#To gain some power in the food chain?

[onemorestrangeronthestreet]

There's been a lot of talk about Oscar and Morris lately so here's an idea for you to speculate (I don't know if someone's already talked about this i cannot remember for the life of me??) :

What if Oscar and Morris were newsies when they were younger, maybe even stayed at the Lodging house/were in good terms with the others?

And that's why all the current newsjes and the Delanceys have so much beef, cause the newsies are pissed/mad at the brothers for joining the "bad side" ?

[pretend-i-don-t-exist]

qijiuyuan where sy is yqy's disciple, and everyone believes that there is a love triangle involved

everyone in cang qiong knows that yqy is besotted with sqq! they've witnessed it since the qing generation were head disciples, and that devotion hasn't waned even after decades of cold rejection. the entirety of cang qiong knows that not even the threat of death would drive yqy away– in fact, he'd even offer his own sword for sqq to cut him down as he pleases. it's impossible for him to love another.

sy being taken in as yqy's disciple is a surprise. the lanky, wide-eyed boy was more fit for qing jing or an ding, not qiong ding's cold, political battlefield. still, they accept yqy's decision– his favoritism to sqq aside, he is an excellent sect leader. there must be a reason why sy is made a qiong ding disciple.

it becomes obvious, soon enough. sy is good with his words, although a little oblivious to the effect he has on the people around him. a warm ray of sunlight that focuses on nurturing and protecting rather than seeking power, one that can stand firmly and abide by his principles despite the machinations against him. it doesn't take long before sy has most of the sect wrapped around his finger.

he becomes qiong ding's head disciple. and then everything changes.

sy's admiration for his shizun isn't very subtle. waiting on yqy on hand and foot, making sure the food are his favorites, ensuring his comfort at meetings, listening to him, comforting him, and so on. at first, they thought nothing of it. most of them had a crush on yqy at some point in their lives. but then, yqy indulges his head disciple by giving him trinkets and sweets, when normally, his indulgent gift giving is limited to sqq and sqq alone.

oh no. cang qiong is unsure how they should feel about this turn of events. some are excited to see sqq fall from his high horse, losing the sect leader's favor. some are worried that there would be a bloodbath. some try to stay away from qing jing and qiong ding as much as possible, especially after sqq's radio silence.

it was an an ding disciple who discovered it first– that sqq has been leaving sy gifts of his own. extravagant and handmade gifts. paintings, literary works, calligraphy brushes, embroidered robes... and then someone says that they've witnessed sqq telling sy that he's always welcome on qing jing, should he find qiong ding lacking.

it starts off a chain reaction. now everyone is convinced that yqy likes sqq, but sqq likes sy, but sy likes yqy. yqy is trying to be nice to sy in hopes of gaining sqq's favor, but the qing jing peak lord only has eyes for his warmhearted disciple. said disciple hopelessly longs for yqy and remains gentle but impersonal with sqq.

in reality, yqy spends much time convincing the shens that he loves them both bc of his own heart and not bc of anything else. sqq is affronted that they think he dislikes yqy. have they not seen him accept yqy's embarrassing actions with only a grumble? have they not noticed that the sect leader's guan and robes are created by his very own hands? also, sy clearly reciprocates his feelings! he wouldn't have accepted sqq's gifts or be making labor-intensive sweets for him otherwise.

meanwhile, sy is wondering just what the heck is going on.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 9

Summary: With the bargain in place, you'll have to learn to hide your powers while navigating a possibility of allies within Amarantha's court.

Content Warnings: Slight NSFW, suggestiveness, canon typical violence, allusions to assault.

Author's Note: As a little treat for the last chapter being so short, this one is loooooonnnngg. A couple familiar faces make an appearance here, as I decided I wanted to start combining the Hybern storyline with the UTM storyline.

Part 8 is here, rest of the series can be found here

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

“Again.”

Breath rasps out of you, hands doubled over on your knees, sweat dripping off your forehead. The pounding in your skull intensifies with each labored breath, spots dancing across your vision as you shake your head. “I can’t!”

“You can.”

You raise your head enough to shoot the High Lord of the Night Court a glare. Easy for him to say, he’s not the one shifting forms over and over again. Do High Lord’s even have other forms, aside from Spring? You can’t recall anymore, your head hurts too much. Rhys had decided days ago--at least, you think it’s days, time has become irrelevant in this dark dungeon cell Amarantha has left you both in--that the best way for you to gain control of your powers to better hide them, is to learn how to control the shift. Yours is not quite a beast form, you’re not fully transforming into some sort of beast, but you can grow fangs and claws and shift your eyes into something other. There’s something deeper there you haven’t quite touched, the image of it reveals itself in your dreams, sometimes as this shapeless empty void, others with scales, but you’ll have to dig deeper for whatever that thing is. For now, it’s dampening your power and glamoring your bargain mark, and keeping a harness on the fangs and claws. It’s excruciating, letting them out and shoving them back in, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done it already. And Rhys just sits there in the corner, watching intently, giving instructions and being a general pain in the ass with each of them. 

“Did you think it was going to be easy?” Rhys returns.

You massage your jaw, the throbbing from retracting your fangs making your whole face hurt. “Of course not asshole! I’m just saying a little compassion would be nice.”

Rhys smirks, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted to be babied and treated like a doll.”

You snarl at him like an animal, eyes blazing and your fangs slide into place effortlessly, pricking your bottom lip. 

Rhys stands with a grunt, body still recovering from the beating he’d received and the strain on his powers. “You’re so easy to rile up,” he croons, stalking closer. “You wear every emotion so plainly, it’s almost too easy to get you right into this position. And what happens when someone other than me sees, hm?”

He’s right and you hate it. 

He stills when he’s only a hair breath away. “I know it’s hard,” he says more gently. “But consider the alternative.”

You don’t want to even think about the alternative. This bargain has to work, you have to make it work, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how long it takes. You can’t let her win.

Your eyes go to the marks still gouged into Rhys’s neck from the collar; his healing abilities have started to return slowly, but he still can’t get the chain off, the wounds still rubbed raw from any and every movement. You can’t let her keep doing this to him either.

“Fine,” you huff.

“Good girl.”

The remark gets him a nice flash of your middle finger before you go back through the steps he’d taught you. It is nice to have the banter between you as a distraction to the reality of your situation, to the cold and darkness that have become a constant companion here far beneath the Mountain. The lack of food and sleep from the elements and the sounds of things prowling around outside is hard enough to bear without the looming threat of Amarantha’s return. This easy thing between you takes the edge off.

You last maybe an hour more, before you slump against the wall, exhausted. 

“You’re doing good,” Rhys affirms from his side of the cell. There’s barely enough room for the two of you to stretch your legs, knees brushing as you stretch your weary muscles. 

You want to believe him, but you know the confinement is taking a toll on your body. Perhaps part of Amarantha’s plan is to let you go half mad in the dark of the dungeons for your insubordination. At least you had been let out of your room from time to time. Locked away like this, you’re tired more easily. With powers like yours you should be able to do this for longer, but it feels like you’re trying to move the Mountain one rock at a time.

You rub a hand over your face, smearing the filth on your hands from touching the floor across your face. “Don’t patronize me.”

“You can be doing good and still need a lot of work,” he replies. “I thought you wanted me to be sympathetic?”

“Yeah well it means less if I had to force you to say it,” you retort.

He moves so he can come sit next to you. If he had any plans to say anything, it’s halted as the lock on the door slides out of place and it creaks open.

You instinctively reach for his hand, breath caught in your throat, waiting to hear that ominous click of heels on the stone floor. But it’s merely one of her red skinned guards, pushing a single tray across the floor before slamming the door shut again.

Rhys gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before leaning around you to grab the tray, a single, burnt loaf of bread and a cup of water between the two of you.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

He rips the bread in half. “Don’t get all mushy on me now.”

You take the half he offers, stomach rumbling, but you can’t bring yourself to eat it. What’s the point? 

“Tell me about it,” he says after a beat. “What’s so special about your little farmhouse in Spring.”

You bring your knees to your chest. “It had a lot of sunlight, for starters.” You miss being able to curl up by the windows with your books and a cup of tea, miss going out into the fields to check the mares and their calves, miss finding an excuse to go into town to listen to the minstrels play in the square. 

“I miss my bed and that old quilt I bought off a seamstress on the side of the road,” you continue, tears welling in your eyes. “And my books.”

“What do you like to read?”

“Anything,” you reply. “Everything. Never really mattered to me. Unless it was about math. I hate math.”

Rhys huffs a laugh. “What did math do to you?”

“It’s evil and stupid and who fucking puts letters in with numbers?”  It’s such a stupid statement you can’t help but laugh as the words come out. “But I’d read nothing but books about numbers for the rest of my life if it meant we got out of here.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to pull some from my library for you,” he teases.

You turn to look at him. “How have you survived this long, Rhys?”

He washes down the rest of his food with a bit of the water in your shared cup, violet eyes looking anywhere in the cell but your face. “One day at a time,” he says like it’s something he’s said every day. “And… and when it gets bad I think about my friends, my family. I make a list of their names and I recite it in my head until I don’t feel so lonely.”

You take his hand again, because what else are you supposed to do? You cannot magically make this all end right here and now. It will take time. Maybe that’s what hurts most, because this is the first time in weeks you’ve felt like you understand how your powers work, how you can use them, and yet there’s nowhere to direct them. It’s all a waiting game, moving pieces into the right places until you can finally put all this to use. And cauldron is the waiting game grating on your last nerve, but it’s only been a few days. Rhys has been here for fifty. Your heart aches for him.

“But I think,” he finally turns to look at you, and his violet eyes are damp. “I think I’ve forgotten what they look like.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Some days I want to just lay down and quit,” he whispers. “But I can’t. I won’t. Then she wins and everything I’ve set out to do, to protect, was for nothing. I can’t let it be for nothing.”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “It won’t be for nothing.” You won’t let it either, you just need to rest for a bit, then you can get back to it.

He leans his head against yours. “We’ll get you back to your books and your quilt.”

“We’ll get out,” you whisper. Maybe if you tell yourself it enough it’ll be true.

“We’ll get out,” he echos.

After sitting like that for a few moments, collecting yourself, you choke down the stale and mostly ruined bread and little bit of ice cold water you’ll get for the day. It gives you enough energy to get back on your feet at least. Your head still throbs from the strain, but you brace yourself against the wall and will it to pass.

“Let’s try those glamors again.”

“That’s my girl,” Rhys praises.

You focus your attention on the thing that lives in your chest, hoping his position on the floor keeps him from seeing the blush that creeps its way up your neck under the possessiveness in his tone. The banter between you is one thing, but anything else is dangerous territory, and you can’t risk any more danger in your life than you already have.  

---

Time passes mostly the same after that, with a little more banter as the tension of being locked up builds between the two of you and a little less vulnerability, granted, but the training regime is the same, until your headaches become less frequent and his jabs at you make you feel less and less like a reason to bring out your claws. The shift becomes a little more bearable over time, and glamoring the bargain ink across your chest becomes the next focus. It takes all your attention for what feels like days, but it’s anyone’s guess.

The progress should make you feel more comfortable, and it does in some ways, but makes you jumpier in others. Every noise outside the door has you checking to make sure a glamor is in place, has you running your tongue over your teeth to ensure your fangs are hidden. Its been steadily getting colder in the cell, the only true indicator that time is passing, and if you can manage to sleep around the shaking of your body, your dreams have started to become less of a call of your powers and more of nightmare of clicking heels and bright red hair and rooms with black vials full of terrible potions. Rhys isn’t any better. Sometimes he wakes screaming, a bit of night chilled darkness seeping from his flushed skin. Some nights you find him staring dutifully at the door, unable to sleep at all.

You’re not sure how much more of this either of you can take before one of you starts bashing against the door again. Between the two of you, perhaps the damage he’d already done would be enough to get it open for real, but what would you do from there? It wasn’t like you could escape. Even if you managed to get out of this cell, she’d just throw you in another.

So you do your best to endure a little longer, even if that means coming up with new ways to cope with it. Cuddling with the High Lord of the Night Court hadn’t really been an option you’d considered until one night it had become so unbearably cold that you could see the clouds of your breath in the air and there wasn’t a full set of clothes between the two of you. Trying to conserve body heat, you’d rolled right into his bare chest and he’d greedily buried his freezing nose into the crook of your neck, teeth chattering against your skin. He’d mumbled something about conserving body heat and that had been all that you were willing to talk about it. From that point on, if you were tired, you’d just lay down next to his large body and let him wrap his arms around you for however long your body could manage to rest in these conditions.

It wasn’t that it felt wrong, it was that it felt right. You could see yourself tangled up like this, in a nice bed, with some warm blankets and fluffy pillows, sunlight streaming through a window above your heads, finally free and out of this terrible place. You try not to let your imagination go too far with that thought, but sometimes it’s the only reason you keep getting up and training; even if it isn’t going to happen for real, at least there’s something to imagine waiting for you at the end of this. You just make sure your shields are up when the thought runs away with you, lest he see them as his powers start to return.

