#Vortex the living Shadow

[colorfulplasma]

hi hello it's their B-day yay !! Hoping to dive more into them the future (for the lore)

[olliveen]

PONYO PONYO PONYO FISHY IN THE SEA

[mothman-dan]

I havent seen this anywhere yet so

heres the (leaked) origin of the pokemon universe story with the correct pokemon names in place of the beta ones

(original text here)

EDIT: just woke up but theres an updated translated version here. I've gone ahead and changed the text below to the updated version Please note that there is no mention of giratina in the updated version (which makes more sense based on some other info we have)

In the beginning, there was a vortex of chaos. All mixed slowly together, and everything was a blur. One day, a large egg appeared in the center of the chaos. For a long time, the egg continued to shake.

Eventually, the vortex stopped, and the egg broke. The absolute god Arceus was born.

The scattered fragments of the egg transformed into giants, and attacked the newly born Arceus. However, Arceus quickly grew, and continuously defeated the giants. At last, after a fierce battle, Arceus defeated all the giants.

The wounded Arceus created an alternate self. As the left and right side of Arceus’s body were different, it created two selves. Arceus gathered the body of the defeated giants, and poured its blood into them.

From the one who resembled his left poured out light, so Arceus named it Palkia, the god of light. From the one who resembled his right poured out darkness, so Arceus named it Dialga, the god of darkness.

To the two, Arceus commanded that the world be filled with people, and fell into a deep slumber.

Although Palkia and Dialga were different in appearance, they loved one another, were joined, and had many children. However, there still existed no world, and their frail children, who had nowhere to go, died one after the other. Though overcome with great sadness, Palkia and Dialga thought of creating a world where all could live healthy and prosperous lives.

Palkia and Dialga called their children Uxie, the god of eyes; Mesprit, the god of heart; and Azelf, the god of voice.

When Uxie open its eyes, everything that was there appeared. There was now contour and color in the world. When Mesprit wished for it, everything that was there could be felt. A sense of calm spread. When Azelf shouted, everything that was there trembled. A blessed timbre began to resonate.

To the three, Palkia and Dialga gave the seed of life and told them to nurture it.

The three gathered in a circle and prayed, and the seed sprouted.

The sprout quickly grew, and became the giant tree of life. However, the tree continued to grow, soon filling the entire world, and no one was able to move.

The three asked Father Palkia and Mother Dialga for help.

Dialga and Palkia joined once again, and had three children. The god of the sky, RAYQUAZA; the god of the earth, GROUDON; and the god of the ocean, KYOGRE were born.

RAYQUAZA wrapped its body around the tree of life. GROUDON and KYOGRE slammed their bodies into the tree of life. Eventually, the tree fell and broke into three pieces.

Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf prayed, saddened that the tree would rot away like this. Then, the pieces of the broken tree would transform into the sky, earth, and ocean.

RAYQUAZA became the pillar that holds the sky. The shadow that reached into the heavens became the three gods who sustain the sky: Dragonite, Gyarados, and Tyranitar. The air filled the sky, and the stars sparkled.

GROUDON became the land that covers the earth. The roar of the diving land became the three gods who sustain the earth: DAABU, SAAN, and GOODON. The earth shook, and the mountains stirred.

KYOGRE became the veins of water that embraced the oceans. The ripples that disappeared into the seas became the three gods who sustain the ocean: LATIAS, METAGROSS, and LATIOS. The ocean was filled with water, and the waves whispered.

Thus the world was born.

Palkia and Dialga, and the various gods, were very pleased with this, and filled this world with their children.

That peaceful world was a paradise for the children of god.

The children of god would continue to multiply.

Through that, words would change little by little.

Over time, the gods began would call those who lived in the world by two names.

The children of god who resembled the great father, Palkia, would be called “Pokémon”. The children of god who resembled the great mother, Dialga, were called “humans”.

The absolute god Arceus will soon awaken, and seeing the world filled with its descendants, will promise great abundance and prosperity.

[keferon]

TexAid - Vortex has taken First Aid as his pilot. First Aid claims Vortex as his mech.

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

There's a rumbling in the distance as First Aid crawls out the darkened hatch of Vortex's escape chute.  The hangar is a wreck of collapsed walls, twisted metal pipes, and broken wiring shooting up sparks. 

First Aid pushes himself to his feet, stands back, and uses the flashes of light to take stock of the situation. 

This is…not good. 

He counts a dozen cuts and bruises across his own aching limbs before abandoning the effort.  He is satisfied at least that he is intact, alive, and functional.  All his injuries will heal, given treatment and time. 

Time he may not have.  Because Vortex on the other hand is not so lucky – lights off, systems silent, frame crumpled on the ground.  A slow trickle of oil leaks from the mecha, swirling into one of the many pools of alien ooze scattered around Vortex's frame along with chunks of the aliens' flesh.

The battle had been fierce, Vortex's fighting the fiercest Aid had ever seen against the many enemies.  But for the first time, it hadn't been enough.  The mecha suddenly going dark – collapsing under the strain of overtaxed systems even as the last of the monster's fell.  Leaving First Aid truly alone in that cockpit of horrors for the first time.

Another rumble sounds in the distance, shaking First Aid from his reflection.

He refocuses on the present, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards Vortex's head.  He raps his knuckles against the glass of the visor, shouts at the mecha to wake up. 

Nothing.

Vortex has gone dark.

This is not good.  He is dead.  They are dead, if Vortex cannot wake.  Because those distant rumbles are definitely not friendly.

No human has survived fighting the aliens without a mech.  And first Aid is a medic first.  Vortex is the fighter – the killer – of their strange partnership.  First Aid doesn't know what the aliens do to the mecha and pilots that go missing from the battlefield and are never recovered.  And he doesn't intend to find out.

But he does know what the science team will do with Vortex – a billion dollar prototype gone wrong – out of control and now offline.  They will take the mecha apart, dissect him, strip him down to his basest components to find out where it all went wrong.  And when they're done, what's left will be scrap – pieces repurposed into other mecha repairs.

They might build a new prototype top-of-the-line killing machine 2.0.  But is won't be Vortex.

First Aid hates that.  Because he should hate Vortex, after all the other has put him through.  But he doesn't.  Because before all that, Vortex had saved him.  Vortex chose him – kept First Aid alive and safe, even as he's shown countless times just how easily he could destroy Aid.

And Vortex is…was…could be alive – a mecha with a consciousness all his own in a way First Aid had not believed until he experienced it first-hand.

Out of ignorance, out of fear, out of hate, or simply because of the harsh realities of war – the others will kill Vortex (if he isn't already dead; please don't be dead) and never realize what they have done, because they never recognized that he was alive to begin with.  Never saw him as anything more than a glitch, an aberration in their perfect war design.

First Aid has a duty to save lives.  He cannot – will not – let that happen.  Vortex is his.  In death as much as in life.

The rumbling grows closer, close enough First Aid can imagine he hears the slithering of tentacles along walls underneath it. 

He will not let any other – alien or human – take Vortex from him, not while he still lives.

The cables on the ground throw up another flurry of sparks – casting eerie shadows across Vortex's frame.  First Aid's eyes fixate on the light, tracing the path of the wiring from where it snakes across the floor back up to the housing on the wall.  A broken main charging cable for a mech.

Maybe…just maybe…

It's a terrible idea.  So many things could go wrong – electrocution, a gruesome death, ending up a mindless shell on life support for the rest of his days (not so different from how Vortex already is now).  Pharma or Ratchet or any other medic would tell him as much.  They would tell him that there's almost no chance of powering on a mecha once it's gone fully dark, that it isn't worth risking himself too (and particularly not for this mecha).

For anyone else that might be true, but by now First Aid is used to a little risk.  Risk of electrocution and death?  Just another average day on the job.  No different than what Vortex puts him through every time he straps into the pilot seat.  The only thing that's different now is that Aid is choosing to take the risk.

Because there is a chance.  And First Aid is going to take it.

The rubber insulation of the cable is already in his hand when he looks down, his body having carried him to it as his mid was busy shutting out the doubts every other medic would have said.

Something bangs against the collapsed wall blocking entry to the hangar, sending a shower of dust outward.

First Aid hefts the cable over his shoulder, careful to keep the sparking end far in front of him, and begins the trek across the warehouse.  His shoulder burns from the extra weight on an already stressed joint and his legs protest as he forces them to twist and jump to avoid the pools of fluid that would cause instant electrocution if they came into contact with his body and the cable.

The aches don't matter.  He is a medic.  He can carry his own weight and still have the strength to lift up others.  He can do this.  He will do this.

First Aid is gasping for breath by the time he reaches Vortex again.  His sides ache, lungs burning with each breath.  He mentally adds checking for the possibility of bruised ribs to his catalogue of injuries, then shoves the pain aside to focus fully on Vortex's frame.

First Aid eyes the power node at the back of the mecha's neck and before he can think twice, shoves the broken power cable into it.  Sparks fly around the junction and Vortex's frame jolts, lights flickering briefly, then stills.  First Aid pulls the cable away, then hits Vortex again.  And again.  And again.  Lights flicker.  Sparks fly.  Dust showers around First Aid.  Electricity jolts through Vortex's frame.

"Come on," First Aid mutters as Vortex's lights stay on a full second after he pulls the cable away before stuttering out again.

He takes a deep breath and throws the cable directly into the center of Vortex's chest, where the mecha's primary batter is housed.  Sparks fly across Vortex's frame, lights flicker, flash bright white, then stabilize to a dim red glow.

