#after getting lost in the repeating dungeons multiple times...

[themanwhomadeamonster]

*wakes up in cold sweat at 5am* THE DARK ARISEN SAFE AREA THEME IS A REMIX OF THE RE4(/R) SAFE AREA THEME

[written-with-clouds]

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 3

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship, attempted SA

Part 1 Part 2

Your whole body trembles as the cold stone of the dungeon cuts through to your bones, the thin sleep shirt doing nothing to help warm you as you pull hopelessly at the chains that bind you to the wall of the cell. The cuffs have started to rub uncomfortably against your wrists from the struggle. 

The sound of multiple sets of footsteps draws your attention. You shrink back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest, as King’s Guards open the cell door and part allowing King Aegon to enter. 

Aemond roared, embedding yet another throwing ax into the chest of a training dummy. The training yard around him, usually bustling with people, was empty. Those that had been there quickly abandoned what they were doing as Aemond stalked out of the doors to the yard. He had been in the training yard all morning, taking his anger out on the hay-filled sacs formed to resemble a person. By the time he was done, sweat-soaked and out of breath, the sun was high in the sky. Straws of hay and fabric scraps littered the ground, alongside a few wooden training swords that had been snapped in half.  

Running a hand through his hair, Aemond sighed heavily, leaning against a wall and sliding down to sit. Resting his arms over his knees and his head back against the wall, Aemond allowed his eyes to close. Running the various hidden paths with the best chance of getting to you and getting you out through his mind. 

“My prince.” Aemond opens his eye, squinting up at Ser Criston Cole. Cole bows slightly in greeting, “The Dowager Queen requests your presence, she has asked me to escort you.”

Aemond scoffs, standing and brushing the dirt and dust from his clothes. “She requests me.” He repeats, voice sardonic. “That implies that I can decline her.” 

He struts past Cole, walking up to the bottom of the staircase leading inside. Pausing, Aemond looked over his shoulder flippantly and mockingly saying, “Lead the way Ser Criston.” Swooping his arms dramatically and bending at the waist.

You grunt, coughing harshly, as another kick makes contact with your already bruising body. Spitting blood out on the floor, you pant, frantically pulling in air.  

You yelp in pain as your hair is roughly gripped at the roots. The hand in your hair yanks you up, forcing you to look at the man. 

Aegon smiles cruelly at you, his eyes wide and crazy. He says something, probably an insult, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. He turns his head away from you, looking behind him at the guard who had entered. You can hear muffled yelling as Aegon argues with the guard before his face twists up in disgust. He drops your head, leaving the cell. Your body, weak and unable to hold its weight, slumps to the ground.

Aemond enters his mothers chambers, a guard announcing his presence. His mother stands near a hearth, biting at the nail of her thumb. At his arrival, she drops her hand quickly.  Aegon and, to Aemonds surprise, Helaena, sit on the couches near their mother. Aegon soothingly massages his foot with his hands, hissing slightly every couple seconds or so. Helaena embroiders across from Aegon, unbothered and uncaring of the room around her. 

Aemond sits down next to Aegon with a huff, “Must you do that now, brother? Your feet smell worse than the streets of Flea Bottom.” 

Aegon barks a laugh at his brother, “And what would you know of the smells of Flea Bottom?” 

Before Aemond can respond, Queen Alicent speaks. “Enough.” She sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We need to speak about the possibility of war,” she continues. 

“Isn’t this a conversation better suited for the council?” Aegon voices, for once aware of the situation. 

“It will be in due time. But this is something family,” she casts a pointed look at Aemond, “should know first. Rhaenyra has sent a letter.” 

Aemond perks up slightly, his eye watching his mother closely. His jaw tightens and Aegon makes some snide remark about the ‘Whore of Dragonstone’. 

“She has made demands of the throne, and in turn, threatened the rightful king. Claiming that she shall have his head should her spy of a daughter not be returned to her.” Aegon scoffs as Queen Alicent finishes. 

Aemond laughs as well. He laughs like a madman at his mother and brother, who both look at him quizzically. 

“And what do you find so humorous, brother? Is the thought of my head on a stick that entertaining to you?” Aegon jests, jabbing his elbow against Aemonds side. 

Aemond stands, ignoring his brother completely. “I find it laughable that you pretend to have no part in this,” He says pointedly at Queen Alicent. “Acting as if your actions haven’t directly caused these threats. What did you expect to happen? Throwing her eldest child into the dungeons.. did you think Rhaenyra would simply roll over and submit?”

“I did only what was necessary to protect–“ Queen Alicent begins to say, walking towards Aemond as if he were a frightened dog. 

“Protect what?” Aemond sneers, out of the corner of his eye he sees Helaena pause. “She had done nothing wrong! You imprisoned her simply for your own personal vendetta against her mother.” 

“Son, we– I had reasonable suspicion that her presence meant no good.. I was– am looking out for you.” Queen Alicent placed a tentative hand against Aemonds cheek, only for it to be slapped away harshly. 

Aemond scowls at his mother. Closing his eye and taking a steadying breath before turning and leaving.

Aemond strides through the dungeon of the Red Keep. Head held high and his shoulders relaxed. He had learned early on in life that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, people tended to not question your presence. 

He glances into each cell as he passes, checking for you in each one. Nearing the end of the long corridor, Aemond listens as faint, muffled talking becomes more clear. 

“Ya think he killed her? I ain’t seen her move since he left.” A guard says. Aemond notes the lack of white armor, Not Kingsguard, he thinks to himself. 

“Nah, I can still see ‘er breathing.” The second replies. Both guards stand leaning against the wall, relaxed and at ease. Neither had noticed Aemond yet. 

Aemonds steps slow momentarily, growing quiet, as he stalks towards them. No noticeable weapons, they were either unarmed or had hidden daggers on the person. 

“Can’t be that far off though..” The first guard comments. The other one nods, humming his agreement. 

Aemond clears his throat, announcing his presence. The guards stand from the wall, frantically scrambling into position with their hands behind their backs, heads straight, and eyes forward. Aemond stands silently, watching the guards shift on their feet uncomfortably. 

“You are dismissed.” He says. The guards visibly relax, if only a tiny bit, and begin to leave. Hugging the wall as the pass Aemond. “One last thing,” Aemond continues. 

The guards stop in their tracks, turning slightly so as to not face Aemond directly. “Give me the keys to that cell.” Aemond finished, indicating with his head towards your cell while holding a hand out. 

One of the guards smirks, unclamping the keys from his belt. “Want to take yer turn with ‘er, my prince?” He teases, “she ain’t gonna be much fun though.. little fight left in ‘er.” 

Aemonds jaw clenches as he scowls. “I would watch my tone around those higher than I, guard, what I do or don’t do with the prisoner is none of your concern.” He growls. “Leave, before I decide I want your tongue for speaking out of turn.” 

The guard's smirk fell and his face went pale. Quickly mumbling an apology. Dropping the keys into Aemonds palm, both guards scurried away with their tails tucked between their legs. 

Aemond pauses a few moments, waiting until he can no longer hear footsteps, before turning on his heel and hastily unlocking the door to your cell. The sight of you laying on the floor in a bruised heap simultaneously breaks his heart and makes his blood boil. He carefully crosses the small distance between you and him, kneeling down in front of you. Your eyes are open, but distant and unfocused. If it weren’t for the shallow breaths you occasionally took in he would think you were dead. 

“Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” He speaks softly, brushing some hair away from your face. You flinch back, blinking your eyes back into focus. “Shh, my dear… it’s just me.” 

“Ae–mond?” Your voice is rough when you speak. 

“Yes, love, it’s me…” His brow furrows, taking in your disheveled state. The trembling in your arms as you struggle to push yourself up into a sitting position, the wince as you cradle an arm around your midsection. He can’t see any noticeable cuts or bruises on your face or neck, which soothes him a little. But he can tell from how carefully you protect your stomach that, should he lift the fabric of your sleepwear, he would see dark bruising taking form. 

Gently, Aemond reaches out and lays his hand over your arm. “Who did this? Tell me which guard it was and I shall have their body hung from the gates.” 

You’re shaking your head before he can finish. “Wasn’t a guard..” you reply weakly.

“Who, then… if not a guard.. who?” He softly pry’s. 

“I can’t say…” Your words are nothing but a painful whisper as tears roll down your cheeks. Aemond carefully gathers you in his arms, pulling you against his chest and stroking your hair. 

“Please, love, tell me.. if you do not know the name, describe them to me and I will find them.” He whispers. 

You take a slow steadying breath, “Promise me that you won’t do anything rash.” 

“I don’t make promises I cannot keep,” He replies, and then after a beat of silence, “I promise to try.” 

“It was Aegon…” Your words hang thick in the air around the two of you. You can feel Aemond’s chest quickly rise and fall as he struggles to remain calm.

“Aegon did this?” His words are strained and his grip on you tightens ever so slightly. You nod against his chest and Aemond brings one of his hands to cup your face, moving you until he can look into your eyes. “What did he do? Did he–“ Aemond swallow’s, his body tense as he asks, “did he touch you?” 

“Not… not in the way you imply..” You watch as his shoulders relax and he releases a breath. “The only part of him to touch me was his boot.” 

“I should return the favor to him… for daring to hurt you,” Aemond snarls. Panic flashes in your eyes briefly as you start to speak before he stops you, reassuring, “I won’t do anything rash, love. I am smarter than that.” 

He tucks you back against his chest, his arms once again encircling you, protecting you. Aemond rests his cheek against your hair as the two of you sit on the cold stone floor. It isn’t until you hear voices talking in the distance that Aemond speaks in a hushed voice.

“I have to go, Issa jorrāelagon (my love).” He places a featherlight kiss against your forehead before standing. “I will come back for you.. that I can promise.” 

“I know you will,” You say back, the threat of tears burning the back of your eyes. “Just don’t take too long..” 

“I won’t.” Aemond shuts the cell door behind him and clicks the lock into place with a heavy heart, stuffing the key in his pocket. 

With his head held high and his shoulders squared, Aemond strides out of the dungeons. Only slightly relieved that the voices you both had heard belonged to a small group of cleaners. He ignores them as they part for him to walk past, heading towards the stairs that lead to his room. 

Passing by Helaena, Aemond nods in greeting. Step faltering only for a second as he hears her muttering to herself. 

“In the flames of sorrow, a dragon's mark is lost”

Aemond sits at the council table, listening to Ser Tyland Lannister complain about… whatever it was he complained about normally. After a sleepless night of worrying and plotting, Aemond really couldn’t care less. 

He listens half-heartedly as the council moves past Lannisters whining and begins discussing things that are actually important; procuring food for the dragons while also not starving the small folk, training the newest round of guards, et cetera, et cetera. 

Aemond glances towards his brother, who is laughably in over his head. Aegon sits at the head of the table, eyes wide as he fumbles for solutions that don’t sound as if a child has thought of them. Aemond scowls. This was the person–the bastard– that had hurt you. 

“Now then,” Lord Jasper Wylde starts. “We should discuss what to do with the princess.” 

Aemond snaps from his thoughts, now paying close attention to the conversation at hand. His eyes scan the expressions on each member of the council, even looking briefly at the few guards that stood against the walls. Each man shifted uncomfortably in their seat, barely looking at one another and out right refusing to look at either Aegon or Aemond. 

It’s Grand Maester Orwyle that speaks first. “Perhaps we should send her back to Dragonstone. We could use it as a sign of good faith, claim it as a mistake.” 

“And admit we were in the wrong?” Aemond‘s grandsire, Ser Otto Hightower, spoke. “You would wish to make a fool of your king? Grand Maester?” 

“No, Lord Hand… I would never!” Maester Orwyle spoke quickly, eyes going impossibly wide and shifting fearfully between the members of council and the kingsguard. 

“Perhaps we could send her off to marry,” Ser Tyland Lannister suggested. “As the king and her uncle, it is well within your right to secure an alliance through marrying off the females in your bloodline.” 

Aemonds blood boiled. These men wished to marry off. Send you away to spend your days with some old pig. What enraged him most, however, was the look of consideration Aegon had. The bastard was actually considering it. Aemond couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped his lips. 

“Something funny, Brother?” Aegon jests, his eyes narrowing. 

“It is a stupid plan.” Aemond replies simply, his eye staring back at Aegon in a silent challenge. 

“And what else would you suggest? Aemond the Fierce” Aegon was mocking him. He only used that title, that nickname, as a way of belittling Aemond. 

“I have been in contact with the pretender,” Aemond lies, “She is willing to bargain for her daughter's safe return home.” 

Aegon study’s Aemond for a moment, trying to work out if the lie was just that, a lie. When he finally speaks, it’s slow as if the words are being carefully chosen.

“You’ve been conversing. With the pretender. And you didn’t think to tell me?” Aegon rests his arms on the table in front of him, folding his hands. 

“Gaoma oznehurkta mīrēbagon aō bēvules. (You had more pressing matters to attend to.)” Aemond replies, leaning back in his chair casually. “Skorkydoso istan ziry? Naejot ōdrikagon nykeā ābra bona istan ōregion ilagon? Gōntan ziry mazverdagon ao kraj? Kostōba? Issi ao jōzigon hen skoros ao gōntan, lēkia? Skorkydoso kostōba jāhor ao sagon lo nyke gaomagon keskydoso naejot ao? Nyke pendagon. (How was it? To hurt a woman that was held down? Did it make you powerful? Strong? Are you proud of what you did, brother? How strong will you be if I do the same to you. I wonder.) 

His voice eerily calm as he speaks to his brother, taunting Aegon in his own way as the elder had never quite gotten a grasp on the language. He watched Aegon slowly work through what each word meant and try to form a rebuttal. The rest of the council silently watched the two brothers, stock still and muscles tense. 

Aemond quirked a brow, tilting his head, “Sȳrī…skoros iksos aōha udligon? (Well… what is your answer?)” 

Aegon’s face turns a light shade of red and his jaw clenches. Abruptly standing, he addresses the rest of the council. “I will need to think over all of the options given today. We will meet again in the morning.” 

The members stood, waiting for their king to leave the room first. As Aegon passed Aemond he paused, leaning in to whisper, “Be careful, brother. Your heart is showing.”

You claw desperately at the hands around your throat. Your legs thrash underneath you, trying to kick away the Kingsguard that had you pinned against the jagged stone wall. You could feel the stone digging into your back, cutting and scratching against the flesh. 

“Not so high and mighty now, eh, but princess.” Ser Criston Cole sneers, his grip tightening. There would be marks left, you briefly thought. 

You reach out a hand and scratch at his face, your nails leaving angry red lines in his cheek as he hisses and lets go of your neck. You drop to the ground like dead weight, coughing and wheezing as you try to catch your breath. 

“You bitch!” Ser Criston growls. He grabs a fistful of your hair at the roots and yanks, forcing you to your knees. The back of his hand connects with your cheek, the armor cutting into your skin and you feel as blood trails down over your jaw. His lip curls in disgust, “The council met today. They discussed what to do with you.” 

He releases the grip on your hair, glaring down at you. He rolls you onto your back with the bottom of his shoe before stepping down on your stomach. You groan in pain, trying to lift his foot off of you. 

“They mentioned sending you away to marry. Probably an old pig.” Ser Criston mocks. “Or maybe…” he moves his foot, stepping over you and kneeling, straddling your mid section. He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of your head, and whispers against your ear. “Maybe, we should send you back to your mother as used goods.” 

He laughed, watching your eyes grow wide in fear. You thrash underneath him, fighting to push him off of you. Ser Criston gathers your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head, using the other to turn your face to the side. He leans down, licking up the side of your neck before biting down on the flesh where your neck and shoulder meets. 

Tears stream down your cheeks as he continues, roughly pulling the top of your sleepwear down to uncover you. Ser Criston hums in appreciation as he trails his tongue over your breasts. 

“Please… stop,” You whimper. 

He covers your mouth with his free hand. “Whores. Don’t. Speak.” He spits out before roughly removing his hand.

Without letting go of your wrists, he maneuvers your bodies. He now kneels between your legs, which are spread around his waist. His free hand trails down your body. You try to scream for help but his hand returns to your mouth, muffling your cries as his fingers dig painfully into your cheek. Your wrists are freed from his grasp as he begins to hastily work at removing his cock from his trousers. 

And then suddenly, Ser Criston is no longer above you. His hand no longer over your mouth, his body no longer between your legs as Aemond yanks him away and punches him squarely across the jaw. Aemond hits him again, knocking the Kingsguard to the floor. He kneels over top of Ser Criston, repeatedly punching his face. Blood splattered against the floor and bones break with sickening crunches as Aemond all but roars in anger, not stopping until the Kingsguard is laying limp and unrecognizable. 

Aemond stands slowly as he uses Ser Criston’s white cloak to wipe the blood off of himself, panting harshly as the adrenaline leaves him. Pushing out a breath of air, Aemond turns to you. 

You had barely moved from where Ser Criston had you pinned, only shifting to cover yourself. You stare, wide eyed like a doe, as Aemond crouches before you and cups your cheek gently. 

Resting his forehead against yours he apologizes, “I’m so sorry…” 

You shake your head, “it wasn’t your fault..” 