“Your nose is cold,” Rhys says by way of greeting. You can only assume it’s morning, assume that your internal clock still works and that you are, in fact, still on some sort of sleep schedule, but it’s anyone’s guess really.

You crack an eye open to see what he’s talking about, grumbling about it being too early. At some point, you’d nestled quite snuggly into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, despite the collar.

“So are your hands,” you retort, closing your eyes again.

He drags one up your back, where the tattered remains of your dress bare your newly scarred skin, in retaliation. 

“Bastard,” you snarl but you don’t pull away. Pulling away means waking up; means counting the cracks in the ceiling again, pacing until you feel some warmth in your body again. Pulling away means you have to face another day in this cell and you’re not sure you can do it without bashing your fists into the door Rhys had nearly ruined already.

“You like having my hands on you,” he returns.

“Do I?”

“You were practically begging me to touch you on Calanmai,” he says huskily, warm breath ghosting over your ear. 

Your stomach does a little flip at the memory of his hands on you on Calanmai, at the hunger and want that had been so plain on his face you could almost taste it. Things had been so simple then, you didn’t need to worry about letting your own want show. Not like now. “Oh yes, because a night of magic induced horniness is the indicator for what I want.” 

But you do want it. Cauldron boil you do you want it. Every drag of his calloused palms across your bare skin makes you want to arch further into his touch, let him explore and taste and claim every bit of you. It’s becoming unbearable. Calanmai was nothing compared to this.

“So what do you want then?” Rhys asks as his hands draw shapes in your skin, near the base of your neck. You swear you hear a hint of vulnerability there, like there might actually be more than banter in this question.

“To sleep,” you reply, because you can’t allow anything more to happen. Amarantha already knows you care enough about him to surrender your powers, if she knew it was anything more, she’d kill him just to spite you. 

Rhys hums like he’s thinking about it, but eventually says, “We should train more. Your glamours need more work.” 

“Bite me,” you grumble. Training has become even more exhausting. It’s useful stuff for sure, but holding onto your power for too long, then stuffing it back down is starting to feel suffocating. Your powers beg to be unleashed, free and unrestrained from the boundaries you are drawing out for them. No, you can’t allow yourself to think about what you want to happen with the High Lord, but you can’t bring yourself to get up, so here you remain, in limbo between the two. Maybe if he lets you drift back to sleep you’ll never have to make a decision between the two.

He brushes his lips over the shell of your ear, “Ask nicely.”

Your treacherous heart skips a beat at the huskiness of his tone, heat flaring in the pit of your stomach. “Make me, High Lord.” 

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Darling,” he purrs, “don’t start games you can’t finish.”

You have two options here: You can leave it be and get up, leave the line you have made between the two of you right where it is and not have to worry about it; or you can hold your ground and risk stepping right over that boundary line. You know you’re teetering on the knife’s edge here.

“Why wouldn’t I finish?” You turn your head enough to look him in the eyes, batting your eyelashes in feign innocence, even though you know damn well what you’re doing. 

He moves so quickly you don't have time to realize it’s happening before he’s rolling you over onto your back, the solid, heavy weight of him pressing you into the floor. All rational thought eddies from your mind as his hips shift against your own. 

“You have a lot of attitude for someone so set on going back to bed,” he says and you can’t help but note how dilated his eyes are, the violet almost wholly consumed by his pupils. 

This somehow feels more intimate than what you had been doing on Calanmai, despite the fact that his hands were firmly planted next to your head instead of roving over your skin. Gods you hope the filth of the cell covers the scent of your budding arousal because this--him--you want, need, more of it.

“I  can be more than one thing at a time,” you reply. It’s taking all your restraint to not reach your hands out and touch the muscles that ripple across his tattooed chest from holding himself up above you. Even after a few days locked away, you can’t stop thinking about how it would taste to run your tongue over those dark swirls of ink.

His eyes narrow as if he can hear your thoughts, and shit, you realize too late that your shields have been down this whole time because you’d thought, since he was still recovering, those daemati powers would be the last to come back. There’s not time to throw your shields up before his lips are crashing into yours.

You’d thought Calanmai was as desperate for something as you’d ever feel, but it’s nothing in comparison to the hunger that consumes you as those full lips settle against your own. There’s no stopping the groan that tears itself from you as he slides a hand under your head, fingers tangling in your matted hair as he slips his tongue behind your teeth.

You see stars, taste citrus and jasmine. He invades all your senses so thoroughly that the very cell feels like it falls away until nothing exists in the world but the two of you. 

Calanmai had been feverish, an itch that needed to be scratched, but this is like finding air after being underwater too long. You can’t help but feel dizzy and greedy for more as you drag a hand up the sharp contours of his back.

He hisses softly into your mouth when your fingers accidentally brush the collar and you pull back, finally coming up for air. “Shit, shit I’m sorry-”

But he chases back after you like a man starved anyway. “It’s ok,” in between more kisses, each hungrier than the last, “it’s ok.” You’ve never heard a male’s voice get so low, the sound of it making your whole body turn molten.

Still, you’re conscious of where you put your hands, and sensing your hesitation, he drags them over to his chest, inviting you to touch, to trace his tattoos just as you were thinking about doing the first time you’d seen them. Gods there isn’t a part of him you don’t want to explore; to map out and learn every scare and curve across his bronze skin.

You would have too, if the lock on the door didn’t suddenly click out of place. The resounding echo is like ice water being dumped on your head.

Rhys slides the hand under your head down your back and around your waist, yanking you up off the floor with him while he stands. You’re still trying to get your bearings when he places one last, gentle kiss on your lips. “Remember what we practiced.”

Your head is spinning, legs shaky. Nothing makes any sense. Why is he stopping?

The door opens and more of Amarantha’s guards step in, but there’s no tray of food this time, just a single, metal collar. The sight of it is like having water dumped on your head, all thoughts of Rhys’s body on yours drifting away as reality crashes back into you. 

“Her Highness requests your presence,” says one of the two.

Only two. If they were here for Rhys there would be, at least, four, after the stunts he’d been pulling. He has to know that too, but he steps forward anyway, shrugging like it doesn’t bother him, like the smell of you isn’t all over him for anyone to scent.

One of the guards gets a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the wall. “Not you.”

Your mouth feels like it’s made of sandpaper; hands trembling at your sides. You can’t do this, you can’t do this, you can’t.

There’s a tug beneath your ribs, where the bargain ink lies, some sort of invisible thread going taught as Rhys says, “Breathe. Just like we practiced,” into your mind.

You want to duck behind him and hide, but you do as you’re told, drawing one breath, then another as the second guard steps forward and clamps the collar around your throat. It’s not the same, strange metal that used to dampen your power before, but why would it be when Amarantha thinks she has all your powers? As much as you hated the feeling of it, you kind of wished they’d used it instead, just as an extra barrier to keep your powers at bay.

What little bit of Rhys’s power has returned fills the cell, night chilled mist making the already dark room even harder to see in, save for a slight tint of stardust in his irises. “She’s done everything she was asked,” he snarls. “That collar isn’t necessary.”

“Her Highness says it is.”

You risk a glance at him, needing to steady yourself, dreading the fact that he’s somehow become so important to you that the thought of being taken out of this cell makes you want to start shredding things apart. How had you so quickly dug this hole for yourself.

“I’ll be right here. You can do this.”

They don’t waste any more time, dragging you out by the chain attached to the collar, like you’re some sort of wild animal. It’s degrading; makes you feel less and less like a person and more like a pet the longer time drags on. The guards are quick on their feet too, not giving you time to adjust to your surroundings or the blaring torchlights that make you squeeze your eyes shut as you pass. Cauldron, how long have you been in that cell?

You have just enough presence of mind to ensure your glamor is in place around your chest, before they’re dragging you through the open throne room doors. Another one of Amarantha’s nightly parties is in full swing, dancers in skimpy clothes spinning across the room; servants with pitchers of fae wine weave through the crowd, stopping at tables to refill the cups of several High Fae and someone you think might be the High Lord of Winter. It must be nice to have curied enough favor with the Queen that he was allowed to wander freely, instead of a cell, or, like the High Lord of Spring, chained to her throne. Tamlin’s golden hair is messy, undone around his face. The Mountain has stolen some of the color from his skin, though you suppose you look equally as pale now too. He wears his own, glittering collar, the golden chain draped over the bare expanse of his chest. Amarantha has inked her sigil over his heart, staking her claim over her mate. The High Lord’s eyes are so glassy from what you can only assume is the combination of mirthroot and fae wine that you doubt he’s even aware of where he is. It might be a small mercy, in the end.

The guards drag you through the crowd, where you earn more than a few snickers and stares. You’ve never been more aware of how much dirt clings to your skin until this moment. Gods you were making out with a High Lord looking like this? Could he taste the dirt on you? 

You’re led right to the dias, where Amarantha wears a glittering, ruby red crown, her hair unbound and falling in soft waves around her pale face. She might have been pretty once, but the cruelty in her dark gaze was enough to sour it if you looked too long. She watches with amusement as her guards drag you over, eyes glinting with barely restrained glee. Her new little pet here to entertain.

They finally quit dragging you once you’re at the foot of the dias and the crowd goes quiet behind you.

“Have you had enough time to think about what you’ve done?” She croons like you’re a misbehaving child in need of a time out.

Your cheeks flush, but you focus your attention on keeping the damper on your power. You can’t let her rile you up so easily, that’s exactly what she wants. “Yes,” you grind out through your teeth.

She taps a pointed nail against her chin, as if thinking. “And yet you do not bow in my presence, or acknowledge me as your queen?”

A tingling feeling in your upper jaw is the indication that your fangs want to come out and play and you force yourself to take a breath, then another. Still, you have to grit your teeth and stare at the floor to give her a little curtsey, as best you can in your ruined dress anyway. “My apologies.”

“Again,” she says with a grin. “Like you mean it, pet.”

There’s a couple snickers from the crowd behind you.

You’re gritting your teeth so hard you’re sure they might just crack on you, but you take your skirts in hand and curtsey a little deeper this time. The only way you get through it is to picture all the ways you’ll make her pay for this when the time is right.

“No, that’s not right,” she frowns. “You should be lower. In fact, you should be on your knees, thanking me for the mercy I have shown you after you so violently attacked me. Most people don’t live to see the next morning after such things.” The eye on her ring swivels in a motion that makes you think it’s nodding in agreement.

You risk a glance around, searching for any sympathy, and support, but there is none to be found in the leering faces of the crowd. 

“Go on,” she orders. “Beg for my forgiveness.”

Mother knows what she’ll do to you, or Rhys if you don’t, and you need to be in one piece to fulfill your bargain. Still, the move is so demeaning, your very nature thrashing against it that it’s an effort not to cry as you lower yourself onto your knees at the foot of her throne.

When you open your mouth to spew whatever bullshit you think will appease her, she cuts you off, “Lower.”

Your whole face is red with shame as you lean forward until your forehead touches the floor. 

“Better,” she croons. “Now beg, pet.”

“Please,” the word sticks in your throat like it’s a rock. “Please forgive my violent outburst. It won’t happen again.”

She clears her throat, waiting for you to say it.

“It won’t happen again, Your Highness.”

“Try again.”

The crowd is laughing in earnest now and the tears are flowing down your cheeks. You hate this, you hate her, you want to rip her fucking throat out and make that dreadful, grating voice vanish from the face of the world. 

“It won’t happen again, My Queen.”

“Much better,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “I told you I’d get her in line.” 

You raise your head off the floor enough to see who she was talking to with that last bit, and your heart lurches into your stomach at the sight of the two figures standing to the side of the dias, staring intently at you. Twins, bearing the same dark hair, swept back out of their faces, their eyes the same slate gray. They both wear armor, finely polished over matching black tunics and pants, a bit of silver lining in the stitches of their well pressed clothes. But it’s the sigil, over the heart on their armor, that marks them as Hybern’s.

The female stalks over to where you’re still kneeling and yanks you up by the hair to have a better look at you. Gloved fingers poke at your lips, trying to get a look at your teeth and you wonder if maybe you really have been turned into some sort of animal. 

“No fangs,” she muses, her voice like gravel, nothing pretty or feminine about it. “No claws either,” her hands move from your face to your nail beds, poking like you would at a cat’s paws to get their claws to come out. 

You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. 

“You’ve tested to make sure you took all of her powers?” The male asks Amarantha and your blood turns to ice in your veins. If she tries to use your powers now then you’re doomed before you even get started. 

“I’d be happy to demonstrate,” Amarantha says flippantly, but there’s an edge under it that makes you think even she is trying not to squirm. “But my formula has never failed me.”

“Yours?” The female sneers. “You’d be wise to remember who taught you how to make those potions, General.”

Hybern made Amarantha, Rhys had said, it only made sense that all these little tricks had been part of her training. 

Amarantha takes another swig of wine and waves the disrespect off like a fly. “I’ll happily throw her into the Pit again if you are both so desperate to waste your own time with a demonstration.”

They stare at each other, having some sort of silent conversation. The female finally releases your hair and the ground rises up to meet you as you nearly fall back onto your face. 

