and went to sleep. She never woke up. And that’s when it started for me. My curiosity about fish people… And the ocean.

[denimbex1986]

'***** 5/5

It began with an historical bang and ended with a heartbreaking posthumous appearance. In between, Doctor Who (BBC One) delivered a blockbusting adventure. Writer Russell T Davies warned that Wild Blue Yonder was “weird”. Leading man David Tennant said it was “shocking… unlike any episode ever”. They weren’t wrong. This was a deeply creepy, dazzlingly creative hour of teatime TV.

A witty prologue saw the Tardis crash-land in an apple tree, circa 1666. A certain physicist happened to be sitting beneath it. The Doctor greeted him as “Sir Isaac Newton” before correcting himself and losing the honorific. The colour-blind casting of Nathaniel Curtis, the half-Indian actor best known for starring in Davies’s It’s a Sin, could rattle a few cages. The Doctor (Tennant) and Donna (Catherine Tate) were far more concerned with the fact that the influential polymath was “hot”. They left him with the made-up word “mavity” as a parting gift. He’ll get there eventually.

The main meat of the story took place on a seemingly empty spaceship at the edge of the universe. Except this is sci-fi, where spaceships are rarely really empty. Lying in wait was “something so bad that the Tardis ran away”: two shape-shifting, war-mongering lifeforms which morphed into doppelgängers of the Doctor and Donna, planning to steal the Tardis and wreak intergalactic havoc. Like Newton said: “Odd bodkins! What the devil?”

As their physical forms settled, they sprouted long arms, slack jaws and vampiric teeth. They ran on all fours, grew to outlandish size, got stuck in corridors and melted into puddles. Unsettling and strange, they referenced horror films from Invasion of The Body Snatchers to Jordan Peele’s Us.

The design team faced a challenge bringing to life what Davies had written on the page. They rose to it. The show’s new distribution deal with Disney brings a boosted budget, which was visible in the fully realised spacecraft and Hollywood-worthy visual effects. These were supplemented by fine physical acting by Tennant and Tate, playing their own doubles in eerie style.

When they finally returned to Earth, they were greeted by Wilfred Mott (the late Bernard Cribbins), now wheelchair-bound but still a doughty warrior. Cribbins filmed scenes last year before his death. The Doctor spoke for us all when he beamed: “Now nothing is wrong. Nothing in the whole wide world. Hello, my old soldier.”

For all the hype-building talk of shocking weirdness, this was Doctor Who boiled down to its essence. The Time Lord and his loyal companion, landing somewhere mysterious, finding themselves in trouble. No big cast nor political preaching. Just a rollicking yarn in a confined setting with scary monsters. A back-to-basics “base under siege” adventure with a whopping twist.

Tennant was funny and fizzingly charismatic, revelling in his chemistry with Tate. There was warm bickering, clever wordplay and dark hints of the Doctor being haunted by his origins. Their reunited double act feels nostalgic yet thrillingly new – perfect for marking the show’s 60th anniversary, before launching its new era.

We now await next Saturday’s climactic special The Giggle, which marks the return of classic villain The Toymaker (now played by Neil Patrick Harris) – and presumably ends with Tennant’s regeneration into the 15th Doctor (long-term replacement Ncuti Gatwa). In just two episodes, Davies has restored our faith in family-friendly sci-fi. This was a jaw-dropping, joyous injection of sheer Saturday night magic.'