“I still feel guilty all the same..” He shifts, lightly grasping your wrists and unlocking the chains that keep you bound to the small cell. Standing, Aemond holds his hands out to help you stand, “We need to hurry, can you walk?” 

You stand on shaky legs, taking a tentative step before your legs give out beneath you. “It appears not…” you joke, laughing dryly before wincing and clutching at your stomach.

Aemond bends, placing one arm behind your knees and the other around your waist. He mutters a quick, “Place your arms around my neck,” before lifting you. 

As quietly and quickly as he can while holding you, Aemond makes his way towards the opposite end of the hall from the entrance. Against the wall hangs a large portrait of Maegor I. 

“Love, can you pull the portrait from the wall?” Aemond quietly asks. You nod, reaching out a hand and pulling at the frame. 

After a few tugs at it, the portrait finally shifts as the unused hinges groan. Behind the portrait sits a passageway that appears to have been forgotten for some time. Spiderwebs cover the ceiling and dust gathers in the corners. Torches line the walls but few are actually lit. Aemond had lit them before coming to you, he explains.

“Use your sleeve to cover your mouth and nose, it’ll be easier to breathe.” Aemond says as he steps into the passageway before the portrait swings shut with an echoing thud. 

The trek is slow, but eventually you reach an old door at the end of the hallway. Aemond carefully sets you down, “I’m going to make sure it’s safe, I’ll be right back.” He whispers, placing a kiss against your forehead. 

He disappears beyond the door for a moment and you hear deep rumbling sounds that vibrate the earth below you. When he reappears moments later, scooping you up into his arms again and swiftly exiting the hidden passageway, you are met with the sight of Vhagar. Carefully he lifts you up onto her saddle, with help from Vhagar as she shrinks down as close as she can to the ground. It takes some careful effort but eventually you are seated in front of Aemond as he guides the dragon into the sky. 

As Vhagar levels out above the clouds your body relaxes. No longer feeling the need to be on edge. With your body relaxing, the adrenaline running through you dissipates and a sharp pain rips through you. You scream out, in equal parts shock and pain. Curling in on yourself as you clench your eyes shut. 

“What is it?” Aemond asks, concern lacing his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t–“ Another scream of pain is ripped from your throat, “I don’t know!” You sob, tears running down your cheeks. 

“Adere (Quick), Vhagar!” Aemond urges the dragon to fly faster. “Endure just a little longer, Issa jorrāelagon (my love), we will reach Dragonstone soon..” 

Your eyes snap to his, “Dragonstone?! No.. Aemond they will– argh!… they’ll kill you..” 

“It’s a risk I’ll take for you.” Aemond says. He knew the risk he was taking by bringing you back, but he knew your mother enough to think he would be able to converse and explain himself. He hopes he’s right in his assessment of Rhaenyra.

Upon nearing Dragonstone, Aemond spots the yellow scales of Syrax and the red serpent-like neck of Caraxes waiting for him on the outermost rocks. He circles Vhagar lower until she can carefully land on the uneven terrain. 

“It’ll be alright love.. you’ll be okay.” He whispers into your hair as he places, what might be his last, kiss against your forehead. He slides off of Vhagar’s back, turning to help you down. Once you are safe within his arms, Aemond turns towards your mother and Daemon. 

“I come in peace!” He calls to them, “She is hurt, I know not how badly..”

Your mother is the first to close the distance, rushing to where you are cradled against Aemonds chest. “What happened to her?” Your mother hisses. 

“She was beaten while in the dungeons.. but there is time to discuss that later. She needs a maester.” Aemond responds curtly. Your mother opens her arms and moves to take you from Aemond, who’s grip tightens around you. You curl further against him, your hands clenching the fabric of his shirt tightly, and whine as another jab of pain runs through you. 

“Aemond…” You voice weakly. He looks down to you, face wet with tears and brows scrunched in pain. 

“I will carry her.” He says to your mother in a way that leaves no room for argument. Her jaw clenches, but she nods and turns to lead him to your room.

The maester’s tests were there own form of torture. All the poking and prodding had you screaming from the pain until you eventually passed out. They cleaned your wounds and dressed you in something warmer to fight off the chill that took over your body. It’s when they removed the dirty sleep shirt you had been in, that they notice blood between your legs.

“We believe that the princess was with child,” the maester relays to Aemond and Rheanyra. “It is likely that the source of her pain was the death of the babe. My deepest sympa–” 

Aemonds hearing muffles. He can see the maesters lips moving as he speaks, and Rheanyra’s as she responds. But he can’t hear the words over the ringing in his ears. 

You were pregnant. You were pregnant. He was going to be a father… wasn’t, not anymore. 

His feet were moving before he could tell them to, carrying him down the hall to your room. To you. 

Opening the door and shutting it as quietly as possible he turns to face you. You’re laying in the middle of your bed, propped up by multiple pillows, sleeping. He crosses the room to you, carefully climbing into the bed and curling around you. 

“Mm.. Aemond?” You ask groggily, looking at him. You notice the far off look in his eye and reach a hand up to his cheek, startling him slightly. “Is everything– are you okay?” 

“I have some bad news, my dear..” He says quietly. Taking a deep breath he tells you, “You were pregnant.. but the trauma you endured… you lost the child..” 

You stare at him, mouth parted slightly. “I was… I…” You stutter, struggling to wrap your head around it. 

“Yes, love… you were..” Aemond says. He pulls you closer to him, tucking your head against chest. “But, we’ll get through it.. together.” 

“Together…” You whisper.

Part 1 Part 2

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Spoilers for Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

I haven't actually finished the game but I was thinking, what if Zelda never returns to being a hylian and just remains a dragon forever? Who would be the next in line for the throne?

That's right.

Link. Why?

1. Link is from a long family of knights and one of the only known and confirmed nobles in the game

2. Link is one of the only people in Hyrule to know many classified secrets of the royal family (especially if he regains all his memories from his time as Zeldas personal guard and whatnot)

3. Link has saved and aided all of the different tribes on multiple occasions and united them under him.

4. He has personal friendly relationships with all the tribes leaders aka the chiefs and Zora king

5. Link is pretty good as descalating conflicts and finding middle grounds

6. Link is cononically just as compassionate and lovable as Zelda is and would be beloved as Prince

Theres more but I think you got the picture. Just imagine Prince Link, uncomfortable about this turn of events but willing to do what is best for his people.

So I propose a plot for the new DLC: Of course theres a new Big Bad (maybe a sorcerer like Vaati or something) who makes themselves a castle of thier own in the Depths and is trying to take over hyrule but in a different way than we've seen before. Sure they still create monster and cause havoc but they also do political stuff like scandal and slander

Link gathering alliances with the people of the different tribes and trying to clear his name after he's been framed for crimes he did not commit maybe? He, that doesn't really fit the vibe with what I'm going for, but what if the new Big Bad tried to make the people of Hyrule like him more and use thier love of him as a way into power?

Maybe disasters keep happening and the new guys servents/knights keeps saving the day but things keep getting worse and worse. Maybe there could be a new game mechanic where there's a ward or talisman that stops dark magic/ evil entities from entering the city and most of the disasters in that area stopping entirely and when the servent/knight tries to enter the city they hit a magic barrier and it sounds like a mosquitoe getting zapped by a bug zapper and they scream, revealing themselves to be a monster who had been the one causing all the disasters in the first place. The civilians freak out and the monster flees.

Link and the sage of that area believed in Link the whole time/was suspicious of the servant/knight follows the monster with Link and they find a maze like nest the monster has created

Cue dungeon

Cue boss battle

Rinse and repeat for all the sages people (maybe there are some previously unknown Zonai survivors that Minaru is awed and excited to find and she takes them in idk) maybe they were lost in time or something. Maybe thats where the big bad came from and the the Zonai children interrupted the Big Bads spell and thay wound up in the distant future, the children later running away in confusion and terror. So new tribe and dungeon? Just a thought

DLC features:

1. MASSIVE main quest to renovate the castle where you get to redecorate it however you want. Like you get to choose the furniture and decorations and have things restored to thier former glory. Granted you have to pay for repairs out of your own pocket (taxes can only go so far and thats going towards rebuilding the towns and stuff) and you get to put up your own pictures to replace those torn apart portraits and stuff you see around the castle in BOTW and TOTK. You can put up pictures of Hyrules former royals, the champions, the sages, ect. Or you can go the painting route where someone paints the photos you have on your Purah Pad like in your house in Terry Town. I would buy the DLC just for this to be honest

As you renovate the castle and dig out all the collaped pathways you get new memories of Links time as a soldier and get to see his family as well as memories with Zelda

I would throw so much money at Nintendo just to be able to renovate the castle to my liking. Like, so much you have no idea

2. Link getting a freaking crown and royal armor sets. One for prince and another after he's corinated as king near the end of the game

Armor sets based off of the new and old boss monsters

Armor sets based off of the mini-boss monsters including Gloom Hands (this one looks horrifying btw) and you get some kinda boost from each that represents that specific monster like a Hinox set giving you a food affect boost and Gloom Hands set boosts the power of the Phantom Ganon drops

Maybe a sage set that boosts the powers of the sages a bit

Forest dweller set that increases the durability of wooden weapons

3. Rebuilding the town ruins and creating homes for people all over hyrule like the Deya village ruins and Tabantha ruins and you can do it Lurelin Village style (I loved that side quest it was actually pretty fun)

Anyway, this is me officially releasing this idea to Nintendo it they want it so long as they credit me for the ideas they use from me. They don't even have to pay me (but hiring me would be nice)

Here's a poll to maybe help convince them this is a good idea

@nintendo :)

[drew-mga2022mi6014]

Gameplay | Duration

The flow of this game is not advanced by player actions, but instead chronologically via turns. Turn based games are games in which the player gets to perform actions within a "turn." However, this is where distinction can vary. A turn could be limited to picking the next attack for a single or multiple characters (see the Final Fantasy series).

There are some differences in how single and multiplayer turn-based games play out. When playing against other humans, both players start without obvious advantages for balancing reasons (unless decided to add a “handicap” during match creation). In single player games the opposition often start in an advantageous position and the player has to slowly overcome that and triumph against them. Some famous examples are Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Pokémon, Divinity, and Darkest Dungeon.

The appeal of turn based games comes from the development of strategic depth that comes with facing various threats, thoughtful decision making as a result, and the accessibility to different groups of people who can take their time with the game. These are also the reasons that align with why I wanted to create a turn based experience. In my game, two types of turns are planned for;

Combat Turns : These are the turns in which battles take place.

Garden Turns : These are turns where the player is expected to take care of their current plants, and purchase new ones alongside other goods, prevent weeds from spreading.

In Garden Turns, expending a resource and removing weeds take one turn. When playing in a group, a Garden Turn concludes when each player has finished taking an action.

eg;- One player waters a plant on their tile, then another removes a weed from their respective tile, and another prepares the soil for another tile.

One Garden Turn equates to one "Day". Then, every 7 "Days", not including the first turn of the game, an enemy wave spawns on the Garden, initiating Combat Turns.

Screen Capture from Octopath Traveler

These are different to Garden Turns, as one action does not advance a Day forward. Instead, a Day only concludes once the pests have been removed from the Garden. In Combat Turns, the pest will always attack first, dealing damage to the player's Plant. The first player can then retaliate using an Effect Card, which deducts a certain amount of health from the pest, and sometimes remove the pest entirely. Then, the next pest attacks the next player's plant, and they have a chance to retaliate, and so on and so forth until no pests remain on the Garden, or until no Plants remain.

eg;- Pest 1 Attacks Plant 1 -> Plant 1 takes damage -> Player 1 retaliates with an Effect Card -> Pest 1 Takes Damage -> Pest 2 Attacks Plant 2 -> Plant 2 takes damage -> Player 2 retaliates with an Effect Card -> Pest 2 Takes Damage -> Repeat from Pest 1...

Once all pests have been removed from the Garden, the Day concludes, players earn coin to spend at the shop and Garden Turns proceed as normal. However, if no plants remain on the field, the game is lost. The same is true for Boss Encounters, except instead of earning coin, the game concludes with a win. This system is inspired by how combat is handled in RPG games, in tandem with mechanics typical of card driven wargames.

The planned duration of the entire game as of now is 28 in-game Days, which is to say 23 Garden Turns, 4 Enemy Encounters, and 1 Boss Encounter at the very end of the game. Based on this, I would place playtime for this game between half an hour to an hour and a half. This would be finalised after testing the product with different audiences.

[webslinger-holland]

The Responsible One | Eddie Munson

Summary: Out of the Hellfire club, the reader is the most responsible one and basically the mother of the group. But Eddie can’t bring himself to confess his feelings.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warning: none

Type: Oneshot

It has all started the first week of senior year. Now this was Eddie’s third time repeating his senior year, but he claimed this time was going to be different. And it was for one reason.

With each school year, Eddie picked out some little ‘lost sheep’ in the crowd to become part of his Hellfire Club. Just last semester, Eddie had found the most unlikely person to join their group. Her name was Y/n L/n.

In January, Eddie saw her coming to sit at the far end of their table. She silently sat by herself, lowering her tray of gross cafeteria food on the table. Then Y/n proceeded to pull out a D&D Monsters Manual book.

This caused Eddie to spit out the milk he was drinking from his little carton. The other members of the group turned to look at him with a quizzical look in their eyes. He’d never seen a girl that was interested in the game. He tipped his head to motion to the strange girl and all of their eyes followed his gaze.

By the end of the week, Eddie had worked up the courage to approach her and ask her if she wanted to join their club. She happily agreed to.

When Eddie received the news that he wouldn’t be graduating and he’d have to repeat his senior year once again, he wasn’t necessarily upset like all the other times.

This meant that he’d get to spend another year building his Hellfire Club. It also meant he’d get to spend more time with her.

At the start of the new year, the Hellfire Club was short on three people since three of their members had graduated in the spring. It didn’t take long for them to recruit three kids named Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. They were die hard fans of the game and they had been playing since they were little.

They proved their worth on multiple occasions, helping defeat various monsters. On Fridays, the club would wear their Hellfire shirts since they planned to play after school. This week was no different.

At lunch, Eddie lifted his gaze to stare at Y/n while he mindlessly played with his mashed potatoes. She was situated between Mike and Dustin.

The two boys had one of their first midterms coming up next week. Neither of them had studied. So Y/n was helping them out by walking them through some of the problems.

“Then the exponent goes-,” Y/n voice trailed off.

“Right there,” Dustin exclaimed as if the light had finally gone off in his head and it all made sense to him.

“Exactly!” Y/n said with a broad smile on her face. She scribbled on the piece of paper to write down the answer to the equation.

Eddie kept his gaze on his food, but the corners of his lips cracked into a small smile. He stole a quick glance towards her.

“Algebra is so much easier when you explain it. You’re even better than Mrs Miller,” Mike stated. He claimed he never learned anything from his teacher.

“Well, I’ve tutored a lot of kids. I’ve had practice,” Y/n explained.

“Speaking of tutoring,” Y/n peered around the boys to look towards the head of the table. “Do you need any help studying for Mrs O’Donnells midterm?” Y/n wondered.

While Y/n knew that Eddie’s grades weren’t the best in school and that he had failed Mrs O’Donnell’s class twice, Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if he needed or wanted any help.

“N-No thanks,” Eddie stumbled over his words. He quickly diverted his gaze by staring down at his food.

“Alright. If you change your mind, just let me know,” Y/n said as she rose to her feet. “I-I should get going. Got another class here soon,” she excused herself.

“See you after school,” Dustin called after her.

Once she was out of their line of sight, everyone turned their heads to look at the dungeon master himself. He raised his own head and looked at all of them. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

“What?” Eddie wondered.

“You never take up her offer to tutor you,” Dustin noticed.

“Don’t need to,” Eddie claimed. “I am crawling my way towards a D- in Mrs O’Donnells class.”

“And one bad score on your midterm could drop you even further back,” Lucas stated.

“Listen man,” Eddie began. “I appreciate the effort, but believe me, if Y/n tutored me…I wouldn’t learn anything.”

“What makes you say that?” Dustin perked up.

“It’s because he wouldn’t be focusing on the homework if you know what I mean,” Garett smirked and quirked his eyebrow.

“Shut up!” Eddie yelled.

“You like her?!” Dustin exclaimed in a quiet whisper. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“How long have you had a crush on her?” Mike questioned.

“Ever since he saw her last semester reading a monsters manual,” Jeff interjected.

“Took him a week to finally talk to her,” Garett added since he had also been there last year to witness it.

“And he’s been gone every since,” Jeff added.

“Will you two just shut up?” Eddie demanded. He slammed his hands down on the table which caused all of them to jump and drop the subject.

There were a couple moments of awkward silence at the table. No one even dared speak up unless they wanted their head to get bitten off.

As if on cue, the lunch bell rang to signal the end of the period. Everyone at the table began to collect their things, throwing their trash onto their trays. One by one, they stood up to go their separate ways.

Finally, Eddie and Dustin were the last two at the table. They had a sort of bond. And Eddie couldn’t deny that he was closer to Dustin than the other two. There was just something about him that was loveable. It was almost like he was his younger brother.