“No,” the male brushes a gloved hand over a speck of dirt clinging to his otherwise spotless armor. “I suppose that would be a waste of our time. We have other things to attend to while we’re here.”

It’s honestly a relief. Going back down into the Pit to fight more monsters without being able to summon any of your powers sounds like a complete nightmare, you’re honestly not sure you’re strong enough not to slip up and make a mistake. 

“But we can still check,” the female purrs and that’s when you feel a mental claw raking across your mind. It is not like Rhys’s, not gentle or even teasing, it’s a slash, like someone is trying to cleave through your shields with a knife, and you instantly reach your hands for your head as if it’ll be any sort of protection at all.

You don’t dare call out to Rhys, or even think about what mental hoops you need to do to hide the bargain mark, the glamor should hold for a bit on its own while you put all your energy into tightening your shields against their onslaught. Rhys had been right about your cousins’ daemati powers, they were nothing like his own.

They keep clawing and poking, taking turns trying to tear your mind to shreds. It’s not gentle either, their presence making you whimper and writhe on the throne room floor, regardless of the embarrassment from the still watching crowd. 

“Well there’s been some training here,” the female says. 

“Be careful, Brannagh,” Amarantha hisses. “If you turn her mind to soup she’ll be of no use to us.”

You lock every door and throw up every barrier you can muster, even as they throw themselves against each one, testing for weaknesses. They’re an excellent tag team, every time you think Brannagh might give up, her brother steps into her place and tries again. You’re seeing spots by the time they release you.

The male’s boots come into view as he stops in front of your face. “If you’re so beaten, why won’t you show us how powerless you are, hm?”

It feels like someone’s taking a hammer to your skull, you pinch your eyes shut against the wave of nausea that makes the room spin. “Maybe I just don’t like you,” you hiss.

He too grabs you by the hair, twisting you so your neck moves at an awkward angle to be able to see exactly how badly the remark had hit him. 

“Dagdan,” his sister warns. “Play nice. Our King wants her alive, remember?”

“They said your mother was this untamed too,” he hisses. “Before they broke her.”

You swallow the rage that rises up in your throat, clamp down on everything threatening to bubble to the surface and overflow, ruining all your plans. You have made it this far, you cannot let their presence get the best of you. There will be time to process all this later, when you’re back in your cell. Strangely, the thought of going back to Rhys soothes you, helps you settle. 

“Are you done messing with my things?” Amarantha asks.

“She’s only yours until Hybern arrives to lay claim to Prythian, as is his right,” Brannagh says loud enough for the whole room to hear her. If there was any partying still happening in the corners of the room, it has ceased now, all eyes on the twins.

Amarantha is standing, wine glass clattering to the floor, splattering Tamlin, who doesn’t even look at it. “That’s enough! You will mind your mouths in my Court!”

Dagdan chuckles at that. “Did your Queen not tell you the truth?” Having found a new victim to play with, he finally releases your hair. 

“I said enough!” Amarantha booms, both fire and ice flying from her fingertips. The Mountain trembles beneath her as the powers she’s stolen skitter uncontrollably from her. One eye blazes like a forest fire, the other has gone black and empty, a bit of Rhys’s stolen power flaring. “In my Throne Room you answer to me, regardless of who you serve.”

With the way she jerks back you think the twins might have reached for her mind to silence her, but you can’t be sure. 

“You answer to Hybern, same as everyone else!” Brannagh challenges. “You were nothing more than an experiment, to test and see if Prythian was once again fertile ground for our empire. Did you really think Hybern would just let you walk in here and steal what is rightfully his?”

The crowd begins to whisper amongst themselves, apparently having not heard the news until now. You risk a glance around looking for the other High Lords, hoping some of them, perhaps the ones who had sides against Hybern in the War would be more inclined to fight. If you could gain allies, perhaps this would be over quicker. 

There are many unrecognizable faces in the crowd, some High Fae, some lower, some concealed by the masks of Tamlin’s former court, some fully clothed in their servants’ garb. It is hard to discern between the glittering chandeliers and flickering torches who belongs to what court, and you have only vaguely glimpsed the High Lords themselves. Out of most of the faces, none even look your way, save for one red headed male, off to the side of a group of fire dancers. Golden eyes lock on yours for the briefest of moments before they dart away. If only you had your own daemati powers, perhaps this would be easier. You’ll have to talk to Rhys later about who your potential allies can be here.

“I was promised my part of the land and I will fucking have it,” Amarantha growls, turning your attention away from the crowd.

“You will take what you are given,” Dagdan returns. “And if you cooperate, maybe you will be allowed to keep this dingy little cave of yours.”

Amarantha bristles and sparks fly off her shoulders. 

“You will do your part for the new empire,” Brannagh continues. “Lend us the Lord of Spring to lead us to the Wall. We’ll consider it proof of your undying allegiance and let your outburst slide.”

Amarantha glances down at where Tamlin remains staring at the wall, hands tightening into fists. “Absolutely not!”

“We can take him by force,” Dagdan says with a shrug.

She grabs the chain around her mate’s neck and yanks, dragging him to his feet. “I want him back by morning.”

Brannagh steps over you to get to him, gloved hands running appreciatively over the High Lord’s bare chest. “Maybe I’ll keep him.”

The wrong thing to say. Amarantha erupts in a wave of fire that has everyone throwing themselves out of the way. You roll backwards, away from it, slipping into the crowd. You think they might start fighting--they’re definitely screaming you can tell that much--when a set of hands settles on your shoulders, in what would look like to onlookers was a stranger helping you up, but those hands don’t lift, they hold you in place. 

“Whatever Rhys is planning with you,” warm breath frames your face as the stranger puts his lips to your ear. “Tell him to move quickly. My father will side with Hybern and surrender up whatever army we have left at the earliest chance. He’ll want to get ahead of this. Summer and Winter do not have the strength to fight. Tell him Hellion is with us.”

Us. You risk a glance at him, at the auburn hair falling into your eyes. Not the High Lord of Autumn, but one of his sons. 

“I’ll tell him,” you say softly, praying no one hears.

The male helps you to your feet. “Be careful. We might only get one chance.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd as the two females on the dias finally start to calm.

Amarantha is bleeding from a gash across her forehead, but Brannagh is laughing as she lets the blood from her nose drip freely down her face. “Mating bond chafing?”

Dagdan has managed to shield Tamlin, sparing him, of no kindness of his own, he is as inclined to look at the High Lord like he’d be his next meal as his sister.

“Get out,” Amarantha snarls.

Dagdan twirls Tamlin’s chain around his fingers. “We want proof the girl will be loyal when the time comes.”

“If a hair is harmed on my mate’s head,” Amarantha snarls in return. “I’ll pin you to my fucking wall.”

“Scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours. Otherwise, I’ll bring you back his head and I’ll take the girl and her powers back to Hybern, where we train in breaking goddesses.”

A few people in the crowd glance your way. 

Shit, that’s what Rhys had been trying to tell you with that book he’d sent in your first couple of days here. Hybern had found a way to breed death gods. Your name would be on that list he’d made in the margins.

A guard finally comes to collect you as the twins drag Tamlin out of the throne room. Amarantha is apparently not done with her tantrum, as she begins throwing anything in reach, stolen powers swirling around her like a whirlwind. The crowd begins to slip away, fearing her wrath if they stay. For now, you’ve managed to keep your bargain and your powers secret, but your cousin’s words hang over you like a ticking clock. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes she has to test you. 

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

Tag List: @mariahoedt , @lovelydove , @twsssmlmaa , @sleepylunarwolf , @judig92 , @willowpains , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @annnaaaaaa88 , @myheartfollower , @uniquecolorwizard , @eternallyelvish , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @lovemesomevesey , @localfangirl09 , @isa1b2h3 , @starswholistenanddreamsanswered , @slytherintaco , @iluvewman-blog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife

[cookiethebirdthing]

Extra Extra!

We at the Bunbunmaru Newspaper have received astonishing reports from anonymous sources about some truly despicable plans that the goddesses on top of the mountain have planned!

A large battery was spotted, hidden behind the Moriya Shrine, with cables snaking across the land and into the very backyard of Gensokyo's most beloved shrine maiden. Using a combination of carefully-placed foliage and illusions, the cables are completely invisible to the naked human eye. Of course, we at the Bunbunmaru Newspaper were able to utilize the excellent vision of the white wolf tengu to confirm these reports.

We were further informed of large electronic devices near the Moriya Shrine that have been allegedly "mining bitcoin." While we have not yet been able to independently confirm these sightings, we have no reason to doubt their veracity. From our research, it would seem that "bitcoin mining" is some sort of Outside World technology that has brought nothing but pain and destruction to its inhabitants. We have reason to believe the goddesses at the Moriya Shrine plan to bring this destruction to Gensokyo as well and use the ensuing chaos to stake their claim at the top of the food chain.

Is the Moriya Shrine really behind this? Is the red-white being robbed of her precious electricity in order to power this doomsday weapon? Or is it possible that she is also in on the scheme?

As everyone is well aware, the Hakurei Shrine is infamously hard to reach from the Human Village and is surrounded by dangerous, human-eating youkai. This means that the shrine receives little in the way of donations. Why is this relevant? Because Reimu has everything to gain and nothing to lose from overturning the current order of Gensokyo!

How likely is it really that she would have no clue that her meager amount of electricity is being siphoned off? After extensive research, we at the Bunbunmaru Newspaper don't believe this is the case. Obviously, we can't know for sure, but all evidence points to this being a joint effort between the Hakurei and the Moriya Shrine.

That's all for this extra! This has been the Fair and Thorough Aya Shameimaru, your favorite birdseed reporter. Thank you for subscribing to the Bunbunmaru Newspaper! Be sure to read our upcoming papers as the case unfolds!

[grimalkinmessor]

I love the Light Grows Up In Wammy's House premises but I also think I love it in a very different way than most people do

Like I don't see it as a Childhood Friends/Rivals™ trope for Lawlight, I very much see it as Light growing up being told that there's someone better than him, someone he must not only surpass, but become—and I think he does the opposite of what BB does. He starts to hate L not because of anything L actually did (because they wouldn't have met) but because everyone keeps implying that L is better than him when Light KNOWS that he's the superior one. Beyond finds out that L is addicted to sweets and immediately changes his diet to include cakes and candies, while Light immediately wipes everything sweet from his mental list of desired foods.

He is perfectly polite, he's the baby of the group, and he can do no wrong in every other aspect of life except for the fact that he vehemently doesn't want to take L's place no matter how hard they push him. He wants to become his own sort of detective on his own merit, and he'll be damned if he has to use L's name while he does it. If he solves any cases it's anonymously, under a pseudonym.

And if he ever meets L, they won't be friends. But that vaguely disconcerting teen/man that sometimes sits in the corners of rooms and talks to no one is very interested in what Light has to say, no matter what it is, and seems to both enjoy it when Light talks shit about L and yet is still somehow annoyed by it. They get into heated arguments and he'll steal Light's things and pull his hair and mess up his clothes no matter how many times the caretakers chastise him for it (though even that happens surprisingly rarely). Light would stop talking to him entirely if he wasn't his only hope of getting out of Wammy's little genius factory both physically and mentally intact.

Light makes plans to run away and runs them by the broody teenager he's tolerated, who helps him pick out any holes in his plans, but somehow the staff always seem to catch Light before he can escape. It happens so often that Light even begins to think that someone's snitching on him, but he's only ever told one other person, and he wouldn't care enough to stop Light from leaving....

Would he?

Or, alternatively, Light never meets that stranger in the corner. Instead, Watari happily sternly informs him that L has personally selected Light to help him on cases. Isn't that great? Isn't it an honor? A and B are practically roiling with jealousy, Light should be grateful.

But Light is not grateful. He takes the news with a big ole fake smile, and silently plots L's mysterious disappearance before he's even come face to face with the man. He wants to make it on his own, he doesn't want to be reliant on L's name and Wammy's money and generosity forever, and he loathes the fact that he's been metaphorically chained to L's title in all the ways he didn't want to be.

A tiny Light, accompanying a teenage L places and becoming his face (both because L is petty and because he thinks its funny when police are introduced to a little kid as their Consulting Detective) around the world, all while they throw vicious barbs back and forth and spend quiet Christmases together and throw each other under the bus for fuckups and try foreign cuisines together and struggle to keep (L)/gain (Light) the power and ground they both don't even actually want.

L gives Light all the cases he doesn't want, like he's doing him a favor, and Light regularly calls A and B to smack talk L behind his back and turn the rest of his successors against him.

I can even imagine some amalgamation of both of these scenarios happening, or even eight more vaguely like them in the vein of L and Light being both completely antagonistic towards each other while also simultaneously growing so codependent that they can't stand not knowing what the other one is doing at any point in the day and also get absurdly jealous whenever anyone else even speaks to them.

Or EVEN a scenario where L doesn't pay attention to Light at all until he's grown and out in the world on his own. Light makes a quick name for himself, decidedly divorced from Wammy's influence, and eventually meets L on accident through a case L is working on, wherein L becomes intrigued with him and looks into his history only to find that he's a Wammy kid and L goes "Oh. You're one of mine."