First Aid's momentary relief shatters as Vortex moves and he feels a gust of air from a cold metal blade passing just over his head.  There's a dull thunk, and then fluid is pouring down on First Aid, coating him in a thick sludge of blood from the alien that First Aid reckons was looming just behind him, judging by the bright green eyeball that falls from above to land in a spatter at his feet.

First Aid looks up at Vortex looming over him, gloving red light pouring out from the maw of the cockpit and laughs, shaking hysterically as a hand reaches down to scoop him up from the ground.

They are alive.  He is Vortex's.  Vortex is his.  They are alive.

D-dont. Don't make me even more feral about them than I already am. Don't. I was GOING TO SLEEP BUT NOW MY BRAIN WON'T STOP WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME HOW AM I GONNA PRETEND TO BE NORMAL NOW WH

[mariasont]

hi 🫶🏻 i was thinking maybe you could write spencer x reader inspired by taylor's I look in people's windows? for the plot it could be something like they were really close friends and reader was obviously in love with him but then he met meave and distanced himself from her, or maybe that he blames the reader for meave's death and is avoiding her, idk, whichever you prefer!!

i love your works, you're so good at writing!!

When the Swallows Come Again - S.R

a/n: hi my lovely you just know me tooooooo well. a swiftie plot line you ask? i am at your service

no but fr thank u so so sooo much for requesting i love YOU! 🫶🏼

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader (im pretty sure pls correct me if i added any use of pronouns)

summary: spencer blames you for maeves death…or so you thought

warnings: angst! (happy endings, yes ik im feeling gracious), talk of death, blood, guns, usual criminal minds stuff

wc: 2.5k

The asphalt beneath your boots felt gritty, the sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow. With one hand, you tried to guard your face from the snowflakes that seemed determined to kiss your skin. They might seem pretty from inside, but out here, they were just another reminder of your inadequate clothing against the biting cold.

The first rays of the sun began to stretch across the concrete, painting long shadows in its wake. Although you could have found your way in the pitch black if needed. Most places were still closed, but you knew that a coffee shop you used to love would be open. It wasn't your top choice, mainly because of the fact that you might bump into--

Him.

You knew it was him before you even saw his face, the hairs on your arm standing at attention as you stopped dead in front of the window.

It was Spencer, unmistakable even from a distance, his distinctive curls made into a celestial crown by the cafe's soft light. Your heart stumbled, plummeting down to your shoelaces. A thousand emotions crashed around you, a vortex happening to quick to untangle. These were feeling you had buried down, far deeper than six feet, hoping they'd never resurface. But that, you realized, was just wishful thinking.

You watched from behind the glass, feeling like a stranger to the world that Spencer now inhabited--a world where you once had a seat at his table. Now, you were the outsider, the unwanted observer. The sound of his laughter, which once was a comforting sound, now seeped through the door's crack, a mocking reminder of a severed tie. Your friendship was one that had bloomed like the first flowers of spring.

But flowers wither, and seasons change.

With Spencer out of your life, a subtle death crept over you, eroding you piece by piece. It was a death characterized by the loud allegations, the quiet of words left unsaid, and a friendship that had crumbled because he blamed you for Maeve's death.

Not just blamed, he hated you.

He hated you because you had tried to save Maeve, but you just weren't quick enough, because you couldn't beat the onset of gunfire, because you went in instead of him. You knew the cost: if he went in, he wouldn't have come back out. You didn't regret that choice. He's alive and breathing, and that's worth any cost--even if it means he never spoke to you again.

But there he stood, living and breathing--just as you intended, and suddenly your body seemed to malfunction. Your feet might as well have been part of the pavement, the snowflakes assaulting your face just as Maeve's blood did that day. Your heart threatened to burst, racing with a ferocity that set your veins on fire. You were scorching alive, and it was 17 degrees. 

In the aftermath, Spencer had taken himself off the grid, locked himself in his apartment, and you didn't take it to heart because his withdrawal was all- encompassing. He was avoiding everyone. But then he came back, and it was as if you alone were invisible to him. You tried, with every fiber of your being, to bridge to gap, for him to let you be his best friend again, but your attempts were met with biting remarks and thinly veiled jabs.

It was exhausting. But he was grieving so you felt like he deserved a pass. He had been through so much, more than anyone on the team. Surely, if anyone deserved a pass, it was him. However, even the most generous pass has an expiration date, and six months of disregard made it challenging to keep validating the same worn-out ticket.

So, you submitted your transfer papers to the narcotics unit. You wanted to say a proper goodbye, but you weren't sure he'd care. So, you didn't. You waited until the office was empty, then disappeared without a trace. 

But it didn't hardly matter that you weren't physically around him because you found yourself searching for signs of him in everything you did. 

When you pulled on your socks, memories of his mismatching habit surfaced, and the way he'd cheekily taunt you for your staunch preference for matching white ones. When you went to the grocery store, you'd unintentionally wander to the aisle with the dark chocolate almonds, his favorite.

Every time a swallow flitted across your path, you were reminded of him. "Swallows return to the same place every year, but not the same partner," he had once explained.

The thought always stuck to you, like gum on the sole of your shoe, because now it was a poignant parallel to your own stupid, fractured bond. Connections were never meant to endure. You knew that now.

It was too late to reverse course when he spun around, catching you red-handed. Your mouth flapped open, a fish out of water, as you willed your feet to moved forward. The need for coffee paled in the comparison to the need to leave. But his reflexes outmatched yours, and the door swung open before you could make an escape.

He said nothing, just stared, and you came to a near-instant stop, narrowly avoiding a collision. The frosty air of your breath fogged the space between you, briefly distorting your view of him, softening his edges into the Spencer you once knew.

Now that he was within arm's reach, you could discern the finer aspects of his face. He looked good, tired, but good. He always looked good, but time had sculpted his features into something more profound. His hair had grown out, curling at the ends, and a stubble now sketched the contours of his face. 

"Hey."

Had you not been so captivated by the shape of his mouth, the faint sound would have been swallowed by the buzzing in your ears.

"Hey," you whispered, but even that was too much for your shaky voice, breaking mid-greeting and leaving you exposed before him. "I'm sorry, I had no idea you'd be here. Um, I should probably just--"

You maneuvered around him, pushing down the vomit of words rising in your throat, consciously fighting the impulse to catalog every line of his face, cognizant of the fact that it might just be the last time you'd see him.

His hand clasped your wrist, and you were suddenly you were the newest member of the BAU again, rubbing elbows with the boy genius, telling him all your secrets with the exception of one. How madly in love you were with him. Were? Are? Past tense? Present tense? You tried not to think about it.

You were frozen in time—not solely from the physical restraint but from the searing sensation of his touch, a feeling you hadn't known in ages, as if igniting your skin through your sleeve.

"Wait, please," he pleaded, the desperation is his voice anchoring you to the spot. You turned back to face him, finding your faces nearly touching. You shifted, intending to create space, but his grip on your arm didn't drop, so you didn't move. "How have you been?"

The question threw you off guard, and it filled your stomach with an irrepressible swarm of butterflies, a feeling so alive against the biting cold that stung at your nose.

Your fingertips were going numb.

"I'm okay, you?" A complete lie.

You racked your brain for the last time you felt okay. Perhaps it was before Spencer had started talking with Maeve. You didn't even know about it at first, that might have been the worst part. He was your best friend, and he had omitted such a significant detail of his life from you.

He just started to distance himself, forging a gap between the two of you that seemed to rival the expanse of the Grand Canyon. Perhaps it was an overstatement, but as the events unfolded, the comparison felt justified. 

The change began imperceptibly, almost cruelly gradual. You would have preferred a quick yank of the Band-Aid, but it was a prolonged, painful peeling. The first sign was him not jumping at the chance to be partnered on cases like he usually did. Then, it progressed to him choosing seats away from you on the jet, and finally, it escalated to him leaving the room all together when you were in it.

It was an achy feeling, an all-consuming soreness that infiltrated every inch of your being. You didn't understand, didn't know what you did wrong. It wasn't long after this you found out about Maeve.

And then, as if fate had dealt its cruelest hand, she died, and suddenly it was your fault. You became the villain in his eyes, condemned for your hesitance, and because you refused to let him die. Maybe it could be seen as selfish, but without him, you would be nothing.

Yet here you were living without him all the same.

His inspection was more thorough than you were ready for. It stirred an urge within you to shrink away, to sprint into the anonymity of the dark streets, but your feet remained rooted to the spot.

"I've been better," he admitted, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite place.

"Oh," you begam, the syllable suspended in the frigid air, but before your thoughts could coalesce into words, Spencer cut through the silence.

"Why did you leave?"

Your brows pinched together, your mouth agape as a singular heartbeat was lost--and then several more. "You can't be serious."

He looked confused. "What? No, Hotch never really told us your reasoning."

The taste of a bitter laugh lingered at the edge of your lips. "Spencer, we don't need to do this whole act, okay? We don't have to pretend that I left for any reason other than you."

"Because of me?" His hands glided upward, pausing on your shoulder, and you loathed the part of you that wanted to lean into him. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding?" The words tumbled out, blinking away the tears of frustration that threatened to spill. "Spencer, I'm not stupid. I know you hate me. I know you blame me for what happened with Maeve. And I get it, you were grieving, and you had every right to be mad, and I just couldn't work there anymore."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," he cut in, his tone was sharp, yet somehow not unkind. "God, I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

"How can you stand there and say that?" you countered, your voice hurt and incredulous as you took a step away, the cold seeping into your bones and setting your teeth on edge. "You treated me like I was nothing, Spencer."