“Hey. Listen,” Dustin said cautiously. “I know you probably don’t want to talk to Y/n because you don’t want to ruin the friendship you guys have.”

When Eddie didn’t say anything, Dustin took that as a cue to continue. He spoke softly so nobody could hear him.

“I don’t know much about girls but I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She really likes you,” Dustin tried.

“No,” Eddie shook his head in denial. “No, she’s like that to everyone. She’s just a kind hearted person. I’m no different than everyone else,” Eddie said.

“Well, if you say so.” Dustin sighed. He took his tray and began to walk away.

After Hellfire, Eddie always offered to drive the younger boys home since it was usually late at night. He’d also take Y/n home since she lived only ten minutes away from him.

The three boys clambered into the back of his van, obsessing over their last campaign session. They had just barely survived, but it was such an epic win. They couldn’t help talk about it.

Meanwhile, Eddie climbed into the driver’s seat and Y/n was seated in the passenger’s seat. He began to drive away.

He really wasn’t listening to the boys in the backseat, opting to steal temporary glances towards the person beside him. When Y/n would turn her head to look at him, Eddie would quickly look back towards the road. She smiled to herself.

Slowly, Eddie pulled up to Lucas’s house. He put the van in park and waited until he climbed out of the vehicle. All of the sudden, Y/n rolled down to window to call out to him.

“Don’t forget to study for your midterm,” Y/n called.

“Yes mom,” Lucas rolled his eyes while walking backwards. He sent her a small smile and a wave.

The van started up again. They began driving further down the street, taking a couple turns until they came to the next house.

At the Wheeler home, Mrs Wheeler was looking out the living room window. She had heard the van pulling up. She went to open the door and welcomed her teenage son home. She sent a small wave to the van as if to say thank you for bringing him home safely.

“What about that Eddie Munson and Y/n L/n?” Mrs Wheeler asked her son after she closed the front door.

“What about them?” Mike asked. He headed towards the kitchen and grabbed a cookie from the cookie jar.

“They’d make a good couple,” Mrs Wheeler confessed. She looked out the window to watch them drive away.

“They’re kinda polar opposites,” Mike said as if saying he knew them better than anyone. “Eddie is rebellious and Y/n is the responsible one of the group.”

“Opposites attract,” Mrs Wheeler claimed with a small smile. “You never know,” Mrs Wheeler insisted.

“Whatever,” Mike rolled his eyes. “Goodnight mom.”

By the time the van drove up to Dustin’s home, Dustin was fast asleep in the backseat. The two older kids turned their heads to look over their shoulder, smiling at the sight of Dustin sleeping with his mouth wide open.

“Should I scare him awake?” Eddie whispered.

“No! That would be mean,” Y/n stated. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the passenger door. She climbed out of the vehicle, prying open the door of the backseat.

Hesitantly, Y/n laid her hand on the young boy’s shoulder to waken him gently. He stirred in his sleep, tossing his head from side to side. He opened his eyes slowly.

“Hey Dustin,” Y/N whispered so softly. “You’re home.”

Lazily, Dustin unbuckled his own seatbelt and climbed out of the vehicle. She went to grab his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders. She then proceeded to zip him up like a mother would do for her own child.

She took his backpack out of the van. She handed it to him. She threw his cap on his head before gently pushing him towards his house. He shuffled up the driveway lazily and tiredly.

Afterwards, Y/n climbed back into the van. She buckled her seatbelt quickly. When she turned her head, she found Eddie looking directly at her with a small smile on his face.

“What?” Y/n smiled.

“Nothing,” Eddie shrugged. “You’re like the mom of the group.”

“Guilty,” Y/n laughed.

In that moment, Eddie started the van once again and drove away. The two of them sat in the most comfortable silence. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of wind coming through the cracked window.

When Eddie looked at Y/n, he saw her hair blowing in the wind as she looked out the window. Her facial features seemed to glow in the light of the moon. She looked heavenly.

Much to Eddie’s dismay, he made the turn to her house. He pulled into her driveway and turned the keys of his van. The two of them sat there in silence for a couple minutes.

Suddenly, Eddie turned his head to look at the young girl sitting beside him. He clambered out of his own car, which caused his car to rock back and forth. He hurriedly ran around the backside of his car like the insane kid he was.

He went to open her door for her. He offered his hand to her like a gentleman. She smiled at his actions, gladly taking his hand as he escorted her out of the van. He closed the door behind her.

The two of them walked towards her front door. As she began to unlock the front door, he leaned against the door frame. He watched her movements so carefully. He mentally took note of how her hands shook slightly which caused him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“Well, this is me.” Y/n said nervously. She motioned to the door.

“Right,” Eddie nodded. He shoved his hands into the depths of his pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet.

She said a small goodbye before opening the door of her house. She walked into her house, closing the door in a slow motion.

“Wait! Y/n!” Eddie called.

To stop the door from closing, Eddie took a step forward and slammed the flat of his hand against the solid door. He held it open.

“W-would you still be willing to tutor me? I don’t want to fail my class again. I could really use the help…just didn’t know how to ask for it,” Eddie confessed.

“Of course I’ll help you,” Y/n said with a small smile on her face.

“Say tomorrow? Around 3pm?” Eddie suggested.

“Alright,” Y/n agreed with a curt nod. “I’ll see you then.”

Once again, Y/n began to close the door behind her. But Eddie had to ask her one more question. He put his hand out again to stop the door from closing.

“A-And maybe…i-if you want to,” Eddie said slowly. “I could take you out to dinner afterwards,” Eddie offered.

“Eddie Munson,” Y/n said slowly. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Would that be such a bad thing if I was?” Eddie challenged.

“No. It wouldn’t be.” Y/n said with a small shake of the head.

“Great,” Eddie said. “Then it’s a date.”

In response, Eddie could feel the corners of his lips tugging into a broad smile. He stuffed his hands back into his leather jacket pockets.

Out of nowhere, Eddie awkwardly stepped forward and leaned down to her eye height. He pecked his lips against her in the most innocent manner. It was so quick that either of them could really process that it just happened. It only lasted a second.

When Eddie had pulled away, he quickly dropped his gaze to stare down at his feet. He kicked some of the gravel with the heel of his foot. He was trying to bud the evident blush creeping up his face and coloring his cheeks.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/n was also blushing profusely at his action. She popped her lips into her mouth to hide the growing smile from forming in her face. She balanced her height from one leg to the other.

“Alright,” Eddie announced a little louder than normal. He took a step backwards so she could finally close the door. “I‘ll see you tomorrow,” Eddie said.

“For our date,” Y/n confirmed. She watched him take a couple more steps backwards, heading towards his van.

“Yes! For our date,” Eddie repeated. “I’ll see you there.”

“Bye Eddie,” Y/n said. She finally closed the door behind her.

“Goodbye Y/n,” Eddie said to nothing in particular.

As if he didn’t believe what just happened, Eddie spun around on the heels of his feet. He pondered his thoughts carefully, reliving everything that just happened.

In disbelief, Eddie weaves his fingers through his long locks of hair. He smiled to himself, scoffing at the mere idea that he had a date. He hurried to the driver’s side of his car.

Once inside, Eddie closed the door behind him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly. Then Eddie jumped enthusiastically in his seat. He cheered to himself in success. It had taken him long enough to work up his courage. Now he’s be reaping the benefits. And he had a date tomorrow night.

[lorkynn]

Pathfinder 2e vs. Dungeons & Dragons 5e

And why I switched to PF2e from D&D5e.

In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if this blog-post was ever gonna happen. I was sure if I was gonna put on my main blog or my side blog, Mindelves. I feel like it should go here because I am probably not gonna use my main blog for its original purpose anymore. Though I’ve rambled long enough, time to actually get to the meat-and-potatoes--or rather the pen-and-paper--of this blog.

I was an early adopter of Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition (D&D5e), because I was not happy with the state of Pathfinder 1e. It was just too bloated and the power creep was pretty much identical to the issues with D&D3/3.5. My other issues with pf1e was it was way too easy to get locked into a dead build that was no longer fun to play because it wasn’t optimal. D&D5e offered a fresh take on the zeitgeist of the Dungeon Crawling Fantasy that Dungeons & Dragons popularized.

In the beginning, before the adoption of it in pop-culture, the game was fun and it honestly shook things up like they needed to be. Skills were simplified into proficiency bonuses and this worked extremely well. Spellcaster Cantrips were made into at-will abilities, identical to how they worked in Pathfinder 1e, and the classes + archetype design worked well. Outside of these changes, they made pretty safe choices and didn’t rock the boat much.

Early on, Wizards of the Coast (WotC) was focusing heavily on Modules instead of expanding on character choices. Which was good in the beginning, but it slowly caught up to them. Now, the biggest issue is that WotC is too busy listening their Shareholders and the Beholder/Mindflayer know as Social Media & Twitter. The game isn’t fun, the adventure paths make you’re rushing through to get to the “good parts” of the adventures. They’re also too scared to do anything that might upset the Twitter Gods, so they back-peddle on every decisions that gets the tiniest push back. To add insult to injury, the last few releases, weren’t just bad, they constantly contradict themselves in the same book. Success through Pop Culture really ruined the system.

As for Pathfinder 2e(PF2e), I wasn’t impressed with at first. Every review that I had seen of it painted the picture of it being different for different’s sake. I wanted nothing to do with that mindset. The irony is, PF2e saw that the D&D3.75 just wasn’t working anymore and they really needed to do their own thing. They changed Races into Ancestries & Heritages. There is no longer the standard action economy, and we now have the Three-Action Economy, and I tell you what, it makes it hard going back to older/other systems. It just works, and it makes you think far more tactically and strategically.

Classes are highly customizable. In the beginning the customization was an issue because it was very easy for all the classes to repeat builds because there wasn’t much options. Now, Paizo has two-years under the belt with pf2e and it shows. The have released multiple Adventure Paths and the Lost Omens books. This has given PF2e the much needed injection of options that the original release just didn’t have. Paizo themselves are doing a great job listening to their community instead of the people that don’t actually play their game, and it shows in their products.

Sadly, I haven’t ran a custom campaign or I would speak of that full here.

My friends and I have been playing PF2e with Foundry through Forge, and I gotta say, using virtual tabletop(VTT) definitely makes a lot of the tedious stuff easier to swallow. Normally I hate keeping track of weight and ammo, but because the VTT does all this for you automatically as you play, it makes for a much smoother and enjoyable experience.

Will I ever go back to D&D5e after having played PF2e? Probably not. The changes that the Three-Action-Economy does too much good for the game for me to even think about trying to old Action-Economy anymore. If you have the time to try it, I recommend giving Pathfinder 2e a try, especially since all the rules are up for free through Archives of Nethys. WotC are now trying to charge you a subscription service, and they still refuse to produce PDFs of their books. The next version of D&D, One D&D, is already looking like a train-wreck that is only there please shareholders and the twitter zeitgeist.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E5; Chapter Five, The Flea and The Acrobat - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘳. 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

His heart racing, Hopper could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he ran through the twisted corridors of the Lab. Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he swiftly maneuvered the facility be had just broken into in search of the missing boy.

"Will?" His desperate calls echoed off of the cold tile walls.

"Will?"

In the midst of his frantic haste, he had gotten turned around. The chilling corridors all seemed the same and a new wave of panic flooded him. Taking a deep breath, the chief tried his best to recompose himself. He came across a crossroads, it resembled a four-way intersection that one may find on an ominous back road in the country. He stared ahead and sighed.

Each corridor was identical to the next. Cold and unwelcoming.

"You gotta be shittin' me." He growled under his breath.

Grabbing his bearings, the man kept straight and hoped for the best.

The hallway stretched for what felt like miles, when finally, after a few turns, it came to a dead end. He looked around and noticed this was quite different than the others.

The chief's instincts that had earned him the title in the first place suggested to him that the small corner of the facility had been long forgotten. This particular area had been neglected the upkeep that was evident in the rest of the laboratory. Ahead of him lay two doors; an old broom closet, labeled as such, and a rather ominous looking door, with an accompanying window with a glimpse inside an untidy room.

This particular room piqued his interest. The door was closed, though the handle seemed to be broken, the room ajar. Hopper cautiously stepped toward the door, reaching his arm out and slowly pushed it open.

Hopper stepped inside the cluttered room, his heart racing, not knowing what to expect. It was clear that the room was designed to have a greater purpose, but had been hastily abandoned and eventually forgotten. It seemed that just about every item in the room, much like the rest of the facility, was made of steel. From the counters to the filing cabinets with half-opened drawers. His eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he stepped inside and around the steel table to the cabinet on the opposite end of the room.

Knowing he had little time, he shone his flashlight into the drawer and he quickly rifled through the filing cabinet waiting for something that might catch his eye. Hopper sighed in disappointment when he found nothing useful. He began to shut the filing cabinet in defeat when he caught a small glimpse of a peculiar label shoved all the way to the back, almost like it was meant to be forgotten.

Tilting his head in curiosity, Hop pulled the drawer out as far as it would go and even then, the man had to reach for the file. It a wonder he caught it in the first place. He pulled it from the drawer and examined the front with haste.

The label on the edge of the manilla folder had been scratched out and written over many times that it was now indistinguishable. The front cover was all blank, except for a few words that had been scribbled in black ink.

SUBJECT 009; THE MISSING EXPERIMENT

The familiar words sparked something in Hopper. With no time to waste he shoved the file into his jacket and closed the cabinet, making a run for the door.

Fortunately, Hopper was able to retrace his steps back to the where he had gotten lost, this time making a right turn down the hallway. He continued his calls for Will when suddenly, he found himself in a room, not that different from the strange room he found himself in earlier. Only this room, contained a bed.

And a security camera, which happened to be the first thing Hopper noticed when he entered.

He stepped closer to the bed, the light of the flashlight landing on a small stuffed animal, that was placed neatly at the top of the bed near the pillow. Frowning, Hopper moved his flashlight to the wall above the bed, a small piece of printer paper had been taped to the wall.

It was a drawing, clearly done by a child.

There were two people depicted in the drawing, in the form of stick figures. What appeared to be a tall man standing next to a smaller stick figure who he could only assume to be artist. The child wore a frown, and they faced a table that appeared to have a cat on it. Hopper almost didn't notice the words above each stick figure.

Above the child, was the number eleven. And above the man, written in messy handwriting was a single word.

Papa.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

The five of us were scattered around Mike's basement. El was curled up on the couch, most likely physically exhausted from contacting Will. Mike was sitting at the opposite end of the couch by El's feet, concentration etched in his features. Lucas occupied the lounge chair deep in thought while Dustin resides at the bottom of the stairs.

"What was Will saying?" Mike wondered.

He began reciting Will's words from earlier in an attempt to recall the only clue we might have that he might be alive.

"Like home... Like home... but dark?" He stood up from the couch, hands still in his jacket pockets as he began pacing the room.

"And empty." Lucas pressed his intertwined fingers against his forehead, his eyes closed deep in thought.

My leg bounced up and down at an alarming rate, a nervous habit I picked up at a young age as I spoke up, my eyes still focused on one random corner of the room.

"And cold."

Dustin sighed.

"Empty and cold. Wait, did he say cold?" He looked around the room, seeming to second guess himself.

"I don't know, I think? The stupid radio kept going in and out." Lucas sighed.

"He did. He said cold." I muttered, unable to shake the haunting voice of my friend's terrified cries for help.

"Like home." Mike repeated once more. "Like his house?"

"Or maybe like Hawkins." Lucas offered eagerly.

"Upside Down." El muttered.

"What'd she say?" Lucas asked.

"Upside Down." Mike said, a hint of astonishment in his voice as something seemed to have clicked.

"What?" Lucas repeated.

Mike walked over to the table I sat at and looked at the overturned game board. It was then, I recalled what El had been telling us the other night, with Will's game piece.

My mouth fell into a silent gasp as everything began falling into place. I turned myself back around in the chair and looked at the board.

"Upside down." I breathed.

Mike had taken a seat across from me, both hands on the game board while the other boys got up and joined us at the table.

Mike began flipping the board over multiple times as he explained.

"When El showed us where Will was, she flipped the board over, remember? Upside down. Dark. Empty. Cold." He finished, locking eyes with me as he said the last word.

"Do you understand what he's talking about?" Lucas asked me and Dustin.

We replied simultaneously.

"Yes."

"No."

We both looked at each other with confusion and a hint of annoyance for a split second before dismissing the thought.

"Come on guys, think about it. When El took us to find Will, she took us to his house, right?" I offered, gesturing all around me as I spoke.

Lucas shrugged.

"Yeah. And he wasn't there."

"But what if he was there?" I offered, eyebrows raised as I looked between my brother and Lucas. "What if we just couldn't see him? What if he was on the other side?"

The boys, aside from Mike, of course, seemed to consider this. Mike jumped back in as he flipped the board right side up once more.

"What if this is Hawkins and..." he flipped it back. "This is where Will is? The Upside Down."

Dustin seemed to perk up as he connected his own dots.