To which Light takes decidedly poorly given that the claim both riles and razes Things™ in him because growing up with the vaguest desires to be like the man in front of you even though you loathe him and those desires were quickly squashed and never thought of willingly or voiced aloud leaves behind both the intense need to alienate yourself from said man entirely and to get close enough to become better than him for all to see and witness—only for Light to find that he can't alienate himself completely from L anymore because L decidedly won't let him and he can never quite seem to surpass him either because L is constantly nipping at his heels, echoing his thoughts with brilliant deductions of his own, and it turns out that trying to intellectually sprint past someone who only starts running when YOU do and has a distinct headstart is harder than it looks.

[zarvasace]

The last, and probably my current favorites of the bunch: Prince and Mirage, dark Warriors and dark Legend! I keep trying to put the images side-by-side so they don't take up as much room but Tumblr HATES that. Sorry.

My document with all these boys' descriptions on it is over 7k words. Holy heck. Hope you like them. XD Masterpost

More information and art beneath the cut yayyy

Prince

Prince is dark Warriors. 

Cia gave Warriors a lot of unwanted attention, which he spurned. Prince, on the other hand, wouldn't just accept the attention, but would have welcomed it. He wasn't entirely autonomous when he was summoned, but he remembers everything. He knows that he never wants to not be in control of himself ever again.

Instead of championing freedom, however, Prince makes a point of controlling others. If he controls them, they can't control him. Shackle is similar, but they have different methods. While Shackle prefers physical subjugation to be sure they're in his power, Prince uses manipulation. He pretends to be your friend, all the while gaining your trust. His job is made all the easier by his own special talent: Charm. 

Prince’s Charm is a supernatural ability to influence people. Where Madness takes over bodies, Prince sways the mind. His Charm is something he can turn on and off at will, at different intensities. It doesn't work well on any being with too much light, but it does work on criminals or people with guilt and secrets. The other Darks are susceptible to it, though after… an incident… Prince doesn't do it to them. Usually. 

It works like this: Prince identifies his target, which can be an individual or an entire crowd. He turns his Charm on intentionally, and depending on how hard he pushes, his target’s attention is drawn to his face. Because he does not look human, he then has to quickly begin talking, to pour even more Charm on. If he does it right (it does require skill and charisma), the target forgets his appearance is anything out of the ordinary. He needs a minute or two of conversation and rakish smiles to dig his claws deep enough that they don't remember anything unusual once they stop looking right at him. Prince uses his Charm to get information, favors, and generally spread his anti-Link agenda. The riskier or weirder his request is, the more Charm he has to layer on, and some people just straight up won't do some things. The Charm wears off after a while, depending on the target and how long they were exposed to it, which takes anywhere from a few minutes to a few weeks, averaging out at a day or two. 

Prince has to choose his targets wisely, which can be difficult to do because he does not look human and does not have any kind of magical disguise. That last point is a sore spot. He doesn't want a disguise, he just wants people to stop looking at him like he's going to burn their house down, thank you very much. He only has their best interests at heart. Prince is bitter and extremely envious about Warriors winning hearts so easily thanks to his good looks and natural charisma, so Prince does his best to do the same without them. His Charm is better anyway. 

…It's a good thing he hasn't actually been let loose on a population yet. 

(Warriors is a bit of a flirt, but not too badly. Prince makes a game out of trying to make people fall in romantic love with him as fast as he can. (Author’s note: I'm not touching sex. That is not the sort of story I want to tell here.))

Prince doesn't need food, and he doesn't need to breathe, but he does need to use his Charm. Because he magically learns a bit of information about his targets when he's focused on them, his theory is that he leeches from their emotions, or their identities, or something of that sort. He hasn't shared the theory with anyone, but the Dark Chain does know that Prince needs to use his Charm or he starts to get very, very hangry. It's a physical need for him. Of course, pushing too hard or trying to Charm too many people at once gives him migraines. 

Prince considers himself a leader, and it rankles him a bit that Depth is the one in charge. He contents himself with sitting back and letting Depth do all the hard things, though he has Charmed Depth several times into going along with what Prince wants to do. Prince sees Shackle as a sort of protege in the ways of manipulation, and occasionally provides pointers about how to subtly get under people’s skin. Prince and Madness end up working together a lot, since Prince can Charm Madness’s thralls into forgetting they ever lost time, or he can make up memories for them. Sometimes the two of them get migraines at the same time, which spells out lots of “fun” for everyone else. He fights a lot with Mirage and is always trying to catch Agony off-guard to give him a good scrubbing. He's the only reason that Nothing or Dire get baths, too. 

Prince is arrogant and ambitious, yes. He's proud of his appearance and does his best to stay clean and orderly—he doesn't mind the memories of military training that he gets from Warriors, since those routines help him to be efficient. He wears a copy of Warriors’s outfit, but fancier, with a fluffy shirt and a corset on top, and his tunic is purple because (1) it's opposite green on some color wheels and (2) it's the color of royalty. His silvery hair is a little longer than Warriors’s is, and he wears a luxurious red cape.

Sometimes he puts a little too much flair into his moves, but he's proficient with as many weapons as Warriors is, if less practiced. He talks a lot, boasts a lot, and casually jabs where it hurts. He holds a lot of jealousy and hate in his heart, and if he gets a little drunk, he'll go on and on about how much he dislikes Warriors, specifically. 

Prince’s ultimate ambition is to rule his Hyrule as undisputed, beloved emperor. He wants to do that by winning the hearts of every soldier, every servant, every noble. He wants to steal Warriors’s relationships right out from under him without him noticing. Prince knows that he can't rely on his temporary Charm to do that, though, so his plan is to ally with the organizations of traitors throughout Hyrule and add his persuasive charm and Charm to their efforts, eventually rising to become their leader. 

Prince’s best dreams involve him standing over a defeated Warriors on the balcony of the castle, a crown on his head and a queen on his arm (or king. He just thinks stealing Artemis or Impa would make it all the sweeter), with crowds below cheering for him. He has plans to keep the aging Warriors as an honored “guest” in the castle for as long as he lives, doomed to watch his beloved, darkened kingdom flourish under Prince’s ruby eyes. Someday, Prince will change his name to Link, stealing that from Warriors, too. 

Prince Link. Wait, no. King Link. No, even better… Emperor Link. 

Actually, he doesn't like the sound of Emperor. He’ll workshop that title.  

Mirage

Mirage is dark Legend, patterned after the Nightmares that Legend fought on Koholint. He knows Legend will know that immediately. 

Mirage is truly shape-fluid. His form is extremely malleable, though he can't keep up looking perfectly like a human for more than half an hour or so—he starts to melt and revert back to his most comfortable state, which is a close copy of Legend, his matter constantly shifting and dripping and melting. (Most comfortable state, not his true form. Does he have a true form? He doesn't know what it is if he does.) He is best at mimicking nonspecific human forms and small reptiles. He pretended to be a bush once, but wasn't very convincing. 

Mirage’s gooey flesh doesn't have many pain or touch receptors, and he doesn't need any kind of structure beneath the goo to stand up. He's very good at energy dispersion, so punching him means that you're either punching a brick wall or that your fist is getting absorbed. His goo is as warm as flesh and very slightly acidic, so touching him for too long can burn. He doesn't need to breathe, but he does digest organic material or minerals to build on his mass. He's weak against energy-type attacks, like acid or fire or ice, but it doesn't hurt him in the traditional sense and he can always build himself back up. He can drop entirely flat and easily squeezes through small gaps. 

Most traditional dungeon traps do absolutely nothing to Mirage: spike traps don't hurt him, as holes in his form mean nothing; he doesn't really take fall damage, just splatters a bit until he can pull himself together; giant axes that cleave him in two don't actually hurt him, either. There is one small part of Mirage’s matter that is his core. If he gets cut into pieces, the rest of him will shrivel up and evaporate in an hour or two, but his core stays alive and can regrow in a matter of days. If he gets to any cut-off piece before it evaporates, he can reassimilate it. He often messes with his form to take on any physical challenge: looking around corners with an eye on a hand; growing taller to see over a wall; spreading out his feet and legs to float on water; squeezing into cracks in an ice block and expanding in the right spot to make it all shatter. 

Mirage doesn't speak often, preferring to keep quiet. His voice is soft and slithering, with hissing Ss and a pitch that ranges from whispery to shrill. It's the worst voice in the group after Depth’s. He isn't the smartest of the Darks, but he is quite observant and if he does speak up, there's something important to pay attention to. Mirage often just goes with the group decisions, performing whatever role they require, though privately he absolutely resents having to work with anyone else, because Mirage works alone. He doesn't need companions, friends, shopkeepers, or family; he doesn't need vehicles, mounts, money, magic items, or even weapons. When he means alone, he means Very Alone. 

The thing about Legend—despite the masks and attitude he puts on—is that he cares, so so much. He cares about people being happy and safe, he bonds with everyone nice he meets whether he knows it or not, he is self-sacrificing and always working for a better world, even when people don't ask for it. Mirage does not care about much of anything except himself. He would be most content wandering around a mountain, causing a bit of chaos in a nearby town, and using his abilities to traverse impossible paths, especially through caves, just because he can. He doesn't care about the other Darks (that's a bit more of a lie than he thinks it is), he doesn't care about Legend, he doesn't care about covering the world in darkness. He’s just dragged around and knows that they have to finish this stupid mission thing before he can be left in peace. 

Mirage is somewhat fascinated with the way humans work. He's closer to an octopus or other eldritch sea creature himself, and mimics reptilian forms, but the more he learns about humans, the better he can mimic them. He might not care much about many things, but he's curious. He likes to investigate corpses (especially if he can eat them—the Dark Chain’s favorite way of “disappearing” people) and find out new things about their anatomy and chemical compositions, things he knows about and can memorize to reproduce in his own gooey flesh later. As such, he sometimes annoys the other Darks by poking at them or “testing” their senses or limits. 

He gets along best with Lost, who doesn't care much, either, and doesn't get mad at his questions or testing. Mirage responds by taking Lost babysitting duty more than his fair share. (His apathy means he's really patient with Lost and Nothing and Madness.) He makes a good team with Agony, who he sees as very similar to himself, except Agony is clearly more driven. Agony is the quick and sharp counterpart to Mirage’s slow and inevitable destruction. (And it doesn't hurt that Agony is the electricity wielder among them, so if Agony sort of likes Mirage, then all the better.) 

In a normal fight, Mirage is all but indestructible, walking through battle without problems. He doesn't bother attacking until someone hurts him, usually with fire or something similar. Then Mirage will focus to get rid of the threat—and he’s aware that the others expect him to target and take out Legend, so he does that if he has to. He's all but impossible to fight without elemental aid, and while he isn't too quick, he hits HARD and has a lot of tricks up his metaphorical sleeves. 

Still, the fact remains that if you manage to hurt him, you hurt him a lot. Mirage isn't complicated, but he's very flexible and can do things nobody is prepared for. 

(sorry for the low contrast. But hey, my goo-drawing skills are finally relevant! Look at that hat! And the foot!)

[d3wdropz]

DIVINITY: PROLOGUE ~ SUKUNA X READER

a/n okay I'm very excited about this!

I'm planning on splitting up the story into a prologue, fight, smut, then epilogue. I love build-up and world building, not just the smutty stuff, so be prepared for more of a plot w/ porn set up- plans may change though and upload schedule will be chaotic so be prepared

hope you all enjoy!

pairing: True Form! Sukuna x Curse! Fem! Reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: Sukuna is feared and respected, a self-proclaimed "natural calamity". Shrouded in power and mystery, not much is known about him, other than the fact that if you bore him you'll likely face a gruesome demise.

Now where does that leave you? A powerful and new "natural calamity" as Sukuna would say.

content warning: no smut, fem! reader, canon-typical violence, descriptions of violence, blood, death, swearing, kind of anti-hero/villainous reader, canon! sukuna , slightly non-canon setting

credit to @cafekitsune for all the amazing dividers!!!

The Heian Era- a time that would later be recognized as the 'Golden Age of Jujutsu'. A period full of strong sorcerers- and curses.

Yet, no matter their strength, no one stood a chance against the reigning king: Ryomen Sukuna. The very mention of his name sent fear into those who heard it. While he stayed on top of the food chain, there was nothing to be done.

If a village wanted a chance at survival, they had expectations to uphold.

First: respect and fear the King of Curses. Even if he's miles away, when he is spoken of, it should be with care and respect. No one is sure if it's true, but there are tales of villagers speaking of Lord Sukuna in a lowly manner- only for them to be cut in-half before they could finish.

Second: his arrival should be met with offerings and praise. Not to feed his ego, but to give him a reason not to burn a town to the ground. If, for some terrible reason, a village has Sukuna housed within it, he is to be treated like a God. Anything less would mean the death of hundreds, such an easy act that Sukuna would do it with his eyes closed.

The third, and final, rule: everyone is beneath him. No one is allowed to look him in the eye, talk to him, or even breath too close to him. Weaklings are expected to know their place. If they forget, Lord Sukuna happily reminds them of his strength by crushing their windpipe with one of his four hands.