"Here," Spencer said, handing you his jacket. "You should know, prolonged exposure to cold weather can actually weaken your immune system."

"Oh," you said, slightly startled, feeling the warmth take hold in your cheeks. You rubbed your nose before pulling the jacket over your shoulders. It smelled just like him.

"I don't hate you, you know that, right?" Spencer's voice was soft, like he was whispering even though you were the only two on the street. "I'm sorry if I made you feel insignificant. You're far from it. You could never be nothing. But I was mad, and I let that get the better of me."

"But I tried, Spencer," you choked out, voice wavering, emotion thick in your throat. "I tried to save her. Maybe if I had more training, more experience... I know you wish I had let you be there instead, but I couldn't risk it, not with what I knew. And now our friendship is ruined and I--,"

"Hey, whoa, slow down," Spencer interjected, cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn't even noticed. "You think I blame you? Oh, my god, no, sweetheart. I was angry, yes, but it was because you were willing to step in front of a gun."

"You don't blame me?"

"Of course I don't," he breathed out as if he couldn't believe this is what you thought. "I'm so sorry for giving you that impression. It was never my intention."

Your emotions bubbled over into a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "I really missed you."

Spencer's heart seemed to shatter than mend in an instant as he drew you against him. "Can I kiss you?"

Giggles spilled out through chattering teeth, punctuating the air as a wide smile graced your lips. "You want to kiss me?" 

"I want to kiss you."

The idea almost seemed to sweet to be true.

"Okay."

He kissed you, and with each snowflake that settled into your hair, Spencer drew you in closer. In a way that you had only dreamed of. The biting cold was there, but it paled in comparison to the blaze that was now ignited through your body. 

It was perfect, everything you had imagined and more--real, warm, and grounding. 

He pulled away slowly, blinking the same speed, snowflakes dusting his lashes like delicate frost.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” he said, his voice rough, his breath wanting your frozen cheek at the same time.

You pressed a hand to his chest. “Spencer, you don’t have to explain.”

A moment passed, as if he were thinking about your offer, then his gaze found yours, piercing and profound, as if the solid ground you stood on was suddenly fragile.

“But I need to,” he said, the raw need in his voice pulling your straight back into the orbit of his words. “I was angry, yes, you almost got yourself killed. But I pushed you away because it was far easier than facing the fear that I might lose you too.”

The beats of your heart echoed loudly—thump, thump—in its bony cage as your fingers curled tightly into his shirt.

“Every time I looked at you, I saw what I could have lost, and that fucking terrified me.”

Spencer cussed, this wasn’t unusual, but the intensity behind it made you frown. His words, so honest, seemed pull you in, invading his personal space in an effort to get rid of yours.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

The sun was shining now, casting golden rays over the snow and Spencer’s face, framing him just as he was in your mind.

“Then let’s not waste anymore time.”

You love him. Present.

For a second you thought Spencer might be wrong because maybe, just maybe, swallows could return to the same place, and the same partner after all.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Half Demon

So there’s this interesting little tidbit about souls/ghosts/spirits in DC, or more specifically Hellblazer. So, particularly evil, bad, or wicked souls will eventually turn into demons. That is one of the ways that demons are made

I think one could even argue that some of Danny’s rogues are actually demons or at least becoming one. For example Spectra’s true form is a living shadow person that feeds off the misery of others. Undergrowth and Vortex also could be demons or even gods turned demons much the way Nergal is in Hellblazer

But let’s take a moment to talk about Vlad. He’s pretty shitty and wicked. He’s manipulative, uses his powers to to totally screw over those that oppose him, is really sexually creepy towards Maddie, and his worst sin, is a capitalist

Let’s also take a look at his ghost form:

Glowing red eyes, skin not remotely a human color, and straight up has fangs… some traits that seem kind of traditionally demonic

And what effect did his ghost half have when Danny’s fused with it to make Dan(Dark Danny)?

Inhuman skin color, glowing red eyes, fangs, forked tongue, fire for hair, and oh yeah, turned him completely evil

Vlad’s ghost half has just fully turned or has started to turn Demonic

So I think it’d just be really funny if he got splashed with Holy Water and started writhing on the floor for a bit much to his and everyone else’s confusion

Or him dumping a bucket of it on Danny and is confused when all that does is leave Danny angry and wet, much like a cat.

[corkinavoid]

Okay, yeah, I just wrote a post about good!GIW like three days ago, but

DPxDC GIW Using Ghosts as Living Weapons

TW: dehumanization, mention of electrocution, whump

I've been watching Hell's Paradise, and it got me thinking. What if GIW doesn't just catch and study ghosts? After all, their tech is no match for something like Vortex or Undergrowth, or even Technus.

What if they catch ghosts and turn them into living weapons? Train them into following commands like dogs, and force them into obedience. Dehumanize them in the worst way possible, treating them like machines.

Ghosts are not sentient or sapient in their opinion, but they feel pain. They can be trained.

What I'm saying is whump Danny, mostly, but make it interesting. Make it not just a teen in pain, no, make him a merciless machine that follows any given order with unmatched efficiency, someone who doesn't feel any emotions anymore, knowing no pleas or cries will work.

I'm thinking along the lines of a muzzle, or a collar that gives him electric shocks every time he either disobeys or does anything he was not told to do.

Now, I've got two ideas of where this can go. One, GIW gifts Danny to the JL as an ultimate, all-powerful weapon. Maybe they don't even specify he is a ghost at first, presenting him as an object, and then they get to do a demonstration, and the JL is promptly horrified at the sight of what they think is a meta kid in a muzzle that doesn't even have holes for him to breath. And when they very carefully try asking GIW to explain this, GIW just shows off Danny's powers. Which are, well, a lot. Maybe they ask Danny to do something like, I dunno, destroy an asteroid or shit. Something big, something most members of the JL are not able to do single-handedly, but Danny does it easily, with little effort. And GIW explains that this kind of power, especially coming from a ghost, a being malicious at its core, can not be kept on the loose without any restraints.

The second idea includes Al Ghul Twins. GIW can have some ties with League of Shadows, so maybe they made Danny into a living weapon with the sole purpose of making him Ra's' living weapon. So Danny ends up back in the League, and Ra's tasks him with killing one of the Bats, or maybe stealing something, anyway, he ends up in Gotham. Where he meets Damian, and, boom, siblings' feelings hit. Cue all the whump angst you can imagine.

I'm not sure how to incorporate Fentons in the second idea. Maybe it was all a coincidence - Talia faking Danyal's death, him being adopted by Fentons, then later found out and contained by GIW. Or maybe it was all staged beforehand, and Ra's specifically put Danny there. Or maybe we bypass the Fentons in the first place and Ra's simply gives a spare kid to GIW in order for them to try and make him more powerful with the help of Lazarus Waters/ectoplasm. Maybe this can even be some kind of reincarnation.

Also, more ghosts can be added to the mix.

Danny disobeying the orders in order to protect Dani and getting tortured for it. Ember being used for mind control. Dan being the prototype of the living weapon program, the first experiment that turned out wrong and has been locked and kept contained.

The opportunities are endless.

[fineghkst]

How Eris and Azriel would react if their mate didn’t remember them

warnings: angst

a/n: kinda disappeared last weeks bc my classes are back, but hopefully i’ll have time to post more in the next few days

Eris Vanserra

Eris never expected to have a mate, but when he put his eyes on you for the first time, he realized how much he needed you

It took a long time for him to show who he truly was behind the mask he was used to wear. The cold and rude heir he learn to be turned into a sweet, caring and loving mate

At first, Eris thought it was only a joke

But then he realized the serious look on your face, looking him like he was a completely stranger. His world broke into pieces

How cold he live in a reality where his mate didn’t remember him? The person he loves the most doesn’t even knows who he was or about the bond

Eris felt like a knife were stuck between his ribs. Would that be a punishment for everything he has done before?

He would definitely blame himself for letting that happen to you. At some point, he starts to distance, trying (and failing) to act like he doesn’t care since he thinks that’s the best for you

That would destroy him, but still, he just wanted to see you well again. And having a mate pressuring you to remember about the bond was not the best way to recover your memories

Eris would be in a vortex of guilt and self pity for a while

But he couldn't handle not having you in his life. Eris realizes he just wants to be with you, even if it’s just like a friend

Eris would make everything he can to help you recover your memories and if it wasn’t possible, he would build new ones with you

Eris would show how much he loved you everyday, but never pressuring you to act like his mate

Being patient and letting you discover things by yourself, but would gladly tell you about your story together or answer any questions you may have

You would be free to make your own decisions, even if it was to leave him

Azriel

This poor boy would be completely devastated

It took centuries for him to finally meet you and now he was losing you

He honestly thought after the mating ceremony you two would have a type of happily ever after

Until suddenly you didn’t knew his name

Az would definitely be stuck in really bad place once you lose your memories. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an idea of what he could do to fix it

Azriel wouldn’t know how to act in your presence, so he accompanies you from distance, making his shadows always be with you, ensuring your safety

Would go out looking for a cure all over Prythian

Once he didn’t find out a way to recover them, Azriel felt completely defeated and desperate

He starts to redo the whole story of you two again, taking you to the most striding places

First, Az would take you to where he saw you for the first time, then, to the restaurant of the first date. After that, to the place you two gave the first kiss

Tries to win you back everyday

He would definitely be terrified of the moment you found out about his job at the Night Court, just like he was when you two were only starting the relationship

In short, Azriel would show how much he loves and cares for you. The spymaster would definitely boil in jealousy if any male approached you, but like Eris, he would leave you free to make your own decisions, even if they destroyed the little happiness he had conquered by your side

[sitp-recs]

HI. I was reading 'Let me Stay' by Phoebe_Delia and this quote really struck me:

“I’m fine most of the time,” Harry'd insisted. “I’m mostly over it. But sometimes I get these cases involving kids and I just…” He'd trailed off, and Draco had waited a moment before reaching over and lacing their fingers together. 