"Like the Vale of Shadows."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dustin slammed Mike's collection of Dungeons and Dragons guides and spell books on the table and began flipping through the various guidebooks. After a few moments he stopped on the page he had been looking for and began to read aloud.

"The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters."

As he read the next sentence, Mike, Lucas and I all shared the same, unsettled look, and a chill ran down my spine.

"It is right next to you, and you don't even see it." Dustin finished, and looked up, sharing our looks of concern.

Mike spoke up.

"An alternate dimension."

It seemed I was not the only one who was having difficulty handling the information.

"But... how... how do we get there?" Lucas asked worriedly.

"We cast Shadow Walk." Dustin said.

"In real life, dummy." Lucas deadpanned.

"We can't shadow walk, but... maybe she can." Dustin offered.

We all look to a drowsy looking El.

"Do you know how we get there? To the Upside Down?" Mike asked her gently.

She shook her head softly and we all felt the heavy ache of disappointment. Some of us were better at hiding it.

"Oh, my God!" Lucas sighed dramatically.

I tuned out the bickering that began between the boys when I gestured for the handbook and Dustin complied, sliding it over to me.

Maybe, just maybe, there must be something in one of these books that could help us or even give us an idea. I began flipping through the spell book and found myself lingering on my characters class, the Druid. More specifically, the Druid spell pages, getting lost in thought.

My eyes scanned the pages, my hope and curiosity had bubbled down to desperation and boredom as I read the all too familiar page. This time, with a new lense.

I recognized the many spells I had used in previous campaigns; Produce Flame had gotten me out of a pinch with a mimic once, I smiled at the memory. And of course, Plant Growth - one of my personal favorites - Will would always tease me about my love for plants carried on into my character.

I soon found myself unable to tear my attention away from one of the lower class spells I always used, Cure Wounds. Something in the back of my mind kept gnawing at me. I bore my eyes into the page as I reread the words over and over again.

"You or a creature you touch regains a number of Hit Points equal to 1d8 + your Spellcasting ability modifier. This spell has no effect on Undead or constructs."

It dawned on me. That night we saw "Will". It was just moments before we heard the sirens, I realized my cut had mysteriously vanished. I had immediately gotten distracted when we heard the sirens and then everything happened one after the other that I had forgotten.

'How could I possibly have forgotten something like that?'

I thought about El. A week ago I never believed it possible to move things with your mind, but yet El could. It made me wonder.

I shook my head, clearly, I was grasping at straws.

'Remember what mom said?' I asked myself, some part of me desperate to bury the ridiculous notion growing in the back of my mind. 'My body has always been faster than most medicines.'

I broke myself out of my thoughts to see Dustin and Lucas packing up. Suddenly realizing how tired I was, I happily joined in and grabbed my jacket from the chair and we said our goodbyes.

[straightouttaneptune]

Opposites attract

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Slytherin!Reader, Platonic!Blaise Zabini x reader, Draco Malfoy x Pansy Parkinson, Platonic!Draco Malfoy x reader (The reader is race-neutral!)

Warning: I think there’s a couple swear words, uhh if you’re in love with Draco you probably shouldn’t read this, there is not a single sentence in this fic where Draco and Y/N are any more than friends. Actually, Y/N will commit an act of violence against him. (Don’t do this to your friends)

Summary: Blaise notices that his best friend, Y/N is different the second he sees her again after Summer break. You are a full-fledged pure-blood Slytherin, but during Summer, you got your heart stolen by a certain muggle-born Gryffindor.

A/N: I am OBSESSED with Gryffindor x Slytherin trope, I’m so sorry I will write a reader who’s in Hufflepuff soon! Also, I love Blaise Zabini? He deserves love :/ He a true King in this fic. Oh and Y/N & Hermione are a power couple who eat men ok cool happy reading!!

—————————————————————

It was a quiet evening in the Slytherin common room. The white noise of the light rain present, but none of you could see, for the Slytherins belonged in the dungeons.

You had your head rested on the lap of Blaise Zabini, your best friend, and your legs over the lap of Draco Malfoy. You wouldn’t say he was your best friend, per se- you didn’t always like how he acted. You thought of him more like a brother, in a way. An annoying brother, no less.

But while your friends engaged in some deep conversation about whatever they talked about, your mind was elsewhere. Since last week, you’ve been lost in the curious world of a strange muggle book titled “pride and prejudice”. You picked the damned book up every time you had some spare time.

“What’s this then? Never seen it before.” You recall 2 weeks ago, laying by the old oak tree of the city park, the bushy leaves shielding you from the blinding sunlight.

“You’ve never seen a book before?” She teases, playful laughter filling the crisp summer air.

“You know what I mean! C’mon, read to me.” You look up at her, sitting down with her back pressed against the tree. Her face was covered with the red cover of the book, but you could swear that what you were seeing deserved to be drawn on canvas and presented in museums. Her golden curls looked as if they were lighting up under the sun, her soft yet strong hands curling around the spine of the book.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife-”

Blaise also had a book opened in his hand, but he was not reading- he was listening in on Draco and Pansy’s conversation. Also glancing down and seeing you smile to yourself, for whatever reason. It could have been the book, but he doubted it.

And even though this was the first day back to Hogwarts, he knew that you were very different from who you were when he waved goodbye to you before summer break.

First of all, you never read muggle books. You were the eldest child of one of the most pure bloodlines to exist. Your family were very close with the Malfoys, the Blacks, and obviously the Dark Lord. Anyone would expect you to grow up hating muggles, and... in all honesty, Blaise thought you did.

But then why didn’t you say anything few hours earlier when Granger bumped into you on the train? A witty quip about her blood, perhaps? But nothing. And why in the world did you have a Jane Austen story in your hand?

Despite the multiple questions looming over his head, Blaise had a theory. So now, he wanted to see. Test you, on how you’d react to another one of Draco’s degrading talks about “muggles” you recently seemed to take an interest to.

“God, those mud-bloods infuriate me. And what’s Dumbledore thinking, opening a class of ‘Muggle Studies?’ What a pathetic excuse for a school.” Draco said quite loudly for the whole common room to hear, looking behind him and at first-year Slytherins as if to get them to agree with him. They nod out of fear, but Blaise can see it’s poisoning their unbiased minds already.

Great. More racism. He’s never been a big fan of it.

Just when Blaise turned back around to pretend to stare at his book once more, you quickly stood up from your place in his lap, and smacked your hard-covered book over Draco’s head. The first years jump and gasp from utter and complete shock.

...Ouch. Blaise doesn’t know if he should be happy he was right about something being up with you, or stop you from killing Malfoy.

“What in the- What is your problem, Y/L/N??!” Draco stands up too and glares at you in an accusatory manner, hand flying up to the back of his head. His tall figure looms over your head, his eyes burning with confusion and rage. But you’re not afraid. Quite the opposite.

“Don’t you dare talk about muggles like that ever again, Draco. You know I’ve never liked it when you used that word.” You point your halfway closed book into his chest, the corner digging into his neatly ironed shirt.

“What? You’ve never hit me over something as little as this? What’s wrong with you, Y/L/N?” Draco questions loudly, the irritation in his voice evident. Pansy stands up as well, linking her arms with the Blond, and glaring at you up and down.

“You’ve been acting strange all day, Y/N. Blaise, say something!” All three of you looks over to Blaise, who was nonchalantly pretend reading his book, unmoving from his place on the couch.

“What? So Y/N can’t hit Malfoy with a book now? She’s done it before.” He looks up and locks eyes with Pansy, “I don’t give a fuck” written all over his face.

“That’s not the point! Why is she so angry over filthy Mudbloods?” Pansy retorts, but as soon as the last word left her lips, you raised your brows at her warningly.

“Don’t. Use. That. Word. Why does bloodline matter? We all bleed red, for Merlin’s sake!” You huff, whirling around to get yourself out of this godforesaken dungeon. Blaise gives a playful salute and trails closely behind, leaving behind the pure-blooded idiots and follows you towards the Gryffindor common room.

“Will you tell me, though? Y/N, what happened during summer?” Blaise stops you just in front of the portrait of the fat lady, and you’re forced to look at your best friend’s curious expression.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” You sighed, knowing you would have to tell your best friend if he wanted to come with you. He nods sincerely, although there is a twinkle in his eyes that lets you know he’s enjoying this.

“I fell in love with someone. A muggle-born.”You confess, your cheeks burning like a 1,000 degree flame just by admitting that.

“A muggle-born??” Blaise’s brows shot up to his hairline, his brilliantly talented imagination already making up a scene of you getting disowned by your parents.

“Wait...” his gaze glides past you and at something behind you. “Does it happen to be Granger?”

Your eyes grow wide as a plate, and you almost break your neck from how quickly you turned around. Hermione, Harry and Ron stood there, the door to the Gryffindor common room wide open.

“There was a Slytherin alert. Uhm, Fred and George. Not us.” Harry tries to explain, looking over at Ron for some assistance, but he just stays in place. Wether it’s from shock or fear, you couldn’t tell.

“You... fell in love?” Hermione looks directly into your eyes, as if everything that wasn’t you didn’t exist to her. She climbs out of the entryway, taking a few steps over towards you.

“Uh- I did. Over the summer.” Guessing you didn’t have much other choice than to admit it, you stood your ground and focused on her sharp brown eyes you’d come to adore.

“You did.” Hermione repeated, stunned from the looks of it.

“I did.”

“So did I.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

“Oh bloody hell, just admit you love each other and move on.” Ron teased from a few feet behind, comfortable now that he saw who he originally thought was a Slytherin nightmare act so awkward and giddy.

Hermione glared at him threateningly, and so Harry wordlessly pulled him and Blaise into the Gryffindor common room. Before entering, Harry almost forcefully rips off the cloak from Blaise, still skeptical of the Slytherin always hanging around Draco Malfoy.

“Right. Anyways-“

Before you could say anything, Hermione hurriedly pressed her lips against yours, her cheeks tinting rose from a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. She’d never done something like this before. She feels like she can hear her heart beating rapidly in her ears, which can’t be normal, but she thinks it feels right.

You feel like getting wrapped into a cloud of euphoria as she deepens the kiss, your hands finding their place on her cheeks. The book clatters on the crème stone floor, but neither of you pay it any mind. Luckily, not one soul is walking around the halls at this hour, everyone getting settled into each their dorms. But you don’t even think about that, for your mind is filled with her, and only her.

After pulling away, Hermione chuckles at your surprised look, mumbling a little “You’re blushing, Y/N.” Before pulling you into her chest for a hug.

You return the gesture without hesitation, grinning from ear to ear and whispering back, “So are you.”

“Come on, we’ll have butterbeer inside. Take your cloak off and hide the tie. I’ll bring my jacket.” Hermione laughs nervously, and looks back at who she swears is the most beautiful girl in the world. Never had she thought she’d get her heart stolen by a Y/L/N, even in an alternate universe, or in a dream.

But she takes your hand, and pulls you into the common room, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 3: AU Part 2

I hate that I have no self-control and have to make multiple posts for this lolololol

On AO3.

Part 1

When Hanzo woke, he knew immediately that he was not alone.

His eyes snapped open and he lurched upright, disoriented and tense.

His surroundings were unfamiliar, a fact that filled him with certain dread. His last memory was of trying to leave the bed of snow he'd been pushed into, how the dragon had only allowed him to stand so that it could nestle him into its side and curl up as if for a long rest. He remembered the deep, content cadence of its sigh as it settled with its huge head on Hanzo's lap.

As cold as it was, smothered in the dragon's hold, he'd been oddly...warm. And while Hanzo was no one's pet or prisoner, he was not so foolish as to disturb such a fearsome creature when its mood was in such a mercurial state, weakened and tired as it was. He'd resigned himself to being a dragon's pillow and had fallen asleep right there, hopeful that he could slip away in the small hours of the morning.

But waking up in an entirely new place had not been part of the plan. He barely took in the dark, polished stone of the room he was in or the thick furs that covered him across the lavish four-poster bed.

His surroundings were terrible for their strangeness, but what was worse was the man seated on the bed beside him, legs crossed, watching him. It was hard to see in the scant light that poured through the window as the sun just barely began to rise, but he thought he could just detect a small smile on those bearded lips.

"Good morning," the man greeted in a low, pleasant tone.

Hanzo went rigid. His hand snapped down to his side, but his weapons were gone—of course.

He risked exposing himself, but allowing capture was worse.

He summoned his flames, of a mind to send the man across the room with a ball of fire before he could so much as twitch—but the moment his light banished the shadows from the man's face, Hanzo stilled.

...It was his eyes. Pale white, nearly translucent, but in the flickering pulse of Hanzo's flames, they shined with a breathtaking iridescence that shifted with countless colors.

Pale-skinned and broad-shouldered, muscular arms bared by his dark robes, thick black hair pushed back from his face and beard trimmed short—he truly was a stranger to Hanzo in every sense of the word.

But, that scar. Those eyes. Hanzo knew those eyes.

The man's smile grew slightly, as if he knew exactly what Hanzo was thinking, and he threaded his fingers together, planted his elbows on his spread knees and perched his chin atop his hands, as if to better study Hanzo.

"Do you recognize me, pyromancer?"

Hanzo pursed his lips, wary. But even when he glared harder, tried to see some sort of flaw or deception, his eyes continued to scream a single truth.

But he did not have to admit it.

"I—I am clearly unwell," Hanzo said instead.

Without taking his eyes off of the man, he backed up until he was at the edge of the bed and quickly stood, head darting around as he tried to get his bearings, find the door. He looked back to the stranger and curled his fingers into a fist, flames threatening on the horizon.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"As impressive as your fire magic is," the man answered, "You would have succumbed to the cold. I thought it best to bring you to my home."

His home? Just judging from the simple, yet refined furnishings and ornate, carved walls, Hanzo assumed he was in some sort of palace.

His brow furrowed. This was making less and less sense. Some traveling lord had stumbled upon Hanzo and had simply—taken him in? In what appeared to be his own chambers?

No nobleman was that kind or giving. Hanzo knew.

Hanzo's skin itched with the desire to flee. Unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar company—he did not have any wish to linger here, at the mercy of this strange man and his stranger (familiar) eyes.

"Whatever you intended by bringing me here, it does not matter." Hanzo's face hardened. "You will not keep me here."

"No," the man agreed softly, making Hanzo pause. He was still smiling. "I imagine you do not succumb to anyone's will but your own."

The words caused a flicker of uncertainty to pass through him, though he did not allow it to show on his face. Why was nothing about this man proceeding as he expected? If Hanzo woke up, kidnapped to some strange, impossible palace in a snow-plagued, forsaken mountain, he should be caged. His captor should be talking to him through the bars of a prison, in his personal dungeon, not casually and comfortably sitting on his bed while Hanzo threatened to burn him.

...Somehow, some way, this is a trick. It must be.

It felt safer not to speak, so Hanzo did not. His eyes darted to the door, waiting across the room and, unfortunately, behind the man.

"Your weapons are there," the man said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm behind Hanzo, and indeed, when he warily glanced over his shoulder, he saw the overlooked table tucked into the corner of the room, where his blades had been laid neatly and carefully across a length of soft cloth. "Forgive me for taking the liberty, but I thought it best to divest you of them so you could rest more comfortably."

Hanzo glared at the man for a long moment. He only slept comfortably when he was armed these days.

Still, Hanzo accepted the invitation to take his things and he did so in quick, efficient movements, keeping the stranger in his line of sight at all times—not that it mattered, as the man did not so much as a twitch from the moment he'd awoken. His eyes tracked Hanzo without a blink and it was perhaps that which kept Hanzo on his guard. His utter stillness, the watching—Hanzo was rested, armed, and could think of a dozen ways to incapacitate this man in a few seconds, yet he felt overwhelmingly like an unwitting creature, soft and vulnerable, ignorant of the hunter in his midst, readying for the pounce.

Hanzo glanced at the door, had no more than thought of taking his first step towards the exit when the man spoke once more.

"Of course, you may leave whenever you wish," he said genially. "But you did not answer my question, pyromancer."

Hanzo's lips thinned. Uncertainty and unease blossomed in his chest.

"...no, I did not. I will not."

The stranger's head tilted and an expression of open amusement alighted on his face.

"Is it so terrible to accept?"

"It is impossible," Hanzo stressed, eyes narrowing. But, despite himself, his determination to fight faltered. He could not deny a certain curiosity, for all that he did not believe in magic such as this.

The man shrugged, affable as ever. It made Hanzo glare at him even more fiercely. It was irksome, how agreeable he was being...

Finally, the man moved, gave his back to Hanzo as he swung his legs off the bed and rose. Hanzo tensed when the man faced him and approached.

"That is far enough," Hanzo said in warning, raising two burning fists when the man was just outside of arm's reach.

"I have sheltered you and returned your weapons," the man pointed out. "Can you not accept I mean you no harm?"

"That remains to be seen," Hanzo replied, stiff.

Still, the man only seemed amused. He placed a palm on his breast, directly over his heart, and bowed, deeply.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Kuai Liang."

A strange name for a strange man. It was oddly fitting.

Kuai Liang rose and those pale eyes of his fixed on Hanzo with the same intensity that had yet to lessen since Hanzo had first met them.