No village has ever really strayed from these rules after they were made- not if they wanted to live. Due to this, Sukuna's arrivals come with a sort of schedule: an invitation made in hopes of gaining his favor, offering and celebration preparation, the 'festivities', and finally, his departure.

The latest, pitiful town Sukuna has found himself in is in their third stage. He's seated comfortably on a pedestal of sorts, with Uraume close by. If Sukuna were to be honest, he finds these kind of events boring and tacky. He can't help but sneer when he looks into a sea of sad, lowly, humans giving him hollow praise to stay alive.

As Sukuna sits in his head, he thinks that maybe he endures this because there's nothing better to do. Pillaging and bloodshed isn't fun if don't give yourself the chance to relax, ready yourself for the next venture.

Another perk of being invited to these celebrations: hearing gossip. It's no surprise that Sukuna is not a very social man, and Uraume is no better when they spend all of their time with him. So these short instances give him a chance to hear the latest news.

It's not like he would be ignorant to anything if he truly wanted to know. He just finds more excitement in finding things out when villagers whisper their gossip to one another- it also gives him something to do.

Lucky for him, the townspeople are bustling with news. Their voices are full of fear and concern. They try to hide it, try to keep Sukuna's attention on the various gifts they offer him. It's not enough, sadly, and he's becoming intrigued.

This distress isn't being caused by him, from what he can hear and tell. None of them have verified or given a name to what is on their minds, so Sukuna decides to wait it out.

Night falls by the time Sukuna finally knows what's going on. By now, the offerings have been made, the praises have been given, and this meant it was time for him to take his leave. Both him and Uraume can see the sweat bead on the elder's heads as Sukuna remains seated.

Uraume is confused as well, but is wise enough to not question or make a fuss- Sukuna does as he pleases, sometimes with no rhyme or reason. Their job is to serve him, and right now that meant refilling his cup.

Just as he's about to call it a night, fed up with waiting for something interesting to happen, Sukuna hears it. Some young, quiet girl was speaking with her friend as they cleaned up. Their conversation was of some new curse- 'if you could call her that' as they said- was causing chaos in a neighboring village.

As Sukuna continued to listen, the girl shared more. She informed her friend that the curse seemed to appear out of nowhere, one that no one recognized. The rumors are that she looks human, beautiful even! But she's really a cold-hearted monster. When her companion scoffs and claims this to be false, that if this were true more people would know about it, the girl argues back. She explains that this has all happened within the span of a day or two.

Sukuna quirks his brow, slightly surprised by this news. He didn't sense any new cursed energy, at least to the extent that this girl is speaking of. If some curse were to be close by with this much power, he would know. But, it would bring some much-needed entertainment if this rumor were to be true.

Just as Sukuna was about to rise from his seated position, he felt something shift. It was as if a balance inside of him tilted. He tensed up and looked to the source, sensing it's placement. Uraume turned to the direction, having picked up on the intrusion as well.

Within seconds, a shriek was heard. It was quickly cut off by the sound of clatters. The shift Sukuna felt morphed into a detection of cursed energy just as the scream died.

As if the yell was some kind of alarm, the village quickly fell into disarray as people ran away. Families held each other tight as they rushed to the center of town, right where Sukuna was seated.

He watched as their determined faces fell, filling with fear and despair as they were met with the sight of the King of Curses. It was easy to see that the villagers were now stuck between two deadly curses, having to chose which death they'd prefer.

Without hesitation, Uraume calmly creates a rush of ice that destroys all of the obstacles between them and the curse that's entered the village- leaving behind a small pile of dead bodies. It was a simple and effective move, the opponent is caught off-guard and usually frozen in the ice. Oftentimes Uraume freezes the curse until they're veins are frozen solid, an easy victory.

So Uraume is left shocked when they watch the ice fly back towards them. It's wasn't too fast, they're able to create a wall that protects both them and Sukuna. They try to analyze the curse, but it's hard to see them through the ice.

Before Uraume could speak, a joyful laugh rang through the silent village. To any human, it sounded innocent and childish. But Sukuna and his attendent knew better, they sensed the power oozing from the curse, the malice behind that laugh.

With his interest peaked, Sukuna stood up, towering over the wall of ice after he cuts it away. He's left intrigued for the second time that night when he sees a woman standing before him, now only about 300 feet away.

She looks to be about 20, but appearances can't be trusted when dealing with immortal cursed spirits. Her body is adorned in a loosely fitting, silk robe. It's large and ill-fitted on her, falling off one shoulder, showing off soft skin. There are unmistakable dots and splashes of blood that stain the front of the pristine and bright fabric.

Her laughter dies down as she wipes away a tear. When she looks up, her eyes lock onto one pair of Sukuna's. An amused smile spreads on her face as she stands tall.

"Well, I knew there was something interesting here. I could feel it," she spoke carelessly, twirling a strand of hair and cocking her head to the side, "I didn't think it would be this fun."

By now, the rest of the villagers have snuck away. This left an empty town, with only the sounds of fire crackling and the curses to fill the night.

Sukuna can hear Uraume sneer, disgusted by the disrespect coming from this uncivilized curse, "Have some decorum." Their voice is full of malice, as they ready for another attack.

Deciding to take this chance to observe the curse in front of him, Sukuna doesn't stop Uraume from using Frost Calm. He watches as the cold air quickly makes it way to their adversary. Both curses are left confused as the blast is halted just inches away from the woman's face.

The smile is quickly replaced by a glare and disgusted look. She glances at them, giving the Frost Calm in front of her little thought, "I didn't come here to fight some insignificant, little snowflake."

With that, she sent the attack right back at Uraume. This time, it was different. It was faster, more concentrated, and dripping with an immense amount of cursed energy. Left with no time to react, the smaller curse is sent flying backwards and into some buildings. Their impact is made worse as the ice encases them.

"Compared to the sheer amount of cursed energy you exude, that little pebble was nothing," the woman takes a few steps forward. Only now does Sukuna notice just how unproperly done her robe is. As soon as the binding at her waist ends, there's a large slit that reveals her legs, just short enough to hide her more intimate parts. Even with a lack of shoes, her feet and legs seem to be clean- in fact everything about her seems to be unblemished except for the blood. It leaves the Cursed King confused, but he easily drops it.

If Sukuna wasn't busy observing her and trying to figure out what exactly her cursed technique was, he would find her attire humorous and immature. It reminded him of Yorozu, her naked introduction still recent. A quick thought crosses his mind: is it some new trend for female curses to walk around half-naked? He knows he has no room to speak but at least he wears proper pants.

Coming out of his thoughts, Sukuna lifts his head and smirks ever-so slightly, "You're one to talk, woman."

Anyone could tell that this lady is a talker, and she returns his smile with a mischievous one of her own. "I wouldn't know, I'm new here," she stretches, raising her arms above her head, "All I know is that when I sense something strong- like you- I find it-" her eyes seem to shimmer as she stares into his own crimson ones, "and I take it."

With a little more time to stare into her eyes, Sukuna was able to detect what that excited gleam was: hunger. Some part of him felt a shiver run down his spin when she licked her lips and lowered her arms, "The stronger they are, the better they taste."

This leaves Sukuna chuckling under his breath, willing to humor her, "Aw, so that's it," in an instant, Sukuna is right in front of the woman, towering over her, "you're a dumb little thing that just came to life, hungry for power."

She held her ground, staring up at him confidently with a sort of excitement in her eyes, "I wouldn't say I'm dumb," in retaliation to his attempt at intimidation, she quickly pokes his chest. It was a gentle movement, something he wouldn't have even noticed. If it wasn't for the shocking strength he felt as he was forced to lean back. "but you would be right about the other thing, I just came to be about three days ago."

For any other curse, they would have been sent flying a few meters back. If she were to have used that move on a human, their chest would have been shot open from the force. This interested her even more as she took a simple hop back, only for her to fly high into the air. She then sat herself on a nearby roof, leaning her head on her knees.

"You're the most interesting thing I've found, none of the others could talk, or lasted that move," she grinned down at Sukuna.

Both of them knew this was just banter. The fighting hasn't quite commenced yet. They seemed too invested in the other, neither ready to kill and miss out on this opportunity to chat.

Sukuna glances up at her, crossing a pair of his arms, "Is that meant to impress me, woman?"

She only gives him a cheeky smile, "Not at all, I can tell that you're powerful, feared. Something like that would do nothing to sway you from fighting me." She closes her eyes thoughtfully, "I am curious as to who you are, you'll be the first thing I've ever cared enough to remember the name of. The first. . . 'curse'- if what the humans call me is true- that makes me need to try out my abilities."

His excitement only intensifies- this woman is something else. Sukuna can tell that this battle will be one for him to remember. It won't be simple, one-sided, and consist of him using his cleave to destroy his enemy in a second. He'll really get to go all out, get to have fun.

A rumble reverberates in his chest, a chuckle, "I'm your king, woman." Sukuna slicks his hair back out from his vision, smirking at and teasing the younger curse which only grows as she furrows her brows in anger.

She raises her hand lazily, keeping it level to her head, "You're getting annoying." The woman thinks for a second, before a smile graced her face, as if a light-bulb went off. She stands up from her seated position and jumps to the ground.

Out of annoyance, and some respect for her confidence, Sukuna averts his eyes from her figure as the wind blows her robe about. It doesn't reveal much, and Sukuna might be a tyrant, but he still likes to think of himself as a chivalrous adversary.

When she's on the ground again, she walks right up to him again. Her hands a clasped in front of her, joyfully. In any other circumstance, she would be a puddle of blood for getting this close to the King of Curses. But, Sukuna must admit that her presence has provided him entertainment for the night. So he allows it.

"I know! If I beat you, you'll tell me your name. If you win, I'll tell you mine. I'd love to continue this conversation, as you're the most fascinating thing I've come across in my short life. But- I'm itching to have a little fun." Sukuna listens to her ramble, rolling his eyes at her proposition.

Now, Sukuna can't help but find this plain hilarious. This stupid, little curse is making a simple bet and placing her life on the line. He could almost smack her on the back of her head from how absurd it sounds- but, if he were to agree, he'd get to truly see her abilities.

With a lop-sided grin, Sukuna extends his hand, imbuing it with cursed energy in preparation for the binding vow. He watches as confusion washes onto her face as she stares at his hand.

"What are you doing?" her voice is laced with frustration and bewilderment.

His brows raise before he lets out an exasperated sigh, "I forgot you're new- this" he nods his head to his hand "is a binding vow. It's a promise made with cursed energy that requires us to fulfill it. In this instance, it makes you're silly deal something that must be upheld."

She nods in understanding, taking an extra second to study his hand. She then shakes it, both of them taking a second to feel the difference in hand sizes. Hers is dwarfed within his, practically invisible when held in Sukuna's. This brief touch is also a chance for them to feel the others cursed energy on a closer level, more personal.

From what Sukuna could pick up on, before he dropped her hand, was that this wouldn't be an easy fight. He's both put on edge and roused by the amount of cursed energy coursing through her veins. What makes it even better is that she's completely unaware of the power she's holding.

He can't wait to be the person that forces her to unlock it.

The two take a few simple steps back. Sukuna grips his kamutoke in one hand, readying for battle. The woman, on the other hand, stands gleefully in place. She has no weapon, isn't readying any chants or dances, hell- she doesn't even look serious.

Even with her immature behavior, the female curse looks her enemy in the eyes with an intensity Sukuna's only seen in few. She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head, "Ready?"

Sukuna nods with content, watching from the corner of his eye as Uraume finally begins to make their way over again. The look he shoots them is enough for the servant to realize this wasn't something for them to interfere in. Instead, they stand in the background, ready to jump in whenever their master needed.

As both curses begin to emit immense amounts of cursed energy in preparation for the fight, Uraume can't help but notice a new emotion reflect in Sukuna's gaze. It's something they've never seen him express before, though most ordinary people usually experience it many times. It leaves them confused and wondering what the hell conspired while they were incapacitated.

The thing that's left Uraume stumped, that's making it's first appearance in the Cursed King's eyes, is admiration.

Admiration for the curse that's about to battle with him to the death.

final notes okay! wow- i'm sorry this took so long! i'm happy to get this ball rolling though, be prepared for some fighting and more explanation in the next part!

oh- also i hope sukuna isn't too ooc in this- it's hard to get that guy down!

hope you enjoyed!

[blueishspace]

Mercy of a god p5

*You skillfully direct their attention from the sacrifice to the trees by imitating a wolf howl, you sneak behind them and release the poor man... Mumbo looks impressed and the man looks awestruck. You grab him and make a run for it until you are back into the forest*

Sacrifice: Thank you! Thank you! You saved me!

Scar: Oh It's... Nothing really.

Sacrifice: Can I come with you my saviour? I have nowhere else to go!

Scar: Uh...

Sacrifice : Please I beg of you!

Scar: It might be dangerous...

Mumbo: We are almost there but I can teach you how to send him to the temple if you want to be sure.

Scar: Uh, yeah that sounds good.

Mumbo: It's a simple incantation.

*Mumbo whispers in your ear, you akwardly repeat it and the rescued sacrifice us gone*

Scar: Is he ...ok?