Do you have any recs with this idea - Harry needing to save kids or being upset when he couldn't?

(I love your lists btw - they give me hours of joy)

Thank you, friend! Love this ask, it’s definitely something I’ve seen before in fic and I think it makes a lot of sense for Harry. Ugh the feels! I hope you enjoy these. Also linking the gorgeous Let Me Stay by @phoebe-delia!

Is This Love? by @phdmama (E, 4k)

Draco wouldn’t call himself a tender man. He fights the forces of evil for a living, trying his best to pay penance for the evil he’s done. He’s fought and killed in the name of duty, and when he’s not on duty, he tends either to play hard or retreat alone. He doesn’t lean on anyone, and he knows he’s not the first person anyone goes to when they need care. Comfort. That all changes tonight.

Repast, Interrupted by lastontheboat (T, 4k)

Draco is making chicken jalfrezi when the Patronus arrives. “Not sure when I’ll be home,” the stag says using Harry’s voice. “There was an Auror incident and we keep admitting more patients. Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Conquering the Dark by @noeeon (E, 24k)

Harry's a Healer specialising in the care of children, Draco Malfoy's an expert in neuromagic at St Mungo's. A difficult case forces them to work together and, in the process, unearths some of the trauma of the past, as well as the chance for healing in the present.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

All Missing Things (Can Be Found) by daisymondays (E, 100k)

After a drunken hook up ends badly, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have no intention of ever speaking again -- but when they're assigned to solve a case of young child disappearances, they have to put their past behind them.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

Bonus: not a case fic but I really love how Harry & Draco team up to help marginalized kids here:

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

[demonic0angel]

More Shadow Facts! (Click for clarity)

This is another post about Shadow, my DP OC that I attach to Jazz, since they’re becoming a bit popular!

Part two of this post.

More clarification on powers:

1) Shadow has all of the regular weaknesses as other ghosts, but is also weak in complete darkness. The brighter the light, the darker the shadows, so that is when it is more powerful. In complete darkness, they would be disoriented or lose consciousness/thinking and start working on autopilot.

2) Shadow cannot exist without a host or body to hide behind for long. So anywhere where there are shadows, is where they stay. It is technically spread across all universes and dimensions, but it is sleeping most of the time. Only when it consciously takes control of its pieces, do they gain awareness of what it is.

3) Shadow feeds on blood for energy and more powerful moves. Otherwise, they can only work as surveillance, mimicry, and small levels of restraint against opponents. The blood can be stored in bags or be old, as long as it’s still liquid. Shadow can also suck in blood from the ground, but they think it’s kinda gross.

4) Their mimicry and shape shifting is dependent on how long and how well they have observed its targets, which is why there are mistakes. Their senses are also a little skewed, so something is usually wrong. When mimicking other people, they also only use the sounds that it hears from its targets. Example, if Shadow was observing a woman and she only said a single sentence during that time, Shadow would only be able to repeat that sentence and “clip” it. If the target talks a lot, Shadow can say more and create better audio.

5) Shadow cannot directly hurt living beings or ghosts. They are able to restrain and hold down living beings, but can only act drastically in moments of great panic through force of will (and sacrificing blood/bodies to feed them). It is a very distracting and defensive being (since they can make any army look bigger and create illusions of living beings), but in some circumstances, it can deal great amounts of damage.

Some instances can include: when the opponent is injured and Shadow is powered up with blood (because they can pour themselves into the wounds and widen it, bursting the opponent apart 😃), capture enemies and absorb them (where they will be stored into a separate space and then slowly consumed via the soul), teleporting weaponry and projectiles onto enemies (however, it cannot transform into someone and then pull out a weapon to fight because it takes too much effort, time, and energy to do so).

Extra facts!

+ If I had to give Shadow a godly living counterpart (like how Vortex = Zeus and Clockwork = Kronos, etc), then Shadow would be the ghost of Phanes, who is sometimes considered to be a god of light, creation, procreation, thought, and desire, and is part of Orphic cosmogony.

+ They are extremely weak against ghosts because ghosts do not have shadows so Shadow cannot do anything. However, it can never be weaker than other ghosts since they are the oldest Ancient. So it’s often a stalemate until someone comes to help Shadow. In extreme circumstances, Shadow can forcefully absorb the other ghost and eat them, but they become unstable and sometimes catatonic afterwards.

+ Shadow does not think of Jazz as their master. Instead, they think of her as its best friend. She returns the sentiments and they consider each other trusted companions (although she also does think of Shadow as her ward too.)

+ Although Shadow loves humans and humanity, it cannot understand the human fear of death. To it, death is a natural process to life and they cannot understand the idea of not existing, since that can never happen to them. As such, Shadow can be kind of callous when dealing with human lives (they’re getting better with it since Jazz helps them.)

+ Shadow has no enemies, but they hate and love everyone who Jazz hates and loves. They can be rather vengeful and very spiteful if anyone has hurt Jazz or her loved ones. They are a loner, so they don’t really have friends either, but some of the other Ancients make an effort to be nice to them.

[corruptedcaps]

The Devil in the Details

Tasha had been working at her new job for nearly a year now and found it desperately hard to get promoted. She was smart and great at her job but the office slut Victoria always took credit for her work. Tasha didn’t speak up for fear of repercussions from Victoria and her two equally bad friends Marie and Lisa. She knew if she kept at it eventually the higher ups would notice. Tasha knew Victoria and her bitchy cohort were bad but not evil.

That changed when one night after working late at the office she overheard them in a disused conference room preparing to do some real evil. Satanic ritual evil. They had moved the table and chairs to one side and drew a pentagram on the floor. Kneeling in the unholy symbol was the queen bitch herself Victoria.

"Are you sure about this Vic? This seems a little too much even for us." Said Lisa starting to question their plan.

"Dont back out now loser, once I summon the demon and he makes me a succubus then I'll enslave our little CEO to do my bidding and we will run this place. You two will have a place by my side and can have all the money and cock you want." Victoria replied. Lisa and Marie looked at each other and smiled, liking the sound of what they were hearing.

"Now let's chant so our new lives can start." Victoria said with a wicked smile and the three began to chant in a language Tasha had never heard before. Tasha had snuck into the room and was hiding behind the mound of tables and chairs. She took out her phone and began recording. She didn't believe in magic or demons but knew this sort of thing would be worthy of a firing so she needed the proof.

As the chanting became louder Tasha felt a chill in the air then suddenly the candles surrounding the pentagram blew out. A blast of hellfire erupted in front of Victoria and there appeared a demon. He had long black horns adorn his red head and a pointed tail floated behind him with almost a mind of its own. The three women bowed before him in reverance.

"Why do mere mortals summon I, Zepar demon of lust, greed and power?" The demon snarled.

“I seek magnificent power my lord. I wish to have my body and soul corrupted into that of a succubus, one fit for an evil queen. I will be your conduit on earth for you to receive the souls of the innocent so you can grow powerful and return to earth as king.” Victoria said. Zepar looked her up and down for a moment, seemingly intrigued by her offer but then let out a deep and dark laugh.

“I have no doubt that is what you desire but my dark magic chooses the host, not the other way around. However I do detect one of you mortals are worthy of my gift. Only the one the magic chooses will become my succubus queen, the others must serve her. Do you agree to my terms?” Zepar said with a mischievous grin. Victoria smiled back at him. She knew she was the one worthy of his power. Her two friends were pathetic next to her.

“We of course accept your terms.” Victoria said. As the words left her mouth, a surge of dark energy pulsed through the room, causing the floor to tremble and the air to thicken. The candles reignited with an eerie, blue flame, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls. Victoria's eyes gleamed with anticipation as she stood, facing the demon with unwavering confidence.

Zepar extended his hand, and a swirling vortex of black smoke began to form in his palm. "Let the ritual begin." He commanded, his voice reverberating through the room. Tasha, still hidden behind the mound of furniture, felt her heart race. She knew she had to do something, but fear paralyzed her. Her phone continued recording, capturing every sinister word and action.

Victoria stretched her arms out wide, waiting for the dark magic to take her but to her and everyone's surprise it suddenly shot across the room to Tasha's hiding spot.

The black smoke enveloped Tasha, lifting her off the ground. Her body convulsed as the dark magic took hold, reshaping her form into something otherworldly yet darkly beautiful. Her eyes turned a deep, mesmerizing violet, and her tits grew fuller. Her nails elongated into elegant, sharp points, painted obsidian black and her hair cascaded down in long, dark, straight waves. Her lips became plump and enticing, a deep shade of crimson.

At first, fear gripped Tasha's mind, her thoughts a whirlwind of panic. What was happening to her? She could feel the dark magic coursing through her veins, twisting her mind. But as the transformation continued, the fear began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of superiority. This power, this strength, it was exactly what she needed to finally rise above Victoria and her cronies.

As she embraced the darkness inside of her now, two small red horns grew painfully out from the top of her head. The pain was now comforting to her, it made her feel more alive than she ever had been before.