"May I know your name, pyromancer?"

Hanzo almost refused him, simply on principle. But...Kuai Liang had sheltered him in his home, had given him back his weapons, and he had shown no sign of wishing harm upon him.

It went against every instinct within him, but slowly, warily, Hanzo lowered his arms as the flames in his hands gutted, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.

"...Hanzo. Hanzo Hisashi."

Kuai Liang's eyes brightened with pleasure.

"Hanzo Hisashi," he repeated. The way he seemed to savor it—Hanzo could feel his hackles rising once more. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Kuai Liang stepped to the side, gestured with an open palm to the door. "Allow me to escort you," he said. "I'm afraid you will be easily lost without a guide."

Hearing that this building was that great a size did nothing to ease Hanzo's unease, but he supposed he had no choice.

"Very well."

Kuai Liang smiled.

Hanzo had hoped for a quick, silent walk, and to be able to put this entire strange encounter from his mind forever. Instead, when they'd only just left Kuai Liang's chambers, his stomach gave a loud, insistent cry.

Hanzo kept his gaze firmly on the ground, mortified as Kaui Liang turned to him in a sharp, surprised movement.

After a slight pause, Kuai Liang offered, "I have food if you wish—"

"No." Hanzo took a deep breath, tried to will back the rise of heat he could feel on his face. It was more important to leave this place. He could hunt for something once he was gone. "I am fine."

And, of course, his body chose that moment to betray him once more with another growl, sudden and painful enough he could not check the urge to hold his aching stomach. He could not remember the last time he had a decent, filling meal...

"I'm afraid I must insist," Kuai Liang said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I would be a poor host if I did not see you fed and prepped for your long journey down the mountain.”

Hanzo attempted to protest, but it was a losing battle and he was forced to follow after Kuai Liang, lest he truly be lost in his vast palace.

It was harder to remember the urgent need to be gone from this place when the smell of cooked meat grew stronger the further they went, and then impossible when Kuai Liang opened the door to a small cooking room, where a large flank of meat was still roasting over an open fire against the far wall.

The smell was heavenly and Hanzo was briefly hypnotized by the sight of hot, sizzling fat dripping from the meat, how it fell into the fire with a soft hiss and caused new bursts of the incredible aroma to permeate the room.

Perhaps...there was no harm in eating—so that he would not collapse on his hike, of course. It was only sensible to accept a meal when it was offered freely.

He tried not to seem too eager when he sat at the small wooden table Kuai Liang beckoned him to, but when Kuai Liang carved a generous portion of meat onto a large platter and served it to him, his smile twitched, threatening to grow wider at whatever expression Hanzo had.

It was slightly embarrassing, being caught so obviously, but Hanzo did not care the moment the meat first touched his tongue. Hot, tender venison, succulent and delicious. If he were a weaker man, he might weep.

For a while, there was only silence as he ate. It was not until he'd partially satiated his aching stomach that he realized Kuai Liang had not served himself.

He glanced up, unnerved to find Kuai Liang watching him, chin propped in one hand, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.

He appeared so...satisfied, by the sight of Hanzo eating. It made Hanzo freeze.

He glared.

"...Stop watching me," Hanzo demanded.

Kuai Liang's smile widened, but he acquiesced, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He tilted his head back against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, looked for all the world as if he were simply meditating.

The way he kept instantly accomodating Hanzo—it was very annoying.

Hanzo resumed eating but did not stop glaring at Kuai Liang, trying—in vain—to puzzle him out. If Kuai Liang was aware of his staring, he did not seem bothered by it in the least.

This vast palace, Kuai Liang's own status, seemingly that of a man of wealth and power—he did not make sense. In Hanzo's travels, he had never heard of such a person having domain over this corner of the land, and yet here he was.

Who are you, truly?

His curiosity could not be denied, no matter how much he tried to quell it.

"Where are the people?" Hanzo finally asked.

It was perhaps not his most pressing question, but it was the one that was safer to ask. Down the labyrinthine halls to this modest cook's area, Hanzo had not seen nor heard so much as a whisper of another soul. Even here, in what was clearly a servant's domain, there was no one else to be found. Yet, a palace so large would need a large staff to maintain it.

Kuai Liang's eyes opened. "There are none."

Hanzo frowned, chews slowing, but Kuai Liang did not take back his words, just watched Hanzo back.

"...You live here by yourself?"

Kuai Liang inclined his head.

"How is that possible?"

Finally, Kuai Liang glanced away from him. His eyes dropped and his entire demeanor was suddenly—dampened, somehow. A subtle sort of sadness crept over Kuai Liang and it made Hanzo forget all about the sharp hunger pains that had burrowed into the pit of his stomach.

"Like you, I am the last of my kind."

...Oh. It was no secret that Hanzo's people were long gone—hunted to the brink of extinction for nothing more than sport. Mercenaries and outlaws, lowlifes and lords alike had participated in the massacre, eager to boast their fighting skills and claim the prestige of slaying an exotic, powerful pyromancer. If any of Hanzo's people still walked the lands, Hanzo had not met them. He hoped he never would. They were safer—he was safer, alone.

A life of constant movement, never settling anywhere, never staying in one town long enough for anyone to learn his name—it was a life he'd resigned himself to, one he thought, perhaps, suited him, even, but there were times when he felt the aching bite of loneliness. Of a muted, mourning despair that he would pass from this world without a single soul to notice his absence.

It was not a life he would wish on anyone.

"I...I am sorry," Hanzo finally said. At least he traveled, could outrun his feelings when they threatened to unmake him completely. To walk the same empty halls, day after day, ceaselessly reminded of a time they were full of life—he shied from even imagining it.

Kuai Liang blinked and a rueful smile replaced the understated, melancholic expression. Somehow, the smile made Hanzo's chest ache more.

"It was a long time ago," Kuai Liang dismissed.

Hanzo was not placated. He looked straight into Kuai Liang's eyes.

"But it is still difficult," he observed quietly, and Kuai Liang's smile, absurdly, stretched just a little bigger.

"You see right through me."

He stood, took Hanzo's demolished plate and returned to the roasting spit.

"No man is a fortress, and I am afraid I am no exception to this rule."

His voice was soft and steady as he refilled Hanzo's plate with another generous portion, but even when he set the dish before him, Hanzo could not move his eyes from Kuai Liang, aware of how something more lingered in the air, the same something that had remained unspoken since he'd awoken.

Kuai Liang did not return to his seat. He stood, looking down at Hanzo, and the impression that his next words would be important grew.

"I rarely leave my home. I hunt what I need and want for little else. But I have grown weary of solitude. And, if you'll forgive my forwardness," and here Kuai Liang broke eye contact, straightened, and crossed his arms behind his back. He took a moment, and Hanzo found himself all but holding his breath.

"I came down from the mountain in search of a mate." Kuai Liang's pale eyes met his, and the earlier look of determination intensified. "And I have found one. You."

A ringing silence stretched.

Hanzo's mouth opened, closed. Opened again. But there were no words. He could not think of a single thing he could say to such a proclamation.

His face felt hot.

Kuai Liang's head tilted. "Have I broken you?" he asked, amused.

His tone finally snapped Hanzo out of his shocked stupor and he stood, his chair scraping loudly against the wood floor.

"I—You—NO."

"We are well-suited for one another," Kuai Liang argued.

"You know nothing about me and—" Abruptly, Hanzo realized how completely absurd this conversation was. "Absolutely not."

"I know that you are brave, honorable, and compassionate." When Hanzo opened his mouth to protest, Kuai Liang stepped closer, just past the bounds of propriety, but Hanzo could not muster the will to burn him. "It would have been easier to leave me to die, but you intervened on my behalf, and even tended to my wounds. What more proof do I need of your worthiness?"

Hanzo stared at Kuai Liang, stricken. He had been ignoring the obvious, glaring fact that had been shouting at him since he'd first met Kuai Liang's eyes, but now that truth refused to be ignored.

His brow furrowed and he stared into Kuai Liang's eyes, wished he could doubt his own, but could not.

"You...you really are the dragon from before..." It was impossible, ridiculous—but the evidence was too plain to ignore.

Kuai Liang smiled. "I knew you were the one the moment we looked at one another." Another step closer, where their chests nearly touched, and Hanzo told himself he would push Kuai Liang away and run—in just a moment. "My ice, it can be unpleasant for a normal human. And in moments of passion, even harmful."

Kuai Liang raised his hand, slowly, tentatively, and though a part of Hanzo's mind, defensive and wary, screamed that he use his flames, now, he did not want to harm Kuai Liang.

The gentle, cool touch of Kuai Liang's fingers brushed across the stubble on his cheek, whisper-soft.

"But with your abilities, you could withstand me." Kuai Liang's eyes fell, hooded and dark with desire. His gaze seemed to pierce straight through. "Yes, you could withstand me well. You are very strong."

"We are complete opposites," Hanzo argued, because clearly he was the only one who had not taken leave of his senses.

"Opposites, yes," Kuai Liang agreed. "But also equals. Compliments. I would have it no other way."

"Well, I will not have you," Hanzo claimed hotly, and his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare.

Far from seeming dismayed by his refusal, Kuai Liang only watched Hanzo as if he were an intriguing puzzle.

"You find me unsuitable in some way?" he asked. "Or, perhaps, you bear the claim of another?"

"I—" It would have been better, to lie, but that was one skill Hanzo had never possessed. "That is not—"

Triumph surged to Kuai Liang's gaze. "If I must prove myself, you need only say so. I can offer you much."

Hanzo finally pushed away Kuai Liang's touch with a sweep of his arm and took a few steps back. He would not hear any more.

"I do not want anything from you. I do not belong here, with you, in—that way. Whatever you believe you see in me, you are mistaken."

"I see only that which you have shown me." Kuai Liang watched him steadily, so sure. "You could have a home here. You would no longer have to hide who you truly are, or be forced to run any longer. You could be free."

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath, shook his head harshly in the next instant. "You—you can not promise that."

"I can," Kuai Liang simply said.

He pushed Hanzo's chair out of his way, closed the distance between them once more. Hanzo flinched away the first time Kuai Liang reached for him, but Kuai Liang only paused, waited patiently, before resuming the movement. And the look in his eyes, gentle yet firm, kept Hanzo still when he took Hanzo's hand.

Kuai Liang raised Hanzo's hand, placed his palm atop it so he cradled him in his grip like something precious. Hanzo could not recall ever being touched in such a way. He wanted to hate it, but he did not.

"A few days," Kuai Liang proposed, voice a low, beseeching murmur. "Stay with me here, for just a few days. Let me show you what it could be like to share a life together. If you still wish to leave after that, I will respect your wishes. I will take you down the mountain myself."

An automatic denial sprung to his lips, but one look at Kuai Liang's eyes—pleading, soft, and filled with lonely, naked longing—killed the words before he could draw breath.

Hanzo looked away, to the strong, slightly cool and affectionate clasp of Kuai's hands around his. The weariness he always battled in his long journey, heart-sick from constant flight and avoidance, bloomed to an almost unbearable degree, threatened to swallow him completely.

"...A few days?" Hanzo eventually asked, voice unsure and wary.

Kuai Liang squeezed his hand and hope brightened his gaze.

"That is all I ask."

If Hanzo had not been wavering before, that expression would have unmade him; never, had he been beneath the force of such great, bare hope. To say anything else would be cruel.

"...Very well." He darted a quick look at Kuai Liang, glanced away immediately at the sight of his warm, wide smile. "Do not make me regret this," Hanzo warned.

Kuai Liang raised his arm, only smirked when Hanzo's eyes went wide, and placed a gentle, unbearably lingering kiss on the back of his fingers.

"I would not dream of it, Hanzo Hisashi."

[potatowitch]

DA:O Mod Recommendations

I made one of these a while back but I’ve since played with mods a LOT more and have found a bunch that I love and wanted to share. Includes tools, bug fixes, weapons and armor, gameplay changes and edits, texture replacers, companion morphs, cosmetics and character creation bits, and some cutscenes (primarily for the Dalish origin and Alistair romance). All from the Nexus. Let me know if any links aren’t working or are mismatched.

Tools

Make Console Commands Visible What it says on the tin. No more having to guess what you’re typing into the console.

Change your hero hair and face anywhere in the game Allows you to change your character’s hair and face anywhere in the game. Seems a bit daunting to use at first, but once you get the hang of it it’s incredibly simple. Works with Awakening. Automatically backs up your saves for you.

Redefine your hero voice Allows you to use the console to change your Warden’s voice set in game.

Bug Fixes

Awakening Silverite Mines Bugfix Fixes the bug in the Silverite Mines that steals all your equipment and never gives it back.

TSM Jowan's Intention Fix Fixes a bug that prevented the quest Jowan's Intention from showing up on the Chanter's Board (which should trigger if you tell Jowan "Run. I never want to see you again" in the Redcliffe dungeon)

Awakening Party Banter Fix Stops certain banter between Anders and Velanna repeating.

Give Robbed Elves Money Patch Fixes a bug that prevented you from giving robbed elves in Lothering money.

Joining Ritual Fix For Awakening Companions In vanilla Awakening, if you pick up either Sigrun or Velanna last out of all the companions, you wouldn't be able to have them undergo the Joining. This mod fixes that.

Weapons and Armor

Grey Wardens of Ferelden Gives your character and all Grey Warden characters armor based on Dragon Age 2’s Grey Warden armors. Works with Awakening. Armor is automatically added to your inventory after the Joining, can be added via the console and upgraded versions can be purchased from Soldier's Peak.

Armor of the Black Fox The weapons I prefer to use for my dual wield rogue and the armor I use for Leliana.

Gameplay Changes/Edits

Extra Dog Slot Lets you take Dog everywhere with you, without taking up a companion slot. Your companions won’t banter with him and you can’t access his inventory or level him up, but he will be included in cutscenes, you can make him pee on things for Mabari dominance, all his tactics work and you can enter conversation with him.

No Helmet Hack Allows you to hide your character’s helmet. Works for Awakening as well.

Skip the Fade Skips the godawful Lost in Dreams section of the Circle Tower missions. Automatically gives you all Codex entries and buffs. Essential if you’ve done more than two playthroughs.

Character Respecialization Adds a raven to various locations that will allow you to respec you and your companions.

ZDF Dialogue Fix Fixes some weird dialogue in game. As a heads up I do still get a couple instances of strange dialogue (for example during the conversation with Leliana at camp after her personal quest) but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to fix them.

Advanced Tactics Tweaks the tactics system to make it more user friendly, giving you more options for giving your party commands. Works for Awakening. This one is an essential for me.

Personal Annoyance Remover Gets rid of the visual effects of some abilities such as bard songs and Rally.

Traps Away Reduces the time it takes to put down traps.

Awakening Lore-Friendly Epilogue Rewrite Rewrites the Awakening epilogue slideshow to be more lore-friendly and in line with Dragon Age 2 and Inquisition events.

A Nug for Leliana Getting Schmooples for Leliana can be fiddly. This makes it much easier. You still have to speak to the dwarf who sells you Schmooples, but you don’t need to speak to Leliana beforehand or have her in your party.

Happy Owen Sells Far Song Allows you to obtain the bow Far Song from Owen so you don't have to kill him if you want it.

Origin High Cunning Flag Reductions Reduces the Cunning needed for the player to access certain dialogue in the Human Noble, Magi and Dalish origins.

Natural Lighting For The Character Creator Makes it easier to see what you're doing in the character creator. No waiting until the middle of your origin story to find out what your eye colour actually is.

Cleaner Screenshots From Conversations Gets rid of the subtitles and dialogue choices in your screenshots.

Texture Replacers

White Teeth Makes everyone's teeth a lot less yellow.

Neutral Female Armor (Medium and Heavy Edition) Gets rid of the weird squished-titty effect that medium and heavy armors have on female characters.

Practical Morrigan Robe Lore friendly retexture of Morrigan's robe to cover up her titties while still maintaining the vibe of her original outfit.

Glossy Hair and Beard Improves the texture of the base game hairs and beards.

Some Dalish Textures Improves the quality of halla textures and makes the aravels match the ones in DA2 and Inquisition.

Female Noble Clothing Overhaul Makes female noble clothes much more attractive.

Maric's Blade Blues Edits the colouring of Maric's Blade (obtainable through Return to Ostagar) to match how it's described in the books.

Bow Replacer Makes all vanilla bows less chonky and ugly.

Companion Morphs

Inquisition Inspired Morphs I use the vanilla Morrigan and Leliana morphs. The vanilla Morrigan morph has slightly big ears but I find it really quite cute.

Alistair Morph - Highlights I use the Lighter Brown hair with the Light Brown Eyes. This mod is dependent on Pineappletree’s Vibrant Colors.

Unique Face Textures for Companions I wanted to share this one even though I don’t use it because it really is gorgeous - the problem is that it’s too gorgeous and makes your companions prettier than literally everyone else in the game. Alistair was looking so hot it was distracting. Wynne looked hotter than my PC while still being lore friendly.

Cosmetics and Character Creation

Pineappletree's Vibrant Colors Adds new hair, skin and eye colours to the character creator and replaces the default eye colours with brighter ones. This mod is needed for the Alistair morph I use.