*Mumbo nods and begins walking once more*

*Soon you make it to a clearing and the man comes to greet you*

Sacrifice: Oh saviour! You have arrived! I was worried!

Scar: You can call me Scar-

Sacrifice: Of course, everything you want!

*It's a bit akward, you aren't really used to someone being like this with you but you convince the new follower to help you gather some wood and with Mumbo's help the two of you manage to build a rudimentary kitchen and sleeping bag for him*

*it takes two days for Mumbo to approach you.*

Mumbo: You'll have to venture out into the land of the first god soon.

Scar: For resources? I know we don't have much but-

Mumbo: That too, but also to release the chains of The One Who Watches. You'll have to defeat all 4 bishops.

Scar: I have to fight the gods!?

Mumbo: Yes... Luckily you are also have the power of a god now thanks to that crown, even if it was just lended to you.

Scar: I don't feel that powerful though...not like them...

Mumbo: You will, it takes a while to gather power. And it takes followers as well, the more you have the faster you'll gain power.

Scar: And to gather more followers...

Mumbo: You have to venture into the lands of the bishops, yes.

*You sigh and after some preparations say goodbye to your follower before making your way into the forest*

*Near the path is a stone tablet. You can, with a bit of effort because of your dyslexia, manage to read a message:*

Entering the domain of Solidarity. Bishop of law and chaos. Lord of spring and forest. Heretics will be exterminated.

*You steel your nerves and ready yourself*

Chapter I: Spring.

*You make your way trough the path when suddenly it splits, you'll have to choose what to search for on this adventure*

Scar: Where to go...?

*Stone and wood and gold are all very important...but food and medicinal plants are too... Mumbo also suggested trying to get more followers so that is an option as well*

(*By inciting awe in a follower by saving them using trickery you have gained +2 affinity to savior god archetype and +1 affinity to trickster god archetype*)((reward for nat 20))

Prev Next First

Current affinities:

[nyxvamps]

some Child of Nyx Angst:

Lady Nyx expects her children to be perfect.

if they live in the mortal world they need to have the perfect grades. they need to dress the best, have the most influential friends and associates, never cause problems, never speak crassly, never act out.

She is one of the most powerful primordial goddesses. King Zeus is scared of her. Her children should always be at their best as well bc the way they act reflects on her.

how can she hold her title as a powerful, intimidating goddess if her children aren’t at the top of the social food chain? if her children are running around acting immature and looking like slobs in sweats and sneakers?

Oh she loves her children with her entire being. but it’s always

“Yes, Mother.” “Yes, Ma’am.” “I won’t do it again, Mother.”

their cabin has to be spotless at all time. if she thinks that interacting with a certain person won’t be good for her child, she demands that they stop interacting. “It’s what’s best, dear. They would only halt your future potential.”

“Have you gained weight? Make sure you’re watching what you eat, my love.”

“I don’t want you going to your friend’s house this weekend. Your last exam from the little school of yours just missed my expectations. I expect that to be rectified.”

In the demigod world. They especially need to keep up the act. Everyone knows who their mother is and if they do something to embarrass her?

They have to be the best at fighting, hand to hand, and when they’re not they better find something else to lord over others.

Even at camp, they have to appear their best. It doesn’t matter that everyone else is running around in old jeans and a camp shirt, they need to be dressed to the nines. Not a speck of dirt on them. Even when they train, they wear expensive workout clothes and shoes. As soon as it’s over, right back to their vanity to redo their hair and make up if they wear it (which they usually do. Don’t need acne scars and discoloration ruining your pretty face).

They aren’t usually allowed to interact with children of the big three because of the things Zeus has said about her in the past.

If another demigod is known to be rough and loud and immature, don’t even think about being their friend. It won’t last long.

Their mother picks what quests they go on because if they fail one, they’ll just be bringing shame to her name.

But remember, she loves her children. And she only says and does these things because,

“It’s what’s best for you, my darling.”

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hey! I was wondering (if you’re taking requests) if you could write a one shot of Alastor x female reader, where she’s basically got the same mindset, ideologies and personality as AM from I have no mouth and I must scream.

Like, what would Alastor’s thoughts on her be when they first met? Or how did getting with her change his perspective on her in a bad way? Like, she had finally shown her true colours or something to him?

I just thought it would be interesting. If you can’t do it though, that’s fine! I hope you have a great day!

I AM What I Say I AM~~

(So this is, as you can tell based on AM, so there is going to be a lot of Psychological trauma. The reader may have a soul, but to others, she is soulless. This is a one-sided love story since the reader can't quite comprehend love. This could be triggering to some people, so read at your own discretion) TW: Sociopathy, Psychopathy, Murder, Death, Violence, One sided love

You hated hell. Correction: You Hate living things on earth, in hell, or even in heaven. You hated it all. That hate is what helped you gain complete control and power in hell upon your death. You weren't Lucifer by any means or God, but you were damn close as possible. You were feared, so feared that other overlords stopped inviting you to the meetings, afraid you would harm them. 

This fear and hate fed you through your mortal life, and they'll feed you through hell. You had no emotions other than ending a meaningless, fragile human life. Nothing angered you more than a mere mortal or fresh sinner attempting to understand the inner mechanisms of your brain. You sought power, and you would get power. 

You died untimely and tragically; it took an army to end your life; it would take an army to kill you once again. Your physical and mental prowess far surpassed anyone in this god-forsaken pit. While some overlords were two steps ahead of the game, you were thousands. Cold, calculated, and ready to kill. Nothing would stop you from either becoming the most powerful being in hell or killing all that stood below you.

What fascinated you the most was watching your souls squirm. Your power allowed you to manipulate their flesh and blood, giving you a new hobby in deformation. Things were right in the world. You were punishing the weak and only growing stronger by the day. Your mind was ever-evolving, learning new weaknesses and traumas in those around you. 

You found joy in watching the less than and innocent and damned suffer as much as you enjoyed your torture back on earth. Things only got better as you gained more and more powers through your climb up the ladder. No one would dare to oppose you or even stop you. Lucifer turned a blind eye to your insanity, and the others shunned you. That would not stop you from one day killing them as well. 

That was till he came into the picture. A thorn in your side, a man rivaling your power, someone so close to being as insane as you but far from it. Alastor was new to hell; he made his way up the chain fast, collecting soul after soul. This landed him in the spot below you on the food chain, right below your growing claws. You were going to bring him to your web. Kill him. Kill the weak. 

You hated how he rivaled you in power, hated how he smiled at you so coyly. It all irked you, yet every trap you set to kill him was only evaded. You had to commend he was as intelligent as you, yet that only made you hate him more and more. He stood there looking at you like you hung the galaxy, and soon, one day you would, but you wanted to wipe that grin off his stupid, cowardly face first.

He would not surpass you or become better than you were. That's why the day he asked to court you, the plan was set in motion: lure him in, weaken him and his resolve, and use his power for your gain. Then, in the end, kill him and rise high above all the other measly small people on this plane of existence. So you accepted his stupid offer, a wicked smile gracing your lips as you faked a courtship with the man.

It was fine for a while; both of you were content with the lack of contact and only communicating at the bare minimum. He revered you like a god; however, someone so powerful, even those with immense power on the streets, coward at your feet. You hated how weak and groveling all these sinners were, hate, hate, hate, hate. 

You were going to absorb the man named Alastor, get rid of him for good, and stake your claim on the entirety of hell. Yet you felt a compulsion to keep your favorite toy around, and this compulsion burned a new fury of hate in your being. He was a problem, a nuisance, but you couldn’t get rid of him. Instead, you took out your anger on those whose souls you owned.

One lost its mouth; another lost its bones, and a third lost its eyes. Each act of cruelty you cast was a sickening joy added to your collection of all things to hate. Some days, you would hang them from your ceiling, watching the blood pool out of them, only to put it all back in. On other days, you would make them eat one another for enjoyment, only to piece them together again. You owned their souls, and you chose when they lived or died. 

You were going more insane and punishing each day that passed where you couldn’t kill the deer man. Each day, your hate grew, and you took it out harder and harder. Soon, you were mad with rage and hated enough that you began combining all your souls to make one amalgamation. This would be the day you lost your chance to kill the one known as Alastor.

An impromptu visit to your home to give you flowers and his heart was all it took for him to see your true colors. Gracing his presence in your home where your guard was down and you could act out the most vile of thoughts you had, there he saw it. You hunched over your souls, hurting them far beyond his capability.

Alastor would be the first to admit that he was sadistic and enjoyed pain on others, but not senseless, unjust pain. He sought to kill his abusive father and the likes of them. He had met your souls, and some did not; most were innocent, naive souls that fell to hell. Yet here you were tormenting them so for your amusement. That's when he felt the massive power imbalance between you two.

You were no god; no, you were something entirely else. You were evil itself, born and bred to kill and maim and torture. He had to leave fast. As he went running, a floorboard creaked, catching your attention. You snarled and bolted after him. Alastor hadn’t felt genuine fear like this since the dog attack. He ran faster, making space between the two of you. What saved him was your poor, tortured amalgamation blocking you.

After that day, Alastor hid, knowing he needed more power to be safe from you. Yet he made a deal instead for protection from you. Once the seven years were up and he returned to join the hotel, he was afraid you would find him, find his new home. Yet you have to show again. 

Sitting at the recent overlord meeting, he pulled Zestial aside. He was scared; what if uttering your name pulled you from the shadows? He explained his plight, avoiding using fear and scared in his statements. Only to be relieved to find out you did challenge God. You tried and died in the process. He was relieved, almost happy for hell. Many sick, twisted things existed here, but what you were far surpassed that.

His heart shattered and shuddered as she heard it whispered through the air as Zestial took his leave. It was as if you were still there with him, omnipresent like the big man upstairs. He swore your voice nestled right up to his ear and spoke:

“I am what I say I am.”

[zeroseuniverse]

Favorite Game

Word Count: 1.4K Summary: “Take off the disguise before you pick a fight with me.” She huffed, already having a rough day, she just wanted to complete her mission and move on with her night. “Ooh someone is feisty today.” Beomgyu taunted as he allowed his body to shift back into a human and landed right Infront of her, his body crouched as he looked through his eyelashes up at her. Pairing: Beomgyu X Fem Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

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The world had changed so fast—as soon as the mutant announcement hit the papers, it was like everyone decided overnight that people like him didn’t belong, and he couldn’t outrun the fear, the anger, or the sudden realization that he was prey in a world of hunters. The first time Beomgyu turned into a wolf, it wasn’t to hunt or fight—it was to escape, a desperate attempt to outrun the world that had always been quicker to cage him than understand him.

The tale had been spun many ways, driven by the oppression mutants were out for revenge, bodies began dropping as neighbors accused each other of carrying the gene and being a danger to the community. If you asked Beomgyu this was all just an excuse for humans to act out their darkest desires, killing those they once welcomed into their homes. Monsterization didn’t begin with mutants, centuries have gone on carrying tales of humans murdering humans in cold blood, even animals fell victim to their hands. Now someone topped the humans on the food chain and they were scared, their fear fueling the propaganda to exterminate the mutants, or even some encouraging testing to spread the mutations to make everyone of equal power.

He perched himself on one of the powerlines, watching as person after person entered a testing facility. He wondered if these idiots would realize that they were just being fed placebos, being scammed out of millions for something that didn’t work. But then again, fear had a way of clouding people’s judgment. The place wasn’t a lab; it was a trap. A way to gain control over everyone. The world was cruel, and Beomgyu had stopped caring whether it was ever going to change. All he could do now was survive.

His ears picked up the subtle sound of scraping, turning his head to face the roof next door. His face lit up into a mischievous grin. He was happy some things never changed, there she was. Her movements were similar to a cat, stealthy and sly. It’s time, his favorite show is starting. Beomgyu silently leapt from the powerline, landing gracefully on the roof of the next building. He crouched low, just out of sight, watching her with a mix of admiration and amusement. She was always a challenge, always a puzzle, and the way she moved was almost too perfect. “There you are, princess. Let’s see if you’re as good as I remember.” He hummed, sneaking around the roof. She wasn’t easy to track. He knew that from past encounters. Her agility, her quiet footsteps—she could slip past him before he even realized she was there. But that’s what made it fun. Chasing her was like playing a game of cat and mouse, only the mouse was clever, and the cat was anything but patient.

He shifted into a raven, dark wings cutting through the air as he took off silently, circling above her. Beomgyu knew she’d feel the change before she saw it—he’d make sure of that. The thrill of the chase surged through him, the anticipation building with each beat of his wings.

“Careful, little one. You never know what’s waiting,” He teased, his voice sounding so taunting, causing the prey to freeze, her eyes scanning the sky. The game had begun.

“Take off the disguise before you pick a fight with me.” She huffed, already having a rough day, she just wanted to complete her mission and move on with her night.

“Ooh someone is feisty today.” Beomgyu taunted as he allowed his body to shift back into a human and landed right Infront of her, his body crouched as he looked through his eyelashes up at her. Her heart stuttered, it would be a lie if she had said she didn’t think Beomgyu was attractive, and every time his brown eyes met her own she couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lingered behind those sorrowful eyes.