Her boring work clothes ignited and disintegrated, replaced by tight black latex that clung to her newly transformed figure, accentuating every curve. She landed gracefully, exuding an aura of seductive power that made the air around her crackle with intensity.

Zepar's gaze shifted from Victoria to Tasha, who moved to the demon’s side with a smirk. "It seems the darkness has chosen." He declared, his voice filled with a sinister glee. Victoria's confident smile faltered, replaced by a look of shock and disbelief.

"No!" Victoria screamed, her face contorting with rage. "It was supposed to be me!" She lunged towards Tasha, but Tasha raised her hand, sending a wave of dark energy that knocked her back.

"Your ambition blinded you, Victoria." Tasha said coldly. "The power goes to the one most worthy. Me."

Tasha looked down at Victoria, Lisa, and Marie, her violet eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and newfound authority. "Kneel before your queen." She said, her voice resonating with an eerie power.

Lisa and Marie, too frightened to defy this new Tasha, immediately dropped to their knees. Victoria, seething with fury, reluctantly followed suit, her eyes blazing with hatred.

Zepar turned to Tasha, a satisfied smile on his face. "Now, my succubus queen, you shall serve as my conduit on Earth. You will gather the souls of the innocent and corrupt them into weapons for our upcoming war. Once you have, I will return and together we shall bring chaos to this world."

"I look forward to your return my king." She said, her voice purring with affection for the demon as Zephar leaned in and the two kissed deep and long.

Zepar let out a dark, triumphant laugh before he vanished in a swirl of black smoke, leaving behind the lingering scent of sulfur.

Tasha stood tall in her new form, the room now filled with an eerie silence. She turned her gaze to the three women before her, who were still on their knees, trembling with a mix of fear and awe.

Tasha's lips curled into an evil smirk. She could feel the power coursing through her veins, the dark magic making her feel invincible. She took a step closer, her heels clicking ominously on the floor. "Before you can be worthy to serve me, you need to be punished. You must learn your place, and I will ensure you never forget it." She declared, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure.

With a wave of her hand she conjured an enormous strap on that wrapped tightly to her hips. Waving her other hand, dark tendrils of magic shot out, wrapping around the three women, binding them in place. "Let's begin with you Victoria." Tasha said in dark glee.

[colorfulplasma]

Lore dumping on a character I forgot for more than a month 😔😔 anyway yay Vortex my wet dog !!!

[ginxyy]

The first kiss

(Ok i am going to kinda make this a series i think lmao. Let me know if you guys want to see a certain pair. Seventeen only rn but i might indulge with some SKZ)

The first kiss that shouldn’t have happened but did.

The golden hour cast a warm, hon eyed glow over the bustling café, shadows of the tables dancing in the light. I sat in my favorite little corner, sipping a vanilla latte, watching the world move around me. Yet, amidst the clinks of ceramic cups and soft murmurs of flirtation filling the air, my heart was caught in a siren’s call. It was him Mingyu his figure emerging like a dream from the sea of patrons.

Mingyu strode in, effortlessly cool, his presence commanding the room without uttering a single word. My heart did a somersault, but guilt gnawed at the edges of my exhilaration. Across the café, I glanced at my boyfriend, Jun, deep in conversation with some friends at a nearby table. His laughter rang out like a sweet melody, but it was Mingyu's playful smile that tugged at my heartstrings in an uncharted way. How did moments of innocent connection morph into something more dangerously alluring?

As Mingyu approached, the air thickened with unsaid words and unacknowledged tension. He plopped down across from me, a cheeky grin on his face, and I felt the familiar warmth rush through me, igniting something deep within the confines of my chest. “Hey, you,” he said, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers cascading down my spine.

“Hi,” I replied, my own voice barely above a whisper, apprehensive yet electrified in the shimmering ambiance. The unspoken rule we navigated was rigorously formed, my heart belonging to Jun, yet the current between Mingyu and me crackled like a live wire, daring to veer us off course.

In the moments that followed, we traded banter, each jest wrapping us tighter in an invisible web of shared glances and lingering touches. I’ll never forget how his fingertips brushed against mine as he reached for his drink. In that brief contact, the world around us dulled. Time itself seemed to stand still as I was lost in the warmth of his skin against mine. My breath caught, and, in that fleeting moment, reality withdrew, leaving only the magnetic pull that hung between us.

Mingyu leaned in closer to share a joke his warm breath tickled my cheek, intensified by his proximity. I could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, a roguish charm that had always drawn me in. It played like a symphony, filling the air with notes of danger and excitement, teasing the boundaries of friendship and something infinitely more seductive. My heart raced, urging me to lean into him, but conscience clawed at the back of my mind, reminding me of the bond I shared with Jun.

But as the minutes drifted by, our playful exchanges began to turn, each laugh punctuated by charged silence, every gaze lingering longer than the last. The café buzzed around us, but we were ensnared in our own world a secret vortex where rules blurred and hearts danced to a rhythm all their own. I could hardly breathe, intoxicated by his presence and the inexplicable connection that hung in the air like a heady perfume.

“Have you ever wondered what it would feel like?” he asked suddenly, his eyes searching mine with raw intensity. My heart crashed against my ribcage, caught between denial and unshakable curiosity. I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

“Just… this,” he gestured between us, the space filled with an unmistakable yearning. “What it would be like if we crossed that line.” I felt the warmth rush to my cheeks, suffocating me in delicious embarrassment and thrill. The question hung in the air, a palpable challenge wrapped in unmitigated temptation.

I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice, inching closer, my heart racing with possibilities. The man sitting across from me, my dreams and desires all colliding, was more than just Jun’s best friend. He had the power to awaken something deep within me that I had only dared acknowledge during long, lonely nights.

Before I could reply, I found my breath hitching again as I felt Mingyu's hand slide over mine, igniting a feverish pulse at our connection. “What if we just—” he started, the act of leaning in closing the space between us, the moment fragile but pregnant with intention.

I was aware that this could unravel everything, that a singular decision could draw me away from Jun’s warmth, but the magnetic force between us was a siren’s call. As his lips hovered close to mine, I was paralyzed in the intoxicating aroma of his cologne, an alluring scent of wood and spice that enveloped me like a warm embrace.

And then, it happened. Mingyu’s lips, soft yet fervent, met mine in an electric kiss that sent shockwaves shuddering through me. Time ceased. Ignoring the whirlwind of emotions flooding my mind, I surrendered momentarily to the fire, my senses igniting as his kiss deepened. I melted against him, lost in a fervor that eclipsed all rational thoughts. Every flicker and caress spoke of uncharted passions born from unspoken desires, and for that brief second, I was enthralled by the rhythm of our hearts beating fervently against the clasp of fate.

Heat surged between us a heady mixture of want and wordless longing. My mind screamed in protest, recalling Jun’s laughter from the table over. Guilt unfurled its claws, yet in that moment of ecstasy, I lost myself to the indulgence of what could be, while my heart fought the weight of betrayal. My tongue danced with Mingyu’s in an unrelenting ebb and flow, the moment spiraling outside the boundaries of reason.

As we pulled apart, breaths mingling in the plush air, reality slammed into me like a brick wall. The guilt washed over my skin like ice water, shrouding the heat that had enveloped us moments before. I was dating his best friend a betrayal so deep, the very thought threatened to drown me. But then I looked into his eyes, and the embers of that kiss flickered, tempting me to disregard it all.

"Maybe we shouldn’t have done that," I breathed, the weight of my words heavy in the air between us. But amidst the uncertainty, the connection between us simmered undeniably real, beautifully vibrant, fraught with the dangerous thrill of the forbidden.

Mingyu's gaze remained locked with mine, a silent promise lingering unspoken. “Sometimes, what feels wrong can be the most beautiful thing,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing against my skin, igniting a more profound fire that I knew could not easily extinguish.

In that café, amid the hum of life, we transcended the boundaries of friendship, wading into that burgeoning realm of what could be, caught between dreams and heartbreak. But as I glanced toward Jun, I vowed to navigate this tangled web with a bittersweet awareness a love unspoken in the silence, yet undeniable in the kiss that set my heart ablaze.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Request??? Plsss

Pony makes a new friend with the reader and they instantly click and Pony knows the readers home life isn't great so he tells her their door is always open if she needs to get away. She takes him up on that offer but uses the window and climbs into pony's room during the night and crawls into his bed (they are very platonic touch happy people) she cuddles him trying to stop her tears but it's not actually Pony but is Soda?

Summary: Late at night, on a whim, you decide to seek out your bestfriend Pony for comfort, however the person comforting you isn't Pony but his brother.

Warnings: mentions of bad home life, mentions of vomiting

Author's Note: none

You and Pony had been such an inseperable pair since the day you first met. He was your best friend, and you were his. Your friendship was genuine and beautiful. He promised that when he grew up and saved up enough money, he'd take you away from Tulsa, from your family, anything that weighed you down and bring you somewhere carefree. Your care for each other blossomed like ivy, infectiously climbing at every wall, even if the results were anything but an infection.

But still, despite the golden sun that shone before you, there was still a grating darkness that followed you like a shadow. Something that peeled away at your layers of calluses, skin, and eventually stripping you until you were just a pile of bones. Your life at home made you feel vulnerable, constantly fighting for something you could never have. Everything around you seemed to be sucked into the vortex of your family, the one relationship that you should treasure like a special gemstone.

Pony was there, every time, like a savior, a drop of water in the desert.