Hairstyle Day Vol.2 Has the braid hairstyle I use for Lyna.

Hairstyle Day More absolutely gorgeous hairs from ShepShy.

Warden Complexions with Eyebrows I use the Tabris complexion for Lyna.

Anna Complexion Another complexion with eyebrows.

Elf Ears Edits all the standard elf presets to have bigger ears, more in line with what we see in DA2 and Inquisition.

Cutscenes and Alistair Romance Indulgence

Clan Sabrae Says Goodbye Adds a cutscene at the end of the Dalish origin where you properly mourn Tamlen and say goodbye to your clan.

DahliaLynn's Sleep Until Dawn Adds a tent to the campsite that allows you to sleep until dawn. Sleep alone, snuggle with the dog or with a romanced companion.

Alistair Romance Eavesdropping Adds a bench to the party camp that allows you to activate multiple cute cutscenes once you've romanced Alistair. 10/10 for screenshots, nice way to hear some banter from companions that you don’t usually take with you.

Let me know if y’all want me to make these for my DA2 and Inquisition mods. I don’t mod the later two games anywhere near as much as Origins (especially since Frosty terrifies me lmao) so the lists would be much smaller.

[elizabethemerald]

The Nein, The Sapphire and The Ruby; Part 2

“What was your plan?” Beau stepped forward, her threatening posture completely unnecessary as the man was still completely terrified of Jester. 

“Our plan was to scare the Ruby. We weren’t going to hurt her too badly. Just scare her, to lure that one back to the city, he wanted us to capture the Blue Tiefling.”

He nodded his head to Jester as she stepped back from him. Caleb stepped back with her, while Fjord and Beau took over the interrogation. The two of them left the room and walked together through Yussa’s tower. Jester didn’t say anything until she found herself outside the closet where Caleb had cast his tower. She stared idly at the cat statue and wand sitting at the base of the closet. 

“Jester. Are you-” Caleb started. 

“I’m just fine Cay-leb.” Jester interrupted with a bright smile even as she wiped tears from her eyes. 

“Talk to me Blueberry.” Caleb said softly. 

“He hurt my momma because of me.” Jester said, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “I played a prank and Sharpe attacked my momma.”

Caleb snapped his fingers and Frumpkin appeared to weave around Jester’s ankles. She immediately picked up the fey cat and pressed her face into his fur to hide her tears. Caleb stood with his hands at his sides for a moment, unsure what else to do to try and comfort her. 

“What happened today is not your fault. You must know that Jester. Lord Sharpe is a cruel and arrogant man.”

“I know that Cay-leb! He’s a dick and he’s just awful, but he hurt my momma because I pulled another prank on him!!”

Jester sobbed even louder, and put Frumpkin back on the ground. She threw her arms around Caleb’s narrow shoulders, pressing her face against his neck. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping her in a some what awkward embrace. He felt out of his depth. He felt he usually left the comforting to one of the other members of the Nein or to his cat. 

“Your momma is safe. And we’re going to make sure she stays safe. After we’re done with Sharpe no one will dare threaten her again.” This was a promise Caleb could keep. 

Jester pulled away, looking again at the doorway to Caleb’s tower. 

“I hurt him.” She gasped out. Caleb looked around in confusion. Was she talking about Lord Sharpe? After a moment Jester continued. “What I did to that guy, what you and Beau were willing to do to him. It was too much like what the Iron Shepards did to me.”

Caleb stepped back, floored by that admission. He hadn’t even thought about that. The nature of his memory was that he could still remember every detail of that dungeon. The stink of fear and rot. The implements used to torture children, and chains to keep them helpless. He could remember the bruises and marks he had seen. And worse, he could remember the exact appraising look he had given that dungeon. Compared their tools to the ones that had been used on him when he was a child under Ikithon. Compared the marks they left to the ones on his own body. Compared the rank stink of fear to his own wild fear of falling back into his one time master’s hands. 

He stepped forward and grabbed Jester in a tight hug. This may be the first time he had been the one to initiate a hug between the two of them, but she needed it now. She needed comfort, not the reminder of what she had gone through before they could rescue her. So he held her tight, her knees grew weak and they slumped to the floor. 

“I want to make Sharpe pay.” Jester whispered. “I want him to suffer, for even thinking he could hurt my momma.” She was quiet for a long moment. “But we can’t torture him like that. I can’t… you can’t… We aren’t like that. We don’t hurt people like that.”

A sound from below them brought them both to their feet. Jester quickly wiped her eyes and picked up Frumpkin again. Soon the rest of the Nein joined them. 

“We got we can out of that piece of shit.” Beau declared as they arrived, then stopped short when she saw the two of them. “Jes, are you-?”

“I’m perfectly fine Beau.” Jester interrupted for the second time. Beau and the other more observant members of the Nein were quick to catalog Jester’s red eyes, the tip of her nose showing a hint of purple, the tear marks on Caleb’s white shirt, and the fact that Jester was currently cuddling Frumpkin tightly to her chest, but none of them commented on it. 

“Yussa has the information we need.” Beau said. She spoke slower than normal, keeping a close eye on Jester while she did. “We’re going to lead a squad of Zhelezo to arrest Sharpe. We need to go now before he has a chance to leave the city, or pull some stunt.”

“Go on ahead guys.” Jester said. “I want to stay here with momma, make sure she is ok and safe.”

“But Jester-” Veth grabbed for her hand. “Don’t you want to get revenge?” 

“I want to stay here with my momma.” Jester repeated, more adamantly. 

Caleb gestured to the closet and the door into his tower opened for her. She stepped up to it, her back straight, even as her tail curled tightly around her ankle. 

“Jester, would you like me- s-someone to stay behind with you?” Caleb wasn’t sure why he offered. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself. 

“No.” She sounded sure when she said that.  “Go arrest Sharpe. And Caleb-?”

Jester hesitated, unable to ask the question on her mind, but Caleb could see it, could guess what she couldn’t say. He nodded without bringing it up. No matter how much he might deserve to be punished. Lord Sharpe was not to be tortured. At least not by the Mighty Nein. They weren’t like that. They didn’t hurt people like that. 

“Ah. Could you hold onto Frumpkin for me?” He asked her instead. “We don’t know quite what to expect with Sharpe’s estate and I would rather know my cat was safe.”

“Of course Cay-leb.” Jester gave him a small genuine smile, before stepping into the tower entrance. 

Once Jester was within Caleb’s tower, standing in the middle of the entrance way with its nine windows showing the schools of magic she took a deep shuttering breath and began to float up through the tower. It didn’t take her long to find the room Caleb had created for her. She entered her apartment’s sitting room to find her mother, Luc and Yeza. Marion took one look at her daughter and without hesitation opened her arms. Jester ran into them and held her momma as tightly as she could. 

They cried together, mother and daughter, Ruby and Sapphire, for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. They summoned some of Caleb’s cat servants. Some just to bring food. Some to cuddle and play with. Jester took Luc into her painting room and together they began to cover the blank walls. Her momma sat and watched them paint, while Yeza would lift Luc up to reach a high spot on the wall. 

Jester, of course, wasn’t used to waiting on the side lines while her friends fought, so she used multiple Scry spells to check up on them to make sure they were alright. She watched as her friends walked at the head of a small group of Zhelezo through the streets of Nicodranas. She saw Caleb’s Cat’s Ire tear down the gate to the Sharpe Estate. A moment later with spells flying targeting Sharpe’s mercenaries, Yasha bamfed out her wings, picked up Beau and together they flew up to the second floor and crashed through a window into Sharpe’s office. 

The next time she scried the fight was basically finished. Sharpe was unconscious, Beau and Yasha standing over him while Fjord and Veth dealt with the last of the mercenaries. Caduceus and Caleb focused their efforts on some second rate wizard Sharpe had hired, but he wasn’t a match for either of them. 

After that, they had Sharpe in chains. The Zhelezo were scouring the estate and interviewing different members of the Nein about what had transpired. In the background Veth was picking the lock on a safe hidden behind Sharpe’s desk. She watched as one of the city guards aimed a vicious kick at Sharpe, only to be stopped by Caleb. He gave the guard a firm but quiet shake of his head. 

Finally she scried on her friends and found them walking up the stairs in the Tide Peak Tower. She flew down to meet them, polymorphing into a hawk (pale blue of course) to move even faster. She hugged each of her friends tightly in turn, using what few remaining spells she had to heal any small injuries they sustained. 

Her friends… her family… The Mighty Nein reconvened inside Caleb’s tower. They had dinner together, again laughing and telling jokes, keeping the mood light. Caleb stayed quiet for most of the night, only giving small smiles, seemingly lost in thought. They were tired, but they felt confident that no one else would dare threaten the Ruby of the Sea again. 

When dinner was over, Marion sang for them. A private concert just for them. Jester blinked away tears as her momma sang, her beautiful voice, perfectly suited for the magical tower. While she sang Caleb used his few remaining spells to create illusions and light effects around her, just like he had done on Rumblecusp. 

Eventually it was time for them to go to sleep. To rest and recover from the injuries and the terror of the day. To regain spells so that tomorrow they could do a little more to leave the world a better place. Marion was offered the guest bedroom but declined in favour of sharing a room with her daughter. 

RIght before Jester went into her room to sleep for the night, she grabbed Caleb into a tight hug. 

“Thank you Caleb.” She whispered, then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. She left him there blushing up to his ears and gently closed the door.

[futurewriter2000]

Farewell Revenge - pt.14

A/N: Dude, why do I have so many Sirius series opened. I swear I’m not doing them anymore. I’m getting so bored, lmao. Had to read like 13 parts to know where I am and how much I complicated this.

XX

Sirius was leading you back to your tower. He had his hand on your back and kept it there just for support. He knew you didn’t need it as you walked all well by yourself. 

He already let you go when you suddenly stopped.

You see, the Ravenclaw tower was the same direction as the Gryffindor tower, it was only one intersection that seperated the two. 

And how fortunate for you that right in the middle of that intersection a red-head was flirting with your ex boyfriend. 

Sirius followed your gaze and there was something in your eyes that scared him

“(y/N)-”

But you were already sprinting to the red-head, leaving him behind.

“Oh shit- fuck no!” he ran after you but was too late as your hand found itself slamming into Lily’s cheek. 

She started screaming, trying to pull out her wand but when she did, you grabbed it from her and threw it far away from her reach.

“You fucking slut!” you punched her again, feeling arms tight around your stomach and pull you away. “HOW COULD YOU?!!” 

“OI!” you heard someone behind you shouting, holding you back from the red-head.

Sirius was in front of you though. So who the hell was holding you behind? 

You wriggled out of his grip and faced his lovely hazel eyes. He wanted to shout but recognised you from before... yet the recognition wasn’t only ‘the girl he bumped into’ but something far more deeper. So as he wanted to curse and shout at you... he stayed quiet. 

“Yes. I cheated on you, James. I cheated on your with Sirius but that doesn’t give her the right to take away all the memories we had because not all memories were so terrible. I wanted to feel guilty about you. I wanted you to be there to remind me I still have a consciess. I wanted you to make me feel horrible so I can know I still feel regret in my bones and you-” you shoved Sirius arms away as he tried to take you away from his best friend. “-you cut me out... you cut me out of your head because you couldn’t bare. I couldn’t bare either. You’re a coward!” you shoved Sirius’ hand away again as he continued to take a hold of you and you didn’t let him. “You got rid of me. So why don’t I get rid of you?” you let out a scoff, tears falling down your cheeks as James continued to look at you with a confused look in his eyes. 

Sirius tried to take a hold of you, running after, grabbing your hand and pulling you back.

When you had enough of his touch, you stopped and pushed him back. “STOP!”

“You’re not obliviating him!”

“You’re right! I’m not! I’M OBLIVIATING THE BOTH OF YOU!” you bellowed at him. “I’M SO TIRED! SO TIRED OF BEING THIS DRAMATIC LITTLE BITCH THAT HAS TO GET IN A FIGHT BECAUSE SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH THE WRONG PEOPLE!!”

“YOU CAN’T JUST ERASE US!”

“HE ERASED ME! I ERASE YOU! YOU ERASE ME! HAPPY ENDING FOR ALL OF US!”

“YOU CAN’T JUST-”

“I WANT TO!”

“I DON’T!”

“IT’S NOT WHAT YOU WANT!”

“YES IT IS! STOP BEING SO SELFISH!”

“NO!” you roared. “All of this happened because I gave up on Regulus. All of this happened because I was so pissed at you. If I wouldn’t grab your fucking throat in the middle of the hallway, this wouldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t have ever been with James, nor with you, nor I would feel like my whole world is collapsing into pieces because of two boys! I want Regulus!” you started to cry. “I want my best friend back!” 

Sirius wanted to approach you but you already ran away from him. You ran fast and you ran all the way to the dungeons where you knew you could find him. You didn’t even bother with the password. You threatened the bloody portrait and got in, searching for Regulus dorm and as if you remembered correctly it was just after the next corner. 

You stormed in and pointed your wand at him. 

He didn’t budge yet his eyes told you he was surprised by your sudden appearance. 

“I changed!” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I changed because you changed! I changed from that peacful Ravenclaw into a dramatic, pathethic whore!”  

Regulus didn’t say a word, only sat up more up straight and continued to listen. 

“You left me!” you continued to cry, your wand lowering with your strenght. “You just left me like I didn’t mean anything to you. Like our friendship didn’t mean anything to you... you just left and you said those God awful things to me that I kept repeating every night.” you paused, wiping away all the wetness from your hair. “I started dating James. I slept with Sirius so I can break James like Sirius broke you and I did but in the process I broke myself!”

Nothing. He listened.

“I’m not like you Regulus! I’m not patient and calm! I’m not someone who can hide emotions well. You know where I come from, you know I have supressed anger issues, you know that when I’m filled with rage I can’t think! You know all of that and you still let me be alone! Every day I cried for you! Every bloody day it was you in my head!”

His eyes haven’t shown you one emotion to read and it drove you insane. You felt hopeless. 

You ran to his side, sitting next to him and giving him your wand. “Take it.” you forced it between his fingers. “Obliviate me. Do it.”

He continued to watch you, nothing to read on him. 

“Just do it! I’ll be out of your way, you’ll be out of my way, everything will be fixed. DO IT!” you shouted at him but when you did, he dropped the wand and pulled you into a tight-gripping hug. 

He pulled you in as if you weighted like a feather. You were suddenly in his embrace, which after a long time felt so warm and welcoming. You wailed in his arms, holding onto him as all the pain and all the regret filled your body. Your organs were aching, your heart stabbed multiple times.

Shame, embarrasment... everything was just there... inside of you. 

And he was there, to hold you. “I’m sorry, baby.” he kissed your head softly, rocking you in his arms. “I’m so sorry but forgetting about it won’t make it go away.” he held you so close to his chest because just like you, he missed you. He missed you with his dear life and he held as if holding you depended on it. 

“I’m just so lost.” you cried, letting out all sorts of sobs and wails. “I hate myself.”

“Calm down.” he let his lips rest on your head. “We’ll fix this.”

[pauldron-pieces]

Rumon 'Crushjaw' Thaerskaine's Backstory: Rearmed

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Crushjaw-centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Crushjaw. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Black Hill: Low Force

[Crushjaw is a level zero barbarian, and his appearance can be found here.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including semi-graphic depictions of gore and mentions of bile/vomit. Reader discretion is advised. Stay safe!]

He would have loved to claim he had been goaded into it. Would have loved to say that it wasn't his fault or explain that it hadn't happened like he remembered. Except Rumon knew all too well that responsibility didn't work like that. His memory may be faulty, but the proof was in Krae's testimony.

Himself and his childhood friend Krae had both been interested in the same individual from a neighboring clan, the two of them butting heads over the object of their affections more than once. So of course when Krae came to him with news of an enormous ogre that had set up its stomping grounds near one of their trade routes, Rumon fairly leaped at the opportunity to fight the beast and claim victory over it. After all, what better way to prove his worth and earn a name from the clan leader than with an act of heroism?

Krae naturally came along, saying that he feared the ogre may be too tall an order for even Rumon to handle. This just made Rumon all the more determined to manage the creature single handedly.

They set up camp near where Krae claimed to have spotted the beast, the two goliaths joking and swapping drinks from a canteen of strong spirits. Truly, until both of them had set their sights on the same person, they had been brothers in all but blood. Rumon still regarded Krae as such, trusting to a fault, and thusly he missed the shifty glances the older goliath kept aiming at the treeline while the sun set.

"Come, Rumon! The moon is high. With its light, surely we shall find the ogre." Krae had cajoled after Rumon was fairly drunk, "unless, of course, you are afraid of a night hunt?"

"I fear nothing!" Rumon had boasted, "the gods are with me this night. You shall witness my triumph, Krae!"

Bold words. His grandmatron had always said that pride went before a fall.

Rumon recalled very little of the hunt after that, his memory muddied with drink. Despite Krae's insistence that the moonlight was sufficient, Rumon's recollections were oddly dim. He vaguely remembered stumbling around beneath the thick spruce canopy, his warhammer clumsy in his hands.