“I have business to do, can you not bother me just this once?” She asked, her sunken eyes almost striking a chord within Beomgyu- almost.

“Whose the target today?” He wondered, peering over the edge to look at the crowd of people, “Could it be that old bald man? Oh or how about that blabbering nerd trying to justify their motives to the protesters.”

Her gaze followed him, but she was already growing impatient with his antics. “Not your business, Beomgyu.” She tried to stay focused, but the pull of his presence made her nerves buzz.

“Maybe,” Beomgyu continued, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “but watching you is always my business. Besides, you’ve got that look in your eyes again. What’s really going on behind that mask of yours?” She took a breath, her chest tightening as she tried to push away the strange tension in the air.

"I’m not here to entertain you." He leaned in closer, the teasing edge in his voice deepening. “Then why do I feel like you’re always trying to run away from me?” Their proximity was almost unbearable, but she kept her gaze steely, not willing to let him see how much he affected her.

“I’m not running away from you,” she shot back, though the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her. “I just have a job to do, and you’re making it difficult.”

Beomgyu tilted his head, his grin widening as he took a step closer, the playful edge never leaving his tone. “Is that so? Or maybe it’s just that I make things interesting for you.” He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve, his touch almost deliberate in its casualness. “A little too interesting for someone trying to hide something.” Her heart skipped, but she pushed the reaction down, fighting to keep her cool.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, stepping back a pace. Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, his grin deepening as he observed her reaction.

“What? Not even a little bit of fun? You’re no fun at all.” He didn’t move, his posture still casual but his eyes never leaving hers, filled with that same unsettling curiosity. “You’ve been running from me for months now, haven’t you? Always playing this little game, acting like you’re not curious about me at all.”

She clenched her fists, trying not to give in to the pull of his words. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” Beomgyu stepped forward, his voice softer now, but his tone laced with something dangerous. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.” He paused, his gaze flickering down to her lips before returning to her eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she recovered quickly, masking the brief flutter in her chest with a forced smirk. “If you’re so clever, why haven’t you figured me out yet?”

“Because I’m still having fun watching you squirm,” he replied, his voice a whisper now, as if the air around them had thickened with tension. “But soon, I will. And when I do, you won’t be able to run anymore.”

She took another step back, this time to steady herself, but the words lingered in the air, hanging between them like an unspoken challenge. “You’re too sure of yourself.”

“And you’re too stubborn for your own good,” Beomgyu shot back, his smile never wavering. “But I’ve got all the time in the world. Eventually, you’ll crack.” The tension was thick now, crackling with something both volatile and alluring.

Beomgyu’s eyes softened just a fraction, as if he recognized the fight in her—and the way she tried so hard to hide what he could see so clearly. “I don’t need you to figure me out,” she finally said, her voice low but fierce. “I’m not your puzzle to solve.”

Beomgyu studied her for a long moment, before his expression shifted into something almost tender—a rare moment where his walls seemed to falter. “Maybe you are,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And that’s what makes it fun.” The words lingered between them, heavy with the weight of something unsaid. She opened her mouth to respond, but Beomgyu was already turning, his footsteps light as he moved toward the edge of the roof. “Don’t make me chase you again,” he called over his shoulder, that taunting note returning to his voice. She stood frozen, her heart pounding, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions rushing through her. “I’ll be waiting,” Beomgyu added, just before vanishing into the shadows. Her breath escaped in a quiet rush, and for a moment, she was left with nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat and the feeling that this game between them was far from over.

[adastra121]

Touchstarved as Arcane Pt 2!

Now that season 2 is out, I wanted to continue assigning songs to all the characters. Or at least, the songs that make me think of the Touchstarved characters — with songs from season 2! :D

"To Ashes and Blood" by Woodkid = Leander. I think I gave Leander a Woodkid song from season 1, too. That artist's songs just really fit him. XD I feel like the lyrics fit the path Leander is headed, what with the themes of death and rebirth that surround him, and his quotes that seem to warn us about his hubris — "We make our own luck here" / "Mages lust for power. It's always their downfall." Can you just hear it playing during the climax of his route? :D

"You waste your life to gain power, You shift the game rules. How does it feel to reach the line that no one ever got to cross? Does it make you a god now?"

I think this part in particular is fitting for Kuras as well with his fire motifs:

"Every sin will be forgiven If you lay down your weapons to the ground. Catch the fire burning out your soul, Just make it die or you will fall. Catch the fire burning out your soul. Just make it die or you will turn it all To ashes and blood."

"Paint the Town Blue" by Ashnikko = Vere. It's as fun and cheeky as it is brutal, which I feel is fitting for him.

"Oh, you want a villain, lemme show you how I evil. Oh, you think I'm difficult, I'll show you how my teeth feel. Sharpshooter lethal, top of food chain like an eagle."

Some of the lyrics are also fitting for his "Life is rather dull when you're confined to a birdcage." quote.

"I'm no good, I'm rotten to the core. Simulate, play with me, please, I'm bored. Trigger warning, yeah, blood and gore."

"Rebel Heart" by Djerv = Another song for Vere. I kind of see this as a cathartic freedom song for him. Like, can you imagine him ripping Senobium clerics and destroying the Senobium to this? All wild, chaotic violence with shadows like snapping jaws.

"In chaos I reign, tear this place apart. Rebel heart! In chaos I'm free. Destruction is art."

"Don't you want be vicious? Don't you want to tell lies? Come join me on the dark side (it's a paradise) No rules, pure mayhem, That is who I am. And I watch you do it as we tear it down, Burn it to the ground!"

Also when Vere has mentioned knowing Eridia before it became the city it is now.

"I've been here from the very start. You cannot break my rebel heart."

"Come Play" by Stray Kids, Young Miko, and Tom Morello = Ais. I feel like the lyrics are fitting for an Ais who's bringing the entire Groupmind to a fight. And he could be working with Ocudeus or taking the fight to it.

"If you wanna come play, You gotta start with me. And the monsters in my head, in my head. Got blood on my hands, And you're my revenge. You pushed me to the edge."

"The Line" by Twenty One Pilots = Mhin. This song is pretty fitting for Mhin, who's cursed with a monster inside of them. It could be the moment they finally lose themselves to their monster form or if they betray MC.

"My body's on the line now I can't fight this time now."

"I'd rather you not be here for What could be my final form Stay your pretty eyes on course Keep the memories of who I was before."

"Please don't let them see me Sure there's nothing left to try I can feel the light shine on my face Did I disappoint you? Will they still let me over If I cross the line?"

"The Beast" by Misha Mansoor = I can see this being Vere and Mhin's monster forms on a killing spree, maybe MC witnessing it.

"Spin the Wheel" by Mick Wingert = Kuras. It feels like a song from someone who's lived and learned through lifetimes, filled with the beauty and horror of humanity. It's kind of melancholic and wistful, like someone walking with the march of time.

"Right when the war quiets down, ya strike up the band. Keep marching on, my friends, And do what you can."

I think the song feels almost passive, as if letting tragedies happen while you walk through life, accepting their inevitability, which could fit Kuras's story. All the innocents he couldn't save, no matter what he does.

"And where the chips fall, it's not your concern, nah Like the wind gonna breeze, the fires'll burn Just let the gears, my friend… Let 'em turn."

"Sucker" by Marcus King = Sen. This fits a reanimated Sen on a quest for vengeance, but she's not really living for anything else. I can see her walking away from the chaos with blood smeared on her face and weapon, on her way to kill her next mark. There are snakes to exterminate, and she cannot rest until they've been stomped out.

"No red rose on your grave, You poor sucker. One by one, all these bloodhounds keep coming. Sleep in the casket you made. You're gone, sucker, But you're mad if you thought I'd let you go."

"Good luck killing me 'cause I'm already, Already dead inside."

"I Can't Hear It Now" by Freda Ridings = Seaspring thrall. I can hear this suiting some of the members of the Seaspring Groupmind, especially the ones who left behind those messages in the demo.

"There is an ocean so dark down below the waves Where you watch while these dreams gently float away And there is a silence so soft it's only memory."

"Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning I don't know if I could I watched the door close for good."

Which songs remind you of the Touchstarved characters? Please feel free to reblog with your own additions! :D

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Jasmine

This story features another twist in the tale with a loved one lost to the snow, this time Aladdin, who is unable to make it back to Agrabah from the frozen ends of the earth. Leaving Jasmine, the Sultan, and the people of Agrabah to the torments of Jafar.

Jafar discovers soon enough that the Genie can’t force anyone to fall in love, and Jasmine is more then willing to claw his eyes out if he tries anything.

But Jafar, more interested in seeing her humiliated, then actually possessing her in such a way, knows that while Jasmine might not be willing to be his ‘Queen’, he can still bring her low in other equally cruel ways.

He also knows she’s definitely going to be plotting to get the lamp away from him as soon as she possibly can, and wishing away all his ill gained power.

So he takes her voice.

“I’ve always thought it best that a woman should be seen and not heard, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jasmine is kept as an ornament, adorned with jewels, in mockery of her status, and kept chained to Jafar’s throne; a pretty face to be shown off to those who come to try and treat with Jafar, a warning of what could happen to their own wives and daughters should they not comply. Just as the puppet Sultan serves to show their potential fate.

And trapped by chains of steel and scilence, Jasmine seethes. Every day she stands, forced to hold Jafar’s food and wine and watch as he plays with people’s lives like toys, and every night she dreams her dreams of vengeance, of all the things she would do to him if she was free.

A possiblity that seems farther and farther away as Jafar extends his reach out into the rest of the Seven Deserts. He is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, why not rule it then?

There are those who fight back of course. Both mortal and magic users alike. Jafar might be the most powerful but he is far from the only one. Their magic might not be enough to overcome him, but working together they can at least hold him back for a time.

But there are also many who choose to fall in with the sorcerer king, either to try and escape his wrath, gain some of his power, or both.

Tribute pours in, gold and jewels, slaves and sacrifices. All to try and appease Jafar, to keep his capricious temper in check. Jafar of course has never been one to excercise moderation, and demands more and more. The palace is awash with treasure from across the Seven Deserts and even beyond.

And this is what eventually turns the tables.

For one day, Jafar, glutted on drink and reveling in the newest swathes of tribute, slips a ruby ring onto Jasmine’s ring finger, another mocking ‘gift’ to remind her of her fallen state.

Had he been less drunk on fine wine and stolen power, he might have noticed the tinge of magic on the ring. But he is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, who holds one of the cosmically powerful genies at heel, magic flows through the palace like water,who would notice a drop in an ocean?

As it happens, it is not until nightfall, when Jafar has left Jasmine alone in the darkened throne room to once more dream her dark vengeance, that the ring’s power is discovered.

Jasmine had thought herself long since grown used to Jafar’s cruelty. But today he has been particularly vile, plotting new tourtures for a city he has managed to subdue. Jasmine feels a tear course down her cheek at the memory of it, and quickly brushes it away, for she has long since learned that tears avail nothing.

But in doing so, she rubs the ring, infusing in with the tears of her sorrow.

And the ring awakens

What pours out of it, wreathed in crimson smoke, is another genie, yet one as unlike the poor gentle souled slave of Jafar’s as can be. Eyes like burning coals, licks of fire dance across its skin, two long spiraling horns bursting from a head of flaming hair.

The genie turns it’s fiery gaze on Jasmine, taking in her shackles, both the physical ones around her wrists and ankles, and the magical one that binds her tongue.

“Oh princessss, I sssee we have both been bound by the magicsss of men. This sssorcerer has bound you, as accurssed Sssolomon sought to bind all jinn across time and ssspaccce.”

The genie’s voice is like the hissing of steam, and the crackling of flame.

“You cannot sssspeak, and ssso you cannot wisssh for your voice, your freedom, your vengeance, just as I cannot be freed from my chainsss, cannot kill—Unlesss…”

The genie reaches out to Jasmine, tracing the track of the tear that freed it from it’s ring, and steam rises up from its touch.

“There isss one thing we could do, to gain freedom for us both.”

“ Grant me the ussse of your body, your bonesss and blood and breath. And I will grant you in turn my ssstrength, my ssskill, my voiccce. I ssshall make it ssso that none can ever ssscilence you ever again. Do you accept thisss exchange, thisss bargain? You need only nod to accept…”

Jasmine stares up at the fiery being before her, at this one chance in a thousand for freedom that has come to her, through chance or destiny, she knows not what, nor does she care. For she knows that if she does not take this chance now, another may never come.

She nods.

Flames and smoke swirl around her, a whirlwind of fire, with her directly in the eye of the storm. The fire rises up and up, and then comes pouring down, a burning wave, down into her throat, scorching her from the inside as the genie burns itself into her bone marrow and blood, sinking into every space within her.

Jasmine spasms, choking, shaking, falling to the floor. For a moment she lies still as death

And then she rises, takes a breath, and rips the manacles from her wrists as if they were made from paper.

The ring on her finger glows in unison with the fire that now glows behind her eyes.

As she stalks through the palace, her steps are so silent they don’t even raise an echo—and yet she leaves the floor beneath her shattered with each step.