"I'll always be there for you," He once offered, his hand outstretched to yours. The hand of Mitus which was said to turn things into gold, had truly nothing on the feeling that enveloped you as Pony clasped your hand into his, turning your tears into gold as it reflected the sunset which matched the movie-like scenario.

But, you couldn't stay away from your house forever. They called you often when you were out, feigning worry, as if they wouldn't bury you in a cardboard box if you passed. Several times, the police would turn up at your location, insisting that your mother was worried that you needed to get home. The drive to your 'home' in the back of a cop car always leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You truly felt like a fugitive.

Often, you took to sneaking out of your house, desperately clawing at the walls that kept you in, jumping over the garden walls to taste freedom, even when it was pitch black.

Today was no different, except the moon was full, spilling silver across the streets of Tulsa, like jewlery being melted under severe heat. You felt the hair rise on the back of your neck but bravely pressed on. The streetlights flickered, but it did not frighten you, the low hum of the lights making you almost drowsy as you trekked to Pony's house.

"If you ever need to find me, just come to my window," The fleeting converation crossed your mind. It was the day before you collapsed from the mental exhaustion of your family. The day before... today. The sheer thought of being back in that moment brought tears to your eyes. Your mind overflows with grief as you thrust your head into the bend of your elbow, drying your tears with little grace. Your legs felt like lead by the time you arrived. There was one light on, right in the living room. You could hear the nonsense chatter of the television, a luxury you could only indulge in once and a while. You yearned to peep through the window and see what they were watching, but you slipped around the corner under Ponyboy's window.

Usually, at this time, he would be in bed. You replayed possible situations that could happen when you enter through the window, a habit you'd taken to after having such irreversible trauma bestowed onto you. You clung to the idea of just climbing through, finding Pony half-asleep, and letting him hold you while you cry. You grit your teeth as you stepped back, trying to find a way up the window. It wasn't too tall, but the wood foundation that raised the house up by a meter or so made it impossible for you to just jump and pull yourself up due to your weak state.

Slowly, you fixated your thoughts on an overturned plant pot, pulling it towards the window. You jumped from the pot to the sill, like an agile cat, and pushed the curtains over. You slipped into the room. It was dark with the curtain open and darker with it closed. You felt your way around the room until your foot hit the mattress on the floor. You could faintly make out the line of a person, Ponyboy. You nearly sobbed at the familiar sight of your best friend. The steady breathing of his slumber calming your racing heart. You nudged him away.

"Pony?" You asked, listening for the faint sound of his acknowledgment. It came in a hummed sound akin to a 'Hm?' You scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him, daring the tears not to fall.

"I'm sorry to bother you." Your speech was mangled with sobs and hiccups, "You said I could come when I needed to," you croaked. His hand wrapped around the to the small of your back. Something pricked the back of your mind. Something that bloomed into fear, making goosebumps form over your arms. The realization floated to you like a paper boat on water.

This wasn't Pony.

Just like that, the light flicked on, golden beams hurting your eyes until you squinted. You were face to face and arm in arm with Sodapop, Pony's brother.

You could've smacked yourself for being so dumb. His hand was too large to be Pony's. And his mannerisms, Pony held you tightly even when tired, Soda's hand was losely wrapped around you. You felt genuine embarrassment bubble in your stomach and you had to stop yourself from vomiting.

"I'm sorry, do you want me to get Ponyboy for you?" His arm retracted to his chest, like he was pulling into himself as if he was scared of you, or of hurting you.

You had always taken Sodapop for a no-nonsense guy, it probably was because of your lack of interactions but there was little you knew about him. He was laying on his side, face slightly pinched together because of the bright light but you felt perhaps a connection to him. Possibly because you were so close with his brother but maybe for a different reason too.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. I can leave." You said, drawing your hands that were also loosely draped around him back. His eyes flicked to your red puffy eyes and he shook his head.

"Uhm, you can stay here for a little while," he said, "or whenever you want to leave," he rushed to fix his mistake. You stared at him, starry eyed and happy.

"Thank you," You whispered, he reached for the light switching it off and closed the curtain, before dropping his head back onto his pillow listlessly, dead asleep.

You, however, didn't sleep. You stared at the ceiling even if it was pitch black. You bit your knuckle to stop your wide smile in case Soda could still see you before cozying yourself up into the mattress.

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Fortunes

Part 1 - Death [Ao3 Link]

Summary -

Cazador is dead, and it's time to finally start living. Astarion takes Morgan to his grave and asks her for a favor only she can offer.

Pairing: Astarion x Morgan (female human tav)

Rating: Explicit Sexual Content

Tags: Astarion POV, graveyard sex, mentions of torture, elf/human relationships, blood and violence, vampire hopped up on infernal blood, that elf gets his dick sucked, wild magic sorcerer tav, wet and messy, deep throating, inappropriate use of tadpole, actually an appropriate use of tadpole , telepathy, fortune telling, vampire spawn

It's done! I can finally know peace...for a few days at least until I start working on the second part. A treato to enjoy~

Astarion stares at the elaborate looping script of Cazador Szarr’s personal journal. Page after page of the monster’s private thoughts about him; his movements through the city, the quality of the victims he procured, his punishments and tortures. Many, many pages of detailed descriptions of how his body looked in various states of mutilation that would have threatened bile, if he were capable of such a thing.

Yet he cannot tear himself away from the pages about himself and reads until the light of day fades in the small window of his room in the Elfsong Tavern, forcing him to put the book down to light a candle.

He draws a hand down his face, feeling every one of his nearly 250 years. His bones creak when he moves because he has not moved a muscle since he fished the journal from the bag Morgan slipped into his room.

The image of her slips into his mind and calms the dark vortex of his thoughts that threaten to overwhelm him.

They’d talked very little since it happened. He was grateful for the private room she’d secured; a rare luxury for him. A door to shut and lock everything and everyone out and just…think.

About what he’d lost. What he’d gained.

A future to plan for.

Morgan’s voice drifts underneath the door from the common room outside. She’s returned from some excursion in the city, no doubt, while he hid in a dark room like a specter once more. A sudden need to see her fills him with a nervous energy and he scrambles to his feet, rushing to tidy his appearance. He smooths his wrinkled clothing and runs some animal fat through his hair in a practiced motion.

By the squirming in his head, even the repulsive little parasite seems excited to see her. He tosses his head to settle his hair and sets out of his room in a quick flourish of movement.

On a bench nearby, a massive elf stirs at his sudden entrance as if woken from a nap. He ignores the Archdruid, and spies Morgan on the other side of the room dumping an armful of gilded ceremonial weapons into a pile of loot being sorted by a blank-eyed hireling. He recognizes them as the hideous wall decorations from the reading room in the east wing.

Startled by his sudden appearance, the tight control she leashes around her tadpole drops momentarily. His own, eager as always to reach out to its kin, grasps at a few stray thoughts escaping into their shared Hivemind until she asserts mental control over it once more.

Is he coming to end things? Because of what I said about the ritual?

Morgan.

He speaks her name through their mind link, suffusing the word with what he feels in that moment. Anticipation, gratitude, relief, and most strongly, his adoration. Emotions that he hopes convey his intent at approaching her.

It has the intended effect; her posture relaxes and she looks up at him with soft eyes. Before they broke into Cazador’s manor, she had offered her neck to him. The memory of his last taste of her blooms inside his chest, feeling heavy and tight.

She weakened herself ahead of a great battle, so he would be stronger. Always so reckless with her own body. She held him while he drank in the shadowed corner of his own home with trembling hands on her throat, defiant of his Master’s rules. And together, they sent that bastard’s soul back to the hells to be claimed by Mephistopheles.

What sort of monster would the ritual have twisted him into? Would she have ended up as a subject in one of his own insane, rambling journals centuries later?

No, he wasn’t upset that she challenged his ambitions to the ritual. Perhaps never seeing the sun again was simply the price of freedom.

He is close enough to pull her hand into his now, so he does so.

Aww guys, he’s holding her hand! I think they’re gonna be okay!

They both turn to stare at Karlach across the room, who slaps her hand over her mouth as if she said the words aloud and not blasted into everyone’s brains through her poorly controlled tadpole. Astarion’s glare is piercing, but there is no malice behind his eyes as Shadowheart pulls the tiefling into the adjoining room by her tail. He looks back at Morgan.

“Come with me? There’s something I want to show you, out in the city.”

“Okay,” she agrees “Oh, uh…” She looks down at her robes, stained and filthy, likely from spending all day crawling through Cazador’s cellars. “I should change first. I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

“Of course, darling. I’ll be out front.”

When she finds him again leaning against the wall at the Tavern’s entrance, her appearance gives him pause. Her hair is freed from its usual bindings, oiled and shiny. And her outfit…

He picks at the edge of her collar, spying a familiar style of stitching. “Did you get that from the manor?”

Morgan’s eyes are saucer wide. “It was in a pile of clothing that Shadowheart said was more fashionable than the rest. I just picked the one on top! I could…go change…”

He laughs. It feels good to do so, the heavy weight of his heart feeling lighter. “You do the garment far more favors than Violet ever could. Don’t you dare change out of it.” He punctuates his point by leaning forward and planting a small, chaste kiss on her lips.

She melts into him, and when he pulls away she’s flush with her life’s blood. He smiles indulgently, feeling every bit like the lovesick fool he knew he was.

He takes her by the hand again, and leads her to his intended destination. They walk in silence, around darkened city streets that he could navigate while blindfolded. Decade after decade of stalking these streets and prowling for victims to drag back to his master.