He remembered swinging with all his might and striking something that gave under the assault, the liquor Krae had plied him with steeling his ringing blows to something that rivaled even Varandur's mountain shapers.

He remembered when the weight of his weapon suddenly vanished, and there was a rancid gust of seethingly-hot air that blew his hair to the side. The roar was strange to his ear, far-off and faded. Emptiness rang too loud for him to hear as he wondered where his weapon had gone.

Rumon remembered realizing that he was flat on his stomach on the ground.

Where the memory became razor-sharp once more was when he tried to push himself up onto his elbows, and found his body woefully unbalanced. The goliath searched for the source of the problem and quickly located it, the sight of what was left of his mangled right arm more than enough to jerk him back to stark sobriety.

It had been severed at the elbow, though the term was a bit too kind for the injury. The appendage looked more as though it had been crushed with something that might have had an edge at one point.

Rumon had raised his eyes, mind grinding to a halt when he spotted his warhammer several yards away with his right hand still gripping the haft. Past that, along a trail marked by shattered tree trunks, slumped an enormous ogre clutching a slab of a sword. It seemed closer to a chunk of masonry than a true weapon, and Rumon's stomach had churned as he realized what had happened.

Mercifully, the agony had struck him and he promptly vomited before losing consciousness.

×+×

Gods only knew how long he had slept after that. It was a miracle he had even made it back to their healer; apparently Krae had all but carried him home. The embarrassment from that instance alone would have been enough to kill Rumon, never mind the fact that his dominant arm was now nothing but a bandaged stump.

The grandmatron would have none of it though, her craggy face somehow even more stern when Rumon managed to finally rouse himself.

"You have been named Crushjaw, little pebble. A worthy title." Her tone was icy. "I have gone through much trouble to save you. I am indebted to our chieftain."

Crushjaw. Rumon's face fairly burned with shame. "The ogre-?"

"Krae slew the beast. He brought one of its tusks back as proof. The chieftain was quite flattered by his offering, praising Krae for his accomplishment and naming him Tuskclaimer. As for his name for you..." The matron bowed her head, her expression one of grief.

"Grandma…"

"Don't you grandma me, little pebble!" The elderly goliath erupted, glaring fiercely at Rumon. Her eyes filled with tears as she went on, "you are anathema now, dear Rumon. Once you are able to walk, the clan leader has declared that you are to leave. I am no longer your grandmother. This place is no longer your home."

"'Leave'?" Rumon repeated stupidly. It felt as though everything was crashing down around him, his mind racing to comprehend. Their clan hadn't had an expulsion in his entire lifetime, wariness and confidence found too equally amongst their ranks. Compounding his confusion was the claim that Krae had killed the ogre. Rumon had been certain... "I understand." He said finally. "I am unworthy of your kindness. Thank you."

He couldn't comprehend why his grandmother wept harder at his acceptance. This was the way it had always been.

×+×

Crushjaw.

It certainly felt as though he was being crushed to death. Loneliness was a miserable traveling companion.

Rumon, very nearly unable to fend for himself, resorted to setting small game snares in the uncharted wilds. It was a child's way of hunting, but he was too hungry to be bothered by the prick to his already-bruised pride.

The few people he did encounter seemed overly wary of him. After all, a one-armed, exiled goliath would be the type to resort to petty theft.

But he wasn't a threat. He had never been a threat before, aside from just being large. Rumon couldn't understand the sudden shift in demeanor; he couldn't possibly fathom the air of desperation that his injury gave off.

It began to get easier when the weather cooled, the bulk of the thick cloak from his grandmother concealing his missing arm. The wound had not healed prettily, but Rumon knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He hadn't died. That was all he could hope for.

He wandered alone for most of the cold times, his only companions the booming pines that fractured from the weight of the ice and snow. His thoughts had a habit of straying to Krae, and he wondered what had truly transpired that evening more than he would care to admit. Had he imagined killing the ogre? Was his mind that addled by the strength of the drink they had shared?

Surely Krae wouldn't have lied. Nothing good ever came of lying or taking the credit for someone else's accomplishments. Rumon eventually settled on the assumption that his memory must have been faulty.

After that, the whole world seemed a gray and unforgiving place, and the goliath could feel himself fading into something of the same type. Something ragged and harsh, no longer a proud warrior but a lamed animal with a crushed jaw.

That is, until the day he encountered an old elf hanging by the leg from his horse's saddle.

"You there!" The elven man shouted once he seemed to notice the large individual sauntering up through the trunks of barren maples. "Don't suppose you'd be able to lend me a hand?"

Rumon, for whatever reason, found himself throwing his mantle back over his shoulder to reveal the stump of his arm. "Good thing you only need one hand, sirrah. It's all I have to offer." He remarked.

The elf nearly died of laughter, already beet-red in the face from being stuck hanging upside down for so long. To Rumon's shock however, when he circled around the horse to help the elf dislodge himself, he realized that the leg that wasn't caught in the stirrups was severed at the knee. The fellow's pant leg was neatly pinned at the joint, padding sewn into the area as if to mimic a kneecap.

Before Rumon could say anything though, the wiry elf explained, "I lost my leg a few miles back, and this damned animal dragged me along until she got bored. Don't suppose you can accompany me a little ways until I relocate it? Thing is worth its weight in gold."

The goliath easily hefted the older fellow into the saddle before his words caught up with him. "You...lost your leg?" Rumon blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I was unaware that elves could regrow limbs."

The elf looked at him a little sideways, muttering something about still waters running deep before he just shook his head and laughed, "no son, it's a genuine Chuck original. A fake leg."

A fake leg. Rumon seized the horse's bridle, desperation giving his voice a new level of gravel as he begged for more information. The elf shrewdly bargained with him: in exchange for help in reclaiming his prosthetic, he would gladly share what information he had.

"My name is Shawell." The elf introduced himself. "And you are…?"

Rumon hesitated for a moment. "Crushjaw." If people were to know his name, they would serve as a reminder of his foolhardy pride. A constant warning to heed in the future.

"Pleasure to meet you, Crush." Shawell tugged on the reins, turning his mare back in the direction he had come from. "We'd better hurry. We'll lose the daylight."

Crush. Rumon cracked his first smile in months, positioning himself on the elf's left side to steady him in the saddle.

[victorsandvanquishers]

Ship: Yamijack - Prompt: The Raven - Enjoy (●'◡'●)