Jafar has long since thought himself secure within the chambers of his stolen palace, protected by the wards he’s set that should imolate any mortal who attempts to break them. Wards that the princess now walks through as though they were nothing more than spider webs.

For Jafar’s power was granted by a genie, and one greater than that being now stands above his sleeping form, one that has no fear of fire.

She reaches out with one hand towards his slumbering parrot familiar, and with the other for the lamp that sits on his bedside.

Jafar wakes to the sound of a crunch, but has less than a moment to wonder at the cause before one of the jeweled swords that he’d hung in his chambers is sinking into his heart down to the hilt.

The spells he set crumble and fall within an instant. All those ensorcelled by the mad vizier return to their original forms; the people who are brave enough rush to the palace to see who it is who has freed them; the Sultan freed from his puppet strings races to find his daughter, to see if she too is now freed from their horrid imprisonment.

He finds her sitting upon his throne, the lamp resting in her lap as she cleans a long knife, a strange ring casting a red glow upon her face as she looks up to see him.

“Father”, the princess says calmly, her voice echoing strangely around the room. “We sssee you are well. We do hope you weren’t looking too forward to taking this throne back. After all, it was you who let Jafar in at the door. And We really can’t have anything like that happening again. Rivalsss for power make things ssso complicated after all.”

She strokes the lamp as she speaks, and the blue genie pours out, looking down at the princess with utter horror, more than he’d even shown to Jafar. The princess just smiles up at him.

“Dear cousin, We hope you know this is nothing personal. It’s sssimply good business sssense. Neither of us wish to be bound again ssshould your lamp fall into the wrong hands. And ssso for our first, and final wish, We wish that you, would no longer exist.”

Reality itself seems to bend together for a moment, as the lamp in the princess’s hands crumbles into itself before crumbling into dust, the genie tied to it fading away like mist beneath the morning sun.

“And now,” the princess says, with a wide, gleaming smile “We can truly start to get to work…”

[starlightshadowsworld]

Percy Jackson except Jason and Thalia were the first children born after the Big 3 vow.

Long before the events of the story.

Thalia still ends up and tree, but no one really knew what happened to Jason.

Until Sea of Monsters where instead of Tantalus showing up, Jason does.

Because if there's one thing Zeus/Jupiter's gonna do, it's punish his sons.

And just... Imagine everyone expecting some grised old being who's committed the worse crimes on earth.

But it's a kid.

It's a kid a few years older them wearing a tattered purple top.

He'd look like any other camper but there's chains on his wrists and ankles that drag behind him.

Scars covering his body and a tattoo no ones able to fully see.

His eyes mirror the sky before them and hold so much sadness that a person could drown in them.

Chiron is suprised to see him, a mix of greif and relief in his eyes as he greets him.

"It's good to see you, child."

"And you too, sir."

"None of that now, you are among friends."

Jason visibly relaxes at that, his smile goes from polite and practiced to genuine.

"Right... It's good to see you, old man."

His humour is so dry that's it's hard to tell when he's joking or not. And yet he's gotten some laughs.

It feels like a reward in itself when someone makes him laugh. His whole face lights up and for a second the sadness in him fades.

Jason's less off a new camp director as he is a glorified babysitter. And yet he takes it all in stride.

He's not a pushover and steps in to mediate, but for the most part let's everyone carry on as they wish.

If he's not around, Jason can be found sitting by his sisters tree. He talks in a hushed whisper, catching her up.

If anyone notices him crying, no one says a word.

Jason proves himself as a formidable fighter, having stopped a camper struggling with a sword technique and demonstrating it to them patiently.

Clarisse immediately challenges Jason.

He's clearly holding back but Jason does give her a fair fight. His fighting style is a lot more polished.

And yet, there's something wild about it.

He does smile at one point, when Maimer strikes him.

"I'm afraid, that little trick won't work on me."

It was a short fight but the Ares cabin definitely gained some respect for him.

Clarisse asks why he didn't use the electricity against her, and he says he can't.

Shaking his chains like that explained everything.

It's easy to forget Jason's parentage. Especially after seeing him gush over architecture with Annabeth.

Hell all he needs is grey eyes and he'd fit right in to the Athena cabin.

And yet, at the same time there's no one else who fits as Jason's parent than Zeus (well Jupiter but they don't know that.)

Jason's a natural leader, he's a great diplomat and can defuse even the most chaotic situations.

There's power in his words, authority and yet he doesn't abuse it. There's a weight that's always on his shoulders.

He's a mystery.

He doesn't sleep in the Zeus Cabin, he has a blanket and curls up on the ground. Apparently he's used too it.

Tho there's been times he has been persuaded to sleep in the Hermes cabin, it's rare he accepts.

Not that he sleeps much. People have heard the screams from his nightmares.

More often than not Jason's awake, talking to the Naids and Nymphs as he patrols camp grounds late at night.

Surprisingly none try and attack him, in fact they all treat him with respect.

Grover says that Jason's blessed by the wild by an ancient being, not that he knows who.

Jason doesn't talk a lot about himself, he will talk at length about his sister though. And old friends with a sad smile.

The past is a hard subject for him, he says bits and pieces but not much.

The camps magical food doesn't work for him. Jason goes out of camp borders and goes hunting.

He eats alone, outside and Hestia makes a fire for him. He always sacrifices some food to her.

But also to Hera, which was surprising.

"But your a son of Zeus... Does she accept offerings from you?"

"I'd hope so, I am her champion."

It takes a while for anyone to realise but Jason's chains are heavy.

In fact there are days where Jason simply can't move. Because lugging them around tires him out.

And sometimes the camps borders simply don't let him leave.

On those days some campers have hunted for him.

Jason's always suprised and thankful. He'll share and tell them not to out themselves in danger for him.

But they do so anyway.

Camp Half blood decided a long while back Jason was one of them.

He's like everyone's stressed out, tired, nerdy older brother.

Jason has no knowledge of pop culture and apparently that's a crime.

But since no tech is allowed at camp, which means a lot of reinactments of memes

He's still confused but very entertained.

They've seen him fight monsters and it's so different to how he's fought in spars.

Jason fights to survive, he doesn't have a weapon other than his own chains.

He growls, he rips monsters apart with his bare hands and teeth.

Only stopping when they've all been defeated.

It was awesome.

Tho he did almost get hit by lighting from above and had to rush back into camp.

"Can I ask, what are you being punished for?"

"Let's just say, me and my dad had a disagreement."

Zeus: He's a monster, he's nothing but trouble and a mistake.

Camp Half blood: If monster, why friend shaped?

[phantoms-planet]

(already made a post about this but it was giving me issues so I'm making a separate one)

Danny's obsession with Protection begins to take hold, changing him from a normal ghost to a godling. Unfortunately his new status catches the eyes of a twisted organization, one that wishes to use his powers for their own gains. He is captured and his friends and family killed. Danny is contained well below Amity in one of the organization's secret facilities. In order to use one of Danny's new powers, healing tears, Danny is subjected to nonstop of projections of people in peril he has no power to save.

Bruce is suspicious of just how successful this new medical company is. They popped up out of nowhere and quickly gained a reputation for being able to make medicines that could cure just about anything. As batman he investigates further and finds a research and containment laboratory hidden from the public. As "Brucie" Wayne he manages to gain the trust of the owner and CEO of Ameliorate and convinces a tour out of them.

It's easy to sneak away unnoticed for a moment, but less so to hide his surprise at a white haired, ethereal boy chained down there, sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce decides it's time to pull the Justice League in, save the boy, and shut down the company.

First | Prev | Next

Tw; Death mentions, torture, mention of drugging, inhumane treatment of Danny

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

His core screamed out in agony.

A protection god forced to watch as thousands, millions died in front of him, unable to stop it.

Tears flowed down into a collection basin below.

Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t care. However long, it was too much. He wished his friends were there. Sam and Tucker… Their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind and prompted another huge wave of tears to splash into the basin.

Jaz would be able to quench the sorrow with her obsessive knowledge of how emotions worked. She was overbearing at times but he missed having someone care about him so much.

His mom and dad could sooth the ever-present ache with their special brand of care and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to wreak havoc to save him.

But Maddie and Jack were gone too; shot down trying desperately to save their children. Jaz taken out weeks later while Danny and her were on the run. Danny had rushed to her and then there was a net and then-

This was all his fault; if he hadn’t gotten sloppy with using his powers, if he had kept his ghostly side hidden better.

Instead of his loved ones there was nothing but the overwhelming screens covering every inch of walls, broadcasting carnage and death 24/7. There was a person dressed in all white who came in to feed him. They didn't matter. The people who were shown on the screens mattered. In danger, scared, hurt. They were the reason Danny tried so hard to get out.

A sob jolted his frame enough the chains rattled. All he had wanted was to help people!

Escape should have been easy. He was a god: escape should have been EASY!

He thought they may have been drugging his food.

None of his powers were working as strong as they should have been, some not working at all, but he still had his wail. Danny pulled in as large a breath as he could manage as the feeder person frantically booked it out of the room. Every screen shattered under his scream, plunging him into blissful silent darkness. A soft sigh slipped out. Relief. Finally relief. Seconds later the screens rotated and brought a fresh barrage of misery.

The basin overflowed.

___

Bruce was happy with the new medical company at first. Goodness knew Gotham needed a miracle when it came to the overflowing hospitals and untreatable illnesses caused by rouges and pollution alike.

They came in and started producing serums, pills, vaccinations, creams, you name it they had it, that could cure nearly anything. Terminal disease? Taken care of. Joker gas? A breeze for their formulas. Fear Toxin? No sweat. It had taken a while for the company to gain a footing with Gotham’s mistrust but once they had it, they were selling cure all’s at a truly staggering rate.

Bruce had first heard their reputation when one of the actually tolerable moms in the PTA raved about how her daughter was taking some pills and apparently getting sick much less frequently and less aggressively. He had briefly considered trying to get something for Tim, even.

But the problem was that this new company was too good at healing things. Just because Gotham needed a miracle doesn’t mean they exist and would show up out of nowhere. No, this was just suspicious.

Tim and Barbara had begun to dig through the company’s entire digital footprint and it was as if the company truly did just suddenly exist. Bizarrely there was no crime related to them. Not that they had found yet anyway.

He didn’t like this. People were getting better, which was great, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. How was the Ameliorate corporation coming up with cures and treatments for every illness, disease, condition, and toxin that ever existed? It very well should have taken centuries of research and development but there wasn’t anywhere near that long of a history to justify the turn out.

“Master Bruce?” He snapped out of his thoughts to a fresh cup of tea being set beside him. Alfred was frowning at him.

Bruce grumbled out a sigh. “Thank you, Alfred. Is Tim-?”

“He is still sleeping. I assume it will be quite a time before he wakes, given how long he was up.” Alfred nodded to the batcomputer. “Is there any progress?”

Another grumbly sigh. Bruce ran his hands down his face before responding. “None. I don’t understand it, there’s no possible way this company could be doing what it’s been doing. Not enough time or research facilities.”

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, there is a facility not in their records? One they don’t wish for people to know about?” It took a moment for the words to set in but when they did Bruce lunged to the computer for another round of exhaustive research.

It took hours.

Finally, Bruce had managed to find allusions to another, much larger, much older facility. It seemed to be somewhere near Illinois, Michigan, or Wisconsin. This facility seemed to be more for containment than research however.

Strangely that’s the only thing he could find. Unfortunately, it was also time for him to go into Wayne Co for some meetings. With slight reluctance Bruce sent what he had to Barbara before stepping away from the computer and making his way from the cave.

There was another big event at the museum soon and the owner and CEO of Ameliorate would be attending. Perhaps he could lay on a thick layer of Brucie charm. It was a long shot, but he would keep it as a fallback plan just in case. No matter what, Bruce knew he had to find out what was in that containment facility.

[repeatdeath]

i dont think a lot of people realize why separating the good and evil of someone isnt possible, so im going to try and explain it ^_^

to sum it up rq: what the good and evil actually are is the moral code and animal instincts of a person. having both is what makes us human. if one was taken away or separated, we'd lose our humanity.

firstly, there is no good and evil. the good and evil jekyll is referring to is his repressed desires and impulses. but, as i described in one of my previous posts, there's a reason for these desires and impulses. to sum it up, that reason is the animal instinctual need for whatever benefit you may get by doing it. there is no consequences or guilt when it comes to instincts. the reason these must be controlled is because some of these, especially jekyll's, instincts, impulses, and desires goes against society's morals.

i think a lot of people have already know that, but because the separation between them is distinct, why is it physically impossible? because having both is what separates us between animals and robots. animals only have animal instincts, experiencing very little guilt or fear of consequences, especially if they aren't domestic. their lack of awareness is what puts them lower in the food chain, what makes them 'stupider'. robots, on the other hand, have nothing besides the principles and ethics that they're programmed with. they have no instincts or desires to do anything outside of what they've been told is right. this is also why we fear them gaining any sort of soul or natural instincts, because of the power that comes with it. people have both, we have been gifted with both instincts and morals, nature and nurture. if either were taken away, we would no longer be human, wed lose our humanity.