No longer. Now he walks these streets as a free man, no longer following puppet strings, performing acts of depravity in order to serve another’s will. He could do what he wanted, where he wanted, and with whom he wanted.

And he wanted her. In every way he could have, if she’d allow it, for as long as her little mortal life would have him.

Morgan makes a small sound of surprise when she realizes where he’s brought her, but she lets him continue leading into the cemetery, winding deeper into the grounds around rows of grave markers.

She holds back when he stops at the one with his name on it.

“Oh, she says. “This is your…”

“Yes.” He lets her warm hand slip out of his grasp while she inspects the writing on the grave. He leans down to brush away the shrubbery and plant life that had grown up around the marker, trying not to think of how it must have been over a century since someone last came to visit his grave given its state of disrepair; if there ever was anyone who cared enough to.

When he speaks again, his voice cuts through the deafening silence that’s settled over them, making Morgan jump slightly.

“Buried nearly 200 years ago. I haven’t been back since the night I woke up down there.” His face twists, bitterness rising from his gut. “Cazador was waiting for me, when I clawed my way through six feet of dirt to reach the surface. From that day on I was his.”

He turns back towards her, the bitterness fading as quickly as it came. “Until today.”

“You were never his. He could compel your body, your words, but your mind was your own.”

He gives her a sad smile, knowing a bit of where her perspective comes from as a survivor of her own religious cult. Mistreated though she was, praise all the gods she never suffered the hells that only a creature of the night like him could endure.

“Still, there’s almost nothing left of the person I was, just a name on a rock. I hid in the shadows while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I have to figure out who I am, and what my future holds for me...and I admit I find that to be a daunting and terrifying prospect.”

“What do you want your future to hold, Astarion?” Her eyes look at him so softly now; so different from the woman he'd known at the beginning of their journey.

“Shouldn’t you be able to tell me that, little soothsayer?” Reaching into his pack, he produces a little wooden box she would recognize as part of her fortune telling kit.

“When did you-” she snatches at the box and flashes her eyes at him.

“A while back, at the Grove. After you did those readings for the tieflings,” he smirks, still pleased about that particular bit of thievery.

“So um…I thought you knew…” She fidgets with the box, tapping the edges with the blunt nail of her thumb. “None my fortune telling is real. I make it all up based on what they want to hear, from the thoughts I can pick up on. People would pay a lot of money for that, over and over.”

“A charlatan!” he exclaims in mock surprise, sitting back on his heels. “And here I am, a vampire with a mind impenetrable to your magic.”

“Not to my tadpole,” she protests.

“Ah ah,” he tuts, tapping her nose. “No cheating! I trust you to do your best; you’re a professional after all. Treat me just as you would one of your customers.” He lets his eyes grow wet and pleading. “Please…indulge me?”

She lets out a petulant sigh, kneels across from him and shuffles the cards. When she’s done, she pats down an area of dirt flat enough to set her cards into.

“Cut the deck,” she guides him after she sets it down. He kneels in front of her and follows the direction.

“Okay, draw your card.”

He does so, revealing a skeleton in black armor on a horse, carrying a flag. Even he knew a Death card when he saw it.

“A bit on the nose given our surroundings, isn’t it?”

She’s silent for a second, looking at the card with her brow furrowed. “It’s not…physical death. It can be a metaphorical death. The end of a major phase of your life.”

“Well, That only tells me what I already know. But what does it say about my future?”

She falls silent again, studying the card as she ponders his question.

“So…Death is…change. Yeah? So...you should welcome any new changes as a cleansing of your former state of being, and see it as a welcome and positive force leading you to a new transformation. Even if the change is painful and scary at times, it is necessary for new opportunities and advantages to arise.”

“And just what am I meant to be transforming into, exactly?”

“The person you will become, without that man holding you in place.” These words are spoken firmly, with more confidence.

“Hm. I suppose that makes a certain kind of sense,” he strokes his chin. “What does it say about my love life?”

“Oh!” She plays along, adopting a thoughtful look. “Well, if you think about it, loving someone is to be forever changed. If you have someone special in your life, now is the time to embrace your feelings and tell them how you really feel."

The little showman in her comes out with that line, he observes with amusement.

“My dear fortune teller, what if she rejects me? I wouldn’t know how to bear it.”

Morgan taps the Death card once more. “Change is scary, but inevitable. You must learn to handle that uncertainty.”

Well, I suppose I mustn’t defy the cards then should I?”

Astarion gathers the cards together and sets them aside, kneeling in front of her to then take her hands in his. She adopts his same posture and kneels with him amid the soil. Her attention is on him entirely as she looks up at him cutely with those big, human eyes.

“I am…ashamed to admit I didn’t care for you when we first met. I looked down on you being a human, for being stupid enough to let a vampire bite you.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” she sighs, looking away with a wry expression. “I’ve been with plenty of High Elves and a lot of you are just…like that, vampire or not.”

“You really need to have better standards for your lovers,” he presses gently, guiding her chin back towards him.

“Funny, that’s what Shadowheart used to say when she’d catch me sneaking off to your tent.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “She wasn’t wrong.” His mirth fades, expression turning more serious.

“I was wrong. You’ve treated me with nothing but generosity and understanding, even through the blood lust, pain and misery I caused you. For so long, I only knew how to be cruel and to see such things as weakness. Cruelty…it springs forth so easily onto my tongue and yet you were patient with me through all of it when I was least deserving of it. I feel safe with you, and seen. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep, shuddery breath through his desiccated lungs. “I love you.”

Morgan looks down, then back up at him. Her eyes are wet. His chest flutters with her freely given blood.

“I also am ashamed for how I thought of you,” she admits in a trembling voice. He pushes some strands of green hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I couldn’t read your thoughts in the way I was used to, so I assumed you were like many of the elves I have known before, who liked slumming it with humans. I didn’t take you or the things I was learning about you seriously…not at first. I didn’t know that you were hurting so deeply this entire time.”

“Darling, I’ve had lifetimes to conceal my own pain and feelings. It’s not something you should feel at fault for; I was the one manipulating you.”

“I know,” she sniffs, a few tears escaping. He brushes them away with his thumb. “I love you too. I want to be with you, after all this. If we survive.”

“That is…” he’s moved that she can say that after being reminded of his manipulations, and so they hold each other for a moment, cradled in the dirt of his grave. He pulls away from her warmth reluctantly, and reaches for the dagger in his belt.

“Well, I should probably fix this,” he gestures to his grave marker. She watches in silence as he bends down to carve his new dates into the stone. When his work is done, he turns back towards his lover.

“I’ve been dead in the ground long enough. It’s time to try living again.”

He kneels back down and pushes her into the dirt. She makes a small squeal of surprise he’s heard dozens of times in their previous couplings, and it excites him now as much as it did back then. Morgan looks up at him, sprawled in the dirt, her one pale eye shining in the darkness. Violet’s outfit clings to her curves in ways it never did on his sibling, and he takes in the sight of her glowing under the moonlight appreciatively. Arousal winds through him, and taking charge of it feels right at this moment.

“You know,” he bends down, presses his nose into her neck, feels her pulse jump, “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded…”

“Really?” he senses her heart rate quicken, blood rushing. “Now? Here?”

“I brought a blanket, if you don’t want to stay in the dirt.” he grins, pulling the leather satchel from his waist. He well remembers their first tryst, where she insisted he walk back to camp to get a blanket before she would lay with him in the clearing.

“I meant…that it’s been a little while…is it okay?” She’s not hiding her eagerness very well, and he smiles at her fondly with heavy lidded eyes.

Bending down to mouth her pulse point, he’s careful not to break her skin despite his vampiric senses craving the sweet magic in her blood, just beyond his fangs. Her breathy little gasp goes straight to his groin; he presses himself against her so she can feel just how much he wants her. Her leg curls around his lower back as their bodies fit together.

“Yes,” he assures her, then grins at her loud, whorish moan when he rocks his hips. Their lips crash together and he doesn’t think about anything but the woman in his arms, laying with him in dirt he crawled out of as a slave. There was something poetic there, if he had a mind for that sort of thing.

He’d leave the poetry to young Wyll.

“I love you,” he groans again into her skin, as nothing else in his repertoire was fit for her anymore. Her lips and tongue meet his as his hands grope under fabric to press against the scorching heat of living skin. She yelps and shifts under him.

“Cold! Your hands are cold,” she whines.

“I’d better warm them up quickly then,” he smirks, moving his hands upward to cup each heavy breast from under the blouse. He captures her lips again and gives them a squeeze, delighting in the softness of her body and the way she writhes under him when he does it.

His eyes trace the scar across her sloped nose, her parted lips and the small gap in her front teeth, the freckles dancing on her throat. He wants to drown in her beauty, as penance for the man he was before that had denigrated how she looked in his mind, the pathetic wretch that only saw beauty in the narrow definition that Cazador taught him.

He opens his mouth to try and speak some pretty words about how she looks to him, but none of his thousands of lines are sincere enough for how he feels “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, though even that feels inadequate. He prods her with his tadpole instead, letting her feel how he feels.

Morgan responds in kind and his brain floods with the strong emotions surging through her in this moment. Her longing for his touch on her body, her fear for them surviving their encounter with the Netherbrain, her relief that he wasn’t angry with her, her desire to hold and kiss him over and over and over…

He lets her do just that, as they retreat from the Hivemind. Her lips on his, parting only for him to draw her top over her head and off, hands free to enjoy all of her that he could touch. He palms her breasts until his hands are warm, pulling one puffy nipple into his mouth and slipping down into her breeches, into her underwear.