Thank you for requesting the homos, anon!  (~˘▾˘)~

Fair warning, however, this fic is post-canon and has graphic depictions of violence, along with references to PTSD and trauma. Thank you, and happy reading!

~~~

Yami doesn't wake up screaming. There's barely a rustle, much less any movement of the limbs. There's no panicked breathing, no grasping sheets for purchase as he tries to get his breathing under control. No threatening to cut someone with his rusty pocket knife because his hands still haven't healed enough to pick up his sword properly, no scrambling off the bed and crouching on the floor like a rabid dog, ready to pounce – there's none of that. Yami doesn't wake up screaming. He wakes up quiet as a mouse, engulfed in Stygian darkness.

The darkness doesn't last forever, of course. He's far, far away from the Spade monarchs' castle now. The darkness is temporary, just like the cold. When he finally forces himself to open his eyes, he's been awake for almost fifteen minutes. It's a process, according to Owen. The more time he spends at home, the more his body will begin to trust its surroundings again. Home is where the heart is, after all. Yami blinks lazily up at the wooden beams and clean windows that make up his ceiling. His home is his squad's home base, a castle that's on loan from an exiled noble. Unlike Vangeance who has multiple homes to heal in, one with the Golden Dawn and the other in the arms of an elf, Yami has one home, and it's this shifting castle.

The warm body next to him is proof that he's lying.

This time, there's sound. Yami turns over to his side, the bed whining with his shuffling weight. When he's finally facing the warm body sleeping next him, he takes a moment to drink in the sight. Bony, pale skin glitters in the moonlight. Years ago, Yami told Henry that he was used to waking up with the sun and falling asleep to the moon. He'd alluded to the fact that he'd been homeless for some time in his youth, a time where the sun and moon were constant companions with or without his consent, but the latter had taken the off-hand comment as a request, and thus adorned Yami's room with ceiling windows that brought the sky right to his lap.

Right now, beams of moonlight illuminate Jack the Ripper's neck and shoulders. Skin stretches tightly over protruding angles, and invites Yami's greatest vice.

Yami can't help himself. His meaty fingers touch a sharp collarbone. The blood stirs in his stomach when the warmth washes over him. Jack is pale and skinny, and can pass himself off as a corpse on some days, but he's the warmest body Yami's ever come in contact with. One touch, and heat blossoms in his core. He wants nothing more than to drown in Jack's fire, let Jack hold and squeeze every bit of cold out of his bones, let Jack pour his warmth into Yami's cold, broken body.

He wants to shake Jack awake and demand that he hold him. Yami wants a lot. He wants Jack to snipe at him and then drape his long, gangly body over Yami's freezing bones. Yami wants to be kissed to life. He wants to be reminded that he's no longer trapped in the cloying darkness of the Zogratis' castle. He wants affection and love. He wants everything he almost lost.

He wants things that he didn't even realize he had in the first place.

This time, he squeezes Jack's shoulder. Jack doesn't move, is too deep in his sleep to make a fuss. Yami can try again, but first, he's going to drink some more, drink in the sight, the beauty, the warmth.

He counts the days since he's been home. He thinks it's six months now, maybe seven? Yami's memory isn't as good as it used to be. The Black Bulls told him he'd been captured for less than a week, but they didn't know the dungeons of Spade. Yami remembers the pitch black darkness. A week had felt like an eternity. Yami thought he'd died and gone straight to Hell.

Yami exhales, and draws circles on Jack's back. Jack snores lightly, barely acknowledging the touch, oblivious to Yami's gaze.

Yami decides it's been seven months since his rescue, and maybe he'll confirm with Owen when he goes to his next weekly check-up, but for now, he'll settle for seven. Seven months – that's how long he's been home. That's how long he's been attached to Jack's hip. Jack was the one who found him crucified against the dungeon wall, Zenon's bones sticking out of his body, killing and saving him at the same time. If Jack had taken out a single bone without a healer present, Yami would have bled to death, but Jack wasn't an idiot even if he was dumb, so he did the next best thing. Yami remembers watching him hack and slash through the bones until most of them were sliced to bits, leaving only a couple of inches that would be easy to pluck out. Jack had caught Yami when he came tumbling down to the ground, and then he'd carried Yami home.

Jack is his best friend. His best friend caught his large, hulking body before it hit the ground, and then carried it to safety, and Yami will never forget it. Yami will never let Jack go.

Owen doesn't tell him, but he knows he's a burden. He knows Jack can be doing literally anything else, but instead, he's sleeping next to Yami. He's looking after Yami, his squad in En Ringard's hands until Yami is back on his feet, until Yami is whole again.

But Yami will never be whole again. The best he can do is be half of who he used to be. The bulging muscles and eight pack are moot, now that he has holes in his feet, wrists, and clavicle. It'll take another year and multiple surgeries before he's able to hold up his sword up again. Now it's Yami and his rusty pocketknife, but at least Jack is here. Jack won't leave him alone, and Yami loves him for it.

And that's another thing – Jack loves him too. Jack is in love with him, confessed to Yami while he was carrying Yami back to the others, told Yami he loved Yami's smile and his stupid laugh while Yami was slumped on his back, half-passed out, told Yami that he'd loved him since the first day they'd met, and that he would love Yami until their last days.

Jack loves him, so he does it. He pulls on Jack's shoulder and turns him around, makes him face Yami so that he can prove to Yami that he still loves him.

Except it's not Jack that turns around, it's Zenon Zogratis – and this time, Yami does scream.

“GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFF!”

Zenon's on top of him, pinning his arms and legs to the cold, hard floor with his bone appendages. Floor? When did it get so dark? Yami doesn't understand, but he does. The windows and wooden beams are gone, and now it's just pitch black, just Zenon kneeling on Yami's chest, suffocating him, killing him. Zenon's fingers ghost over his prickly beard before grasping his chin. A sharp nail digs into the skin and draws blood. Yami's in pain. He wants to go home, home is where the heart is, home is where he goes to sleep with the moon and wakes up with the sun, it's where his squadmates are, where his Jack is. Home – this isn't home, this is Spade. This is isn't Jack, it's Zenon.

“Please,” he begs, because he's only ever begged once before, and that was when he washed ashore on the beaches of Clover Kingdom, far away from his first home. He begs because he can't lose the Black Bulls too, can't lose Jack. What are swords, and muscle, and magic for if he can't hold onto the things keeping him sane?

“Please,” he whispers one more time. He'll beg as long as he has to, as long as he can go home.

Zenon puts his bloodied fingertip in his mouth and sucks lightly, as if Yami's blood is cheap cattle, as if Yami is just prey waiting to be devoured.

Zenon's knees dig into his ribs and break a bone, and Yami screams again because it hurts like hell, because this is hell, and Yami is dying. Zenon peers silently while Yami cries for mercy. It's dark in this dungeon. There is no Jack the Ripper to rescue him, no Black Bulls for Yami to come home to. Yami cries, and  Zenon presses down. Yami screams again, but this time, they transform into choking sounds. Zenon's hand is around his throat. It's squeezing the life out of Yami and he's crying, he's crying, he's cryi-

“It's me, asshole, wake up! Wake up, Yami!”

“Please,” Yami croaks, his voice hoarse and scratchy, his lungs aching for oxygen, his hands pinned to his bed by Jack's spindly elbow, while Jack's face is mere centimeters from his face, his home, his Jack.

“It's me,” Jack repeats, much more softly than before. Yami's wheezing. His chest hurts, his throat's closed up, and he's crying. He's crying and he's home.

Jack releases his hands and snakes a hand underneath his waist. Jack's thin, so thin that Yami thought that he was starving the first time they met. Yami had offered to buy him dinner at the local seafood festival, and the man had just nodded, and later when the taller man had, had several beers in his stomach, he'd told Yami to go fuck himself with the biggest smile Yami had ever seen. That's how they became friends. That's how Jack became a part of his home.

Jack pulls him up with one arm. Yami finds himself sitting upright, his lungs quieter, even if his throat still hurts. He can breathe now. Jack is here; he's home; he's safe.

His eyes dart around his surroundings. Yami spies his pants draped over a stool, and his utility belt on the floor. His grimoire is on the armoire next to Jack's. Jack's clothes and skinguards are neatly folded and tucked into the shelf next to the stool. The sun's bearing down on him, and the feeling of all that mana just outside of his door is telling him that he's home, that he's awake, that it's early afternoon, and that Jack and his friends are all anxiously waiting to see if he's OK, if he's alive, if he's still their Yami.

Yami presses his palms against his eyes so that the darkness returns. He recalls Owen's lessons about home, about training his body to associate darkness with something other than the dungeons of the Zogratis' castle, to remember that light and dark went hand-in-hand, and that he wasn't alone.

Yami's not alone. He counts his breaths and exhales. “I'm OK now,” he mumbles to the man holding him by the waist.

“Yeah?” Jack says, wrapping the other arm around his waist before pulling him into an embrace.

“Yeah,” Yami answers, letting his hands drop from his eyes before pressing his face into Jack's bony chest.

Jack's rail thin, but his body is a furnace, and Yami melts because this is home.

Jack lets go, and Yami follows, albeit hesitantly. Jack doesn't speak, just holds Yami's face and presses their foreheads together. Jack has to stoop because he's so tall, and when he stoops, he looks like a giraffe. Yami laughs abruptly. He loves a giraffe – is in love with a giraffe. It's both absurd and amazing, because sometimes Jack is a praying mantis, and sometimes he's a snake, but right now he's a giraffe stooping over to kiss its beloved's forehead, and Yami lets him. Yami grasps his hands, squeezes them, exhales again. He's home, he's breathing in Jack's scent, and he's home.

“Everything OK?” Finral squeaks from behind the door, because he's the squad' sacrificial lamb, and if he doesn't take the first dive, who will?

“Everything's fine, taxi man,” Yami barks from his place in front of Jack the Ripper, the strongest man that ever lived, his man.

“Then we're coming in,” and that's Nero, the centuries old birdwoman who's taken to reminding Yami that she's older, wiser, and undoubtedly stronger, and now the de facto advisor of the squad now that Vanessa's captain and Finral her lieutenant.

And come they do, one after the other, having learned early on that barging into Yami's personal space is off-limits, along with loud noises, prolonged darkness in the parts of the house Yami frequents, and too many closed doors. Now they ask before they enter, even if they don't knock, and Yami loves them, loves the family he's created, loves the home Henry Legolant has allowed him, loves everything that keeps him sane, keeps him human.

“Ginger water?” Charmy asks, proffering a cup filled to the brim with water mixed with ginger extract, cumin, and salt, a mixture that soothes Yami's throat and settles his stomach every time there's an episode with his sleep apnea.

He doesn't want to let go of Jack, but Jack is wiser, even if he is dumb. He grabs the cup and holds it front of Yami's face like it's one of his knives, smiling maniacally.

“Drink it or I'll kill ya,” says Jack, because Jack is dumber than Yami, and they're two dumb dodos living together in a house they don't even own.

“Fuck you, weirdo,” Yami grumbles, but he takes the cup, downs the water, and exhales again, long and loud, releasing whatever's left of the nightmare. The cup is back in Charmy's hand before he knows it, and he's hugging the little woman who cares about him so much, and Jack's chuckling, and Finral's crying, and Yami's OK. He's OK now.

Yami exhales again, and this time, his family exhales with him.

[doomedandstoned]

Italian Doomers BRETUS Tell Ghostly Tales on New LP, ‘Magharia’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by DamianaMerante

Hailing from the City of the Two Seas, Italian doomers BRETUS return with a new album of ghost stories. Longtimers know that Bretus and Doomed & Stoned practically grew up together. Though the band has been active since the turn of the century, our first exposure came with their debut full-length 'In Onirica' (2012) and subsequently we formed a friendship with the Catanzaro doomers that continues to this very day. It's hard to believe they're already over two decades old (okay, 20 years young, if you like). And what do they have to show for it? A handful of LPs, an EP, and a split with fellow Italianos Black Capricorn.

If you're as much a fan of vintage horror movies, H.P. Lovecraft lore, mysticism, and the occult as Zagarus (vox), Ghenes (guitar), Janos (bass), and Striges (drums), there's a whole world of story and sound awaiting your deep dive into the Bretus catalog. Adding to their already excellent discography, a fifth album now reveals itself: 'Magharia' (2021).

I won't spoil my interview with the band (see below) if I tell you that the album concerns, shall we say, several tales of the supernatural variety. An ominous gong is struck to the backdrop of monastic chant as Magharia opens in epic fashion "Celebration of Gloom," a song characterized by a chugging proto-trash tempo, trve metal stylings, and Gothic vocals appropriate to it's subject. It's a rather grim account of a certain sacrilegious priest and his daliences with young women of the church. As a preacher's kid, I've seen this kind of thing play out a hundred times and can assure you these sweeping romances between clergy and laity never end well. In this case, it winds up with a ghoulish rite and a victim's vengeance.

"In the sky lightning strikes...wicked laments rise from the ground." Welcome to "Cursed Island." True to the spirit of the lyrics, this track really let's it all hang out, with quasi operatic vocals that occasionally erupt in maniacal laughter (reminding me vintage Reagers-era Saint Vitus, with its lusty swagger). And why not? This is after all about the mystery that surrounds one of the most haunted islands on earth.

Thus far, the record's been sporting a pretty up-beat pulse, so surely you're ready for some good old fashion doom? "Moonchild's Scream" concerns a albino girl accused of being possessed by the devil for her appearance. One day, she disappears in the dungeons of a castle and legend has it that her cries can still be heard every five years during the Summer Solstice. Doesn't get more doom than that, folks!

After a brief interlude ("Necropass"), we arrive at my favorite track of Magharia. "Nuraghe" concerns the spirit of a woman judged and condemned for a crime she was innocent of still roams among the ancient stones. Boy, the ancients sure did have a hang-up with free-spirited, independent women, didn't they? The song itself is possessed by the spirit of Pentagram in its biting guitar work and rhythmic attack. Love the riffage on this one! Some of it could have been played out just a little more for my taste, like the all-too-brief Soundgardenesque motif at the two-minute mark. It returns a minute later, again in brief. C'mon Ghenes, let your inner Kim Thayil loose! Maybe we can convince them to improv at this point with a bitchin' guitar solo at their next festival appearance. Then again, perhaps this fits artistically with the song, which speaks of obscure "grim dancing bats" and a ghost that haunts through swift shadows passing over glimmers of light. Once again, Zagrus expressive song style comes through to distinguish this as a gem of the genre. I shall be revisiting it on my personal playlist often.

"Headless Ghost" strikes graceful Goatsnake groove as the yarn is spun about the restless and tormented soul of an ancient Roman warrior who has risen from his place of rest. All he wants is the skull that was looted from his place of burial. Give it back to him! "No one will be spared tonight," the lyrics warn, as the song shifts down to a dire doom dirge as the night unveils a strange moon and the wanderings of a cursed soul, seeking his head and not more. "He is living again in this hell."

"The Bridge of Damnation" is one of the creepiest of the record, said to be about "a bridge, a young boy, and his three torturers." The mood is quite dark, with esoteric atmosphere, reverberating vocalizations, guitar and bass trading off notes. Oh, and did I mention this tale from the crypt involves death and resurrection, as well? The riffmaking and drumming are absolutely on point, as is the singing -- which by now in the record I'm not only am accustomed to, but have grown to admire. Another keeper!

"Sinful Nun" winds and grinds as Zagarus croons about the inner torment of a Sister who has never gotten over her beloved, who died under such unspeakably tragic circumstances that she decided to consecrate herself to God in celibacy. However, her vows are in vain as she still pines for her long lost lover. The verses are sung to the accompaniment of a galloping tempo, which seems to represent the fevered anguish of a soul forever stricken by grief and the haunted memories of lost love. This is juxtaposed in the chorus by a cursed riff that seems to speak as the Hand of Fate itself. "Farewell to this life," are the Sinful Nun's final words.

At last, we reach the album's namesake and though "Magharia" is entirely instrumental, it would be a mistake to assume you know what it's going to do. Around the four-minute mark, I had to check and make sure I was listening to the same album, as dark synth busted out a metronomic rhythm, leading to a declamatory section of keyboards to accompany the math-like guitar play and an improvisation of almost creepy seventies-sounding prog, which after its playful fit dissipates suddenly in a bluesy collapse.

Bretus have cooked up a remarkable horror soundtrack that, though it speaks of ancient lore, is very much a fitting backdrop to the unreality of our own times. Fitting somewhere on the stylistic spectrum between Candlemass and Paul Chain, Reverend Bizarre and Cardinals Folly, Margharia may be the band's finest effort to date. Certainly, it rewards repeated listens, and will haunt you for many years to come. Look for the record to drop this weekend (pre-order here), with multiple physical formats releasing via The Swamp Records (compact disc), Burning Coffin Records (cassette), and Overdrive Records (vinyl). Until then, you can stream it all, right now, right here!

Give ear...

Magharia by BRETUS

An Interview with Bretus

What is the concept behind the new album and what themes do you explore?

Musically the new record is most "in your face" than the previous album. Also our approach to the recording was different. We rehearsed and arranged together more than before. The result is an album more raw to us. It is a concept album born around different italian old ghost tales. Some of these is supposed to be legend or myth, who knows.

When did you write it? Was it during the pandemic lockdowns?

We had more ideas about new stuff long before the pandemia arrived. We spent this time working on the pre-production of the tracks.

Can you give us a track-by-track explanation of each song on the album?

For sure!

"Celebration of Gloom" is a strange song because there are many influences in it. Including a solo flute in the middle of the track. However is a very loud and gloomy song.

"Cursed Island" probably is the most rock 'n' roll song of the album. If you know what I mean. Rock in the attitude. Also the first video of the album.

"Moonchild's Scream" is 100% pure Doom with a heavy mid-section.

"Necropass" is like Caronte travelling the damned souls across the Stige River.

"Nuraghe" is a heavy oriented track with a very dark feeling.

"Headless Ghost" has a more stoner trend than the others and in the end there is a psycho riffing.

"The Bridge of Damnation" includes our '80s dark influences into our sound, probably the most haunted track of the album. The story is based upon an old weird story that happened in our native city, Catanzaro.

"Sinful Nun" is like an experiment and neither of us can explain really what it is... ah ah aha! For sure the most heavy track of all.

Finally "Magharia." You cannot believe it but the idea comes from a Who's album, Quadrophenia. Either of us wrote a part of the song. The result is a kind of horror soundtrack.

Magharia by BRETUS

How do you feel that your basic style or approach to song composition has changed since you first started writing songs in the early days?

You already know a lot of things about us, we know you from so long ago! Please don't ask how old we are. (laughs) Basically our approach is the same from the beginning. Of course we listen to a lot of new stuff during these years so every album brings different "colors."

Where are you most looking forward to playing live once pandemic restrictions are eased?

Everywhere! We are angry for live gigs or simply to drink beers with friends.

Follow The Band

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[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E5; Chapter Five, The Flea and The Acrobat - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Gender Neutral!Reader Series

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘳. 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

His heart racing, Hopper could hear the blood pumping in his ears as he ran through the twisted corridors of the lab. Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he swiftly maneuvered the facility be had just broken into in search of the missing boy.

"Will?" His desperate calls echoed off of the cold tile walls.

"Will?"

In the midst of his frantic haste, he had gotten turned around. The chilling corridors all seemed the same and a new wave of panic flooded him. Taking a deep breath, the chief tried his best to recompose himself. He came across a crossroads; it resembled a four-way intersection that one may find on an ominous back road in the country. He stared ahead and sighed.

Each corridor was identical to the next. Cold and unwelcoming.

"You gotta be shittin' me." He growled under his breath.

Grabbing his bearings, the man kept straight and hoped for the best.

The hallway stretched for what felt like miles, when finally, after a few turns, it came to a dead end. He looked around and noticed this was quite different than the others.

The chief's instincts that had earned him the title in the first place suggested to him that the small corner of the facility had been long forgotten. This particular area had been neglected the upkeep that was evident in the rest of the laboratory. Ahead of him lay two doors; an old broom closet, labeled as such, and a rather ominous looking door, with an accompanying window with a glimpse inside an untidy room.

This particular room piqued his interest. The door was closed, though the handle seemed to be broken, the room ajar. Hopper cautiously stepped toward the door, reaching his arm out and slowly pushed it open.

Hopper stepped inside the cluttered room, his heart racing, not knowing what to expect. It was clear that the room was designed to have a greater purpose, but had been hastily abandoned and eventually forgotten. It seemed that just about every item in the room, much like the rest of the facility, was made of steel. From the counters to the filing cabinets with half-opened drawers. His eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he stepped inside and around the steel table to the cabinet on the opposite end of the room.

Knowing he had little time, he shone his flashlight into the drawer and he quickly rifled through the filing cabinet waiting for something that might catch his eye. Hopper sighed in disappointment when he found nothing useful. He began to shut the filing cabinet in defeat when he caught a small glimpse of a peculiar label shoved all the way to the back, almost like it was meant to be forgotten.

Tilting his head in curiosity, Hop pulled the drawer out as far as it would go and even then, the man had to reach for the file. It was a wonder he caught it in the first place. He pulled it from the drawer and examined the front with haste.

The label on the edge of the manilla folder had been scratched out and written over many times that it was now indistinguishable. The front cover was all blank, except for a few words that had been scribbled in black ink.

SUBJECT 009; THE MISSING EXPERIMENT

The familiar words sparked something in Hopper. With no time to waste he shoved the file into his jacket and closed the cabinet, making a run for the door.

Fortunately, Hopper was able to retrace his steps back to the where he had gotten lost, this time making a right turn down the hallway. He continued his calls for Will when suddenly, he found himself in a room, not that different from the strange room he found himself in earlier. Only this room, contained a bed.

And a security camera, which happened to be the first thing Hopper noticed when he entered.

He stepped closer to the bed, the light of the flashlight landing on a small stuffed animal, that was placed neatly at the top of the bed near the pillow. Frowning, Hopper moved his flashlight to the wall above the bed, a small piece of printer paper had been taped to the wall.

It was a drawing, clearly done by a child.

There were two people depicted in the drawing, in the form of stick figures. What appeared to be a tall man standing next to a smaller stick figure who he could only assume to be artist. The child wore a frown, and they faced a table that appeared to have a cat on it. Hopper almost didn't notice the words above each stick figure.

Above the child, was the number eleven. And above the man, written in messy handwriting was a single word.

Papa.

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

The five of us were scattered around Mike's basement. El was curled up on the couch, most likely physically exhausted from contacting Will. Mike was sitting at the opposite end of the couch by El's feet, concentration etched in his features. Lucas occupied the lounge chair deep in thought while Dustin resides at the bottom of the stairs.

"What was Will saying?" Mike wondered.

He began reciting Will's words from earlier in an attempt to recall the only clue we might have that he might be alive.

"Like home... Like home... but dark?" He stood up from the couch, hands still in his jacket pockets as he began pacing the room.

"And empty." Lucas pressed his intertwined fingers against his forehead, his eyes closed deep in thought.

My leg bounced up and down at an alarming rate, a nervous habit I picked up at a young age as I spoke up, my eyes still focused on one random corner of the room.

"And cold."

Dustin sighed.

"Empty and cold. Wait, did he say cold?" He looked around the room, seeming to second guess himself.

"I don't know, I think? The stupid radio kept going in and out." Lucas sighed.

"He did. He said cold." I muttered, unable to shake the haunting voice of my friend's terrified cries for help.

"Like home." Mike repeated once more. "Like his house?"

"Or maybe like Hawkins." Lucas offered eagerly.

"Upside Down." El muttered.

"What'd she say?" Lucas asked.

"Upside Down." Mike said, a hint of astonishment in his voice as something seemed to have clicked.

"What?" Lucas repeated.

Mike walked over to the table I sat at and looked at the overturned game board. It was then I recalled what El had been telling us the other night, with Will's game piece.

My mouth fell into a silent gasp as everything began falling into place. I turned myself back around in the chair and looked at the board.

"Upside down." I breathed.

Mike had taken a seat across from me, both hands on the game board while the other boys got up and joined us at the table.

Mike began flipping the board over multiple times as he explained.

"When El showed us where Will was, she flipped the board over, remember? Upside down. Dark. Empty. Cold." He finished, locking eyes with me as he said the last word.

"Do you understand what he's talking about?" Lucas asked me and Dustin.

We replied simultaneously.

"Yes."

"No."

We both looked at each other with confusion and a hint of annoyance for a split second before dismissing the thought.

"Come on guys, think about it. When El took us to find Will, she took us to his house, right?" I offered, gesturing all around me as I spoke.

Lucas shrugged.

"Yeah. And he wasn't there."

"But what if he was there?" I offered, eyebrows raised as I looked between my brother and Lucas. "What if we just couldn't see him? What if he was on the other side?"

The boys, aside from Mike, of course, seemed to consider this. Mike jumped back in as he flipped the board right side up once more.

"What if this is Hawkins and..." he flipped it back. "This is where Will is? The Upside Down."

Dustin seemed to perk up as he connected his own dots.

"Like the Vale of Shadows."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dustin slammed Mike's collection of Dungeons and Dragons guides and spell books on the table and began flipping through the various guidebooks. After a few moments he stopped on the page he had been looking for and began to read aloud.

"The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters."

As he read the next sentence, Mike, Lucas and I all shared the same, unsettled look, and a chill ran down my spine.

"It is right next to you, and you don't even see it." Dustin finished, and looked up, sharing our looks of concern.

Mike spoke up.

"An alternate dimension."

It seemed I was not the only one who was having difficulty handling the information.

"But... how... how do we get there?" Lucas asked worriedly.

"We cast Shadow Walk." Dustin said.

"In real life, dummy." Lucas deadpanned.

"We can't shadow walk, but... maybe she can." Dustin offered.

We all look to a drowsy looking El.

"Do you know how we get there? To the Upside Down?" Mike asked her gently.

She shook her head softly and we all felt the heavy ache of disappointment. Some of us were better at hiding it.

"Oh, my God!" Lucas sighed dramatically.

I tuned out the bickering that began between the boys when I gestured for the handbook and Dustin complied, sliding it over to me.

Maybe, just maybe, there must be something in one of these books that could help us or even give us an idea. I began flipping through the spell book and found myself lingering on my characters class, the Druid. More specifically, the Druid spell pages, getting lost in thought.

My eyes scanned the pages, my hope and curiosity had bubbled down to desperation and boredom as I read the all too familiar page. This time, with a new lense.

I recognized the many spells I had used in previous campaigns; Produce Flame had gotten me out of a pinch with a mimic once, I smiled at the memory. And of course, Plant Growth - one of my personal favorites - Will would always tease me about my love for plants carried on into my character.

I soon found myself unable to tear my attention away from one of the lower class spells I always used, Cure Wounds. Something in the back of my mind kept gnawing at me. I bore my eyes into the page as I reread the words over and over again.

"You or a creature you touch regains a number of Hit Points equal to 1d8 + your Spellcasting ability modifier. This spell has no effect on Undead or constructs."

It dawned on me. That night we saw "Will". It was just moments before we heard the sirens, I realized my cut had mysteriously vanished. I had immediately gotten distracted when we heard the sirens and then everything happened one after the other that I had forgotten.

'How could I possibly have forgotten something like that?'

I thought about El. A week ago I never believed it possible to move things with your mind, but yet El could. It made me wonder.

I shook my head, clearly, I was grasping at straws.

'Remember what mom said?' I asked myself, some part of me desperate to bury the ridiculous notion growing in the back of my mind. 'My body has always been faster than most medicines.'

I broke myself out of my thoughts to see Dustin and Lucas packing up. Suddenly realizing how tired I was, I happily joined in and grabbed my jacket from the chair and we said our goodbyes.