She moans when he cups her, then her body goes rigid. He jerks back in concern when glowing light spills out of her body; her wild magic about to surge! Both of them scramble to their feet in the loose soil.

“No-no-no-no-no!” Morgan cries, losing her footing and falling to her knees as the surge washes over her in a blinding blue light. Astarion grabs his dagger as the smell of sulfur fills the air; A flash of heat and a cambion materializes before them, armed and angry.

“The fuck?” The devil growls and raises its spear at the pair. “You dare summon me? I’ll rip your guts out then drag your souls back into the hells with me, foolish mortals.”

Astarion steps between Morgan and the creature, dodging its clumsy swing in his direction and giving her a chance to retreat behind him and ready some spell. He has to duck under another jab of the spear that grazes a little too close to his ribs before she’s ready; vocalizing the chant to a spell that holds it in place, frozen.The cambion’s expression drops as it realizes the peril it is in.

He glances at the concentration on Morgan’s face, and then back at the helpless devil they have in their trap. Grinning madly, he bares his fangs and sinks them into the neck of their trapped prey. Not the gentle lover’s bite that Morgan has only known, but the powerful jaws of a vampire spawn at full strength; snapping deep into the soft muscle and arteries of the devil’s throat. Hot blood -violently hot- burns a trail down his throat before he twists his head sharply and tears the creature’s throat out entirely.

A great gout of blood sprays onto his face and more down his throat. The taste is smokey, sulfurous, and sets his tongue alight in a most delightful way that whets his appetite.

It's not his first time drinking infernal blood, but it is his first time having such a glut of it as once. The cambion is unable to move or make a sound despite its pumping wound; no thrashing, no wrestling, no need to subdue. Helpless as he swallows mouthful after mouthful until all life is drained from the devil, and the spell collapses with no monster left to hold.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he staggers a bit, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity and the burning heat now settling in his stomach.

“Gods,” Morgan pants. “A devil. Those ones are rare, I’m sorry. That could have gone much worse.”

“Has that happened while you’ve been alone?” he wonders with some concern. Blood drips down his chin and he swipes at it with his sleeve again while watching her bare tits sway while she attempts to regain her footing. He had been hard before the devil joined them, now feasted on its infernal blood, his erection strains painfully against the tight lacing on his breeches. He has to steady himself against his tombstone.

“Not alone,” she responds, approaching him from behind. ‘One time though, in a crowded market. I ran away and let the Fist deal with it.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t arrested,” he points out, groaning as his pants press even tighter into his suffering cock. Gods, this blood was intense.

She waves her hand dismissively, then giggles at the sight of him. “You’re covered in that thing’s blood. Do devils taste good to you?”

“Nothing compared to the taste of you,” he answers hoarsely. “Your blood is something special.”

“Well I was your first…so that must be why,” she waves away the compliment, her eyes dropping obviously to his crotch. “You seem to be having a hard time there. Want some help?”

He nods desperately, aching to relieve the pressure as molten fire courses through his veins and sexual arousal coils in his belly. He feels hers too, through the close proximity of their tadpoles.

Morgan’s practiced hands release him from his bindings, earning a hiss of relief. There’s a single long moment where she hesitates, one hand on his chest and the other stroking his erection softly. Far too softly.

Her heart is pounding so loudly it echoes in his ears. Then, she drops to her knees and swallows him down into her warm, waiting mouth.

His strangled cry is the one that fills the dead air now, nails digging into the worn stone. He throws his head back, and can’t help the joyous laugh that bubbles from deep in his chest. One of her hands pushes his balls up ever so gently, so she can angle the entirety of him more easily down her throat.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” he gasps through clenched teeth, eyes rolling back when she responds immediately and handles him with more force. “I want you…I want you to ruin me.”

She looks up into his pleading eyes for a brief moment and shuffles closer, her plush breasts brushing his knees.

And ruin him she does, with her wicked little mouth that works over him better than most career whores, and it isn’t long until thick strands of his prerelease are hanging from her chin from her efforts. When she has to pull back and breathe, her fist is on him, her tongue finding the sensitive spots on the head, dipping under the foreskin, lapping fluid that continues to leak out of his cock.

“Gods,” he manages to croak out, scrabbling to keep his balance against his grave stone. Her mouth on him was hotter than the fires of Grymforge and his release was building quicker than he could get a control over.

Swallowing him down all the way to the root once more and gripping his balls in a vice-like grip, she rocks her face into him. His dick, constrained by the walls of her throat, pulses once; and then it's on him. His vision goes black at the edges, silence ringing in his ears, as he spills into her throat and mouth and out of it. His eyes squeeze closed as she sucks him through his orgasm, each slam of pleasure enough to make him arch heavily against the gravestone with a shout.

The stone gives way, forcing him stumbling backwards. He hears it crack beneath him as Morgan’s mouth pulls off of him with an obscene sound, covered in his mess. It hangs in thick strands from her chin and dribbles down the side of her mouth, onto her heavy tits, and into the dirt.

He pants heavily on the piece of stone that hadn't crumbled, foggy from the bliss she’d granted him.  He turns his head finally to look at the damage. The stone broke where his hands had been on the top of the marker, cracking it all the way down to the etched runes.

“Oh no,” she coughs, and spits onto the ground. “Your grave…”

He can’t help it; a forceful belly laugh erupts from him into the night air. He doesn’t care about the stupid rock. Lifting himself from the damaged grave, he pulls his ruffled shirt over his head and joins her back in the dirt, quickly covering her body with his own. He feels and tastes his own cooling spend when he presses his mouth to hers, but pays it no mind at all. The kiss is ravenous and desperate and steals all the air from her lungs.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he purrs, digging his hands into the soft, bruisable skin of her hips before turning her onto her hands and knees before him. He wipes his own mess from his mouth and takes a moment to admire the sight before him; her ass in the air, the dark thatch of hair and sopping wet cunt spread open before him. He drags the head of his cock over the opening, not pushing in but enjoying the slide of their wet skin. Her little mewling sounds are an added bonus.

“Astarion, please,” she begs when he doesn’t move right away and pushes her ass firmly against his groin, still stiff and aching. Oh, how he loves hearing her beg for it! Another time and he’d draw out her torment and tease her for much longer. Not tonight, now he gives into her need and sinks into her wet cut, tearing a howl from the both of them. A snap of his hips pushes her deeper in the dirt, and then there is just the wet sounds of slapping flesh and their moans and cries mingling together under the stars.

He watches her body bounce and jump with each thrust. The infernal blood puts him into a frenzy; there’s no outside world anymore, only her hot little hole sucking him into a quickly approaching oblivion.

“Hey! HEY!! What in the hells…you kids can’t be out here! Wait, is that a devil?”

Astarion turns and snarls at the sudden intruder, slipping out of Morgan’s wet heat while she swears under her breath and reaches for his dagger once more on this night.

He’s greeted with the vision of an elderly dwarf dressed in the city garb of a Groundskeeper looking in horror at the blade and fangs brandished on one side, and the corpse of a devil on the other. He turns and runs in the direction he came from with cry of pure terror.

Astarion lets out a deep suffering sigh at their constant interruptions, then turns back towards his lover, still sprawled in the dirt.

“He’s probably going to go fetch the guards,” he complains, pulling her close by the throat so he can plunder her lips for a moment. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back, making his chest feel tight again. “We should move somewhere else…unless you want to pick up where we left off in one of the city jails?”

“I know a place nearby,” she plants a sweet little kiss on his collarbone and pulls away, towards her pile of clothing. Both of them are filthy; covered in a mix of sweat, dirt and cum. They hurry into their clothes, not bothering with the undergarments, and leave behind nothing more than a devil corpse and his broken gravestone.

Morgan leads this time, holding his hand while they run giggling out of the grave site, holding onto the clothing they didn’t bother to put back on. She takes him a mere three blocks down, on the opposite side of the market district, and stops at an unremarkable wooden door. A sign hangs over it, displaying only the runes that spelled out a single word: Fortunes.

“This is your shop? Where you lived?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Who knew we were so close, this whole time?”

“Thats…” he stops, unsettled. He’d probably walked past this unremarkable looking building thousands of times. That at any point, if he’d had the mind to step inside for any reason…

“I lost my key when I was on the Nautiloid. Can you get us in?”

He slips a lockpick out and twirls it in his fingers in response. It's not a difficult lock at all, and he deftly pushes the tumblers in place within seconds. “Not very good security darling, we’ll have to fix that.”

“Sure, if you say so,” she steps over the threshold, then turns back to look at him with an outstretched hand.

“Come on in, vampire. You’re welcome here.”

~~ Continued in Part 2

[adventure-showdown]

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead

Synopsis

The Tenth Doctor takes Donna Noble to a planet-sized library in the 52nd century. They find it empty of human life, with countless other living beings. An information kiosk warns them to "count the shadows". An archaeological expedition arrives, lead by the mysterious Professor River Song, who brings the cryptic last message sent from the library: "4022 saved, No survivors".

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances

Synopsis

Chasing a metallic object through the Time Vortex, the Ninth Doctor and his companion, Rose Tyler, arrive in London during the Blitz. While Rose meets "Captain Jack Harkness", the dashing Time Agent responsible for bringing the object, the Doctor finds a group of homeless children terrorised by Jamie, an "empty" child wearing a gas mask.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted