#banshee snippet

[liverobinreaction]

Banshee In A Well Snippet

“You promised,” is the first thing Cass says to him, voice hoarse and accusatory. “You promised you’d be okay.”

“I am,” he tries to rasp out, and the way she tightens her grip feels like a warning, so he quickly corrects himself: “I thought I was.”

“You lied,” she says mournfully, “you lied, and I let you go.”

From where she’s tangled with him, he can’t see her face, but the minute shift of her shoulder tells him that she’s spiralling, and he quickly goes to pull away. She tries to tighten her hold, but he needs to look her in the face.

“Cass, I promise I thought I was okay,” he repeats, and she lets out a sigh so deep he can feel it in his bones.

“Lying,” she breathes out into his ear, “to me, to yourself, to everyone.”

And that-

Tim doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally admits, because that’s the crux of it; he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s the right thing to tell them, how he needs to react, how he convinces everyone that this is normal and always has been.

Cass just leans back in, tucking her head beneath his chin, and she holds him with a gentleness that makes his eyes sting.

“Words are hard,” she agrees, and he lets out a strangled chuckle.

Both of them stay quiet for a moment, neither quite sure how to continue.

Or, well, he does. Because Cass is Cass is Cass, and she is his sister before anything else.

“I think dying has been the one constant in my life,” he confesses into her hair, half hoping she won’t hear him. But she does. Of course she does, and she goes still at his words, chest hitching as she waits for him to continue.

And unlike the bitter torrent he threw at Bruce and Dick, unlike the caustic sarcasm he spewed to amuse Pru, unlike the clinical observations he noted down for himself and Ra’s, what begins to pour out of his chest hurts in a way he’s swallowed down since that first lungful of water.

“It’s normal,” he finds himself saying, “that’s the thing, it’s normal to me. And no-one’s ever asked before. No-one’s ever noticed unless I died in front of them, and even then it’s a toss-up, though to be fair, I actively try to prevent people from connecting the dots.

“I think a part of me actively wants to die, Cass,” spills out of his mouth, and he regrets it as she flinches against him, but he can’t stop. “And not in a permanent, suicidal depressed way, but like there’s some biological imperative that makes me seek out death over and over. Because what other explanation is there? I was five when I died the first time, and then I killed myself to test it. Multiple times. And even when I tried to avoid it, it still lingered in my mind.

“Why did I do that stuff? Why did I record it? Why do I still pull that shit, over and over, choosing death like it’s the easiest thing in the world?”

Cass is silent in his arms. But she doesn’t let go.

Instead, the room is disrupted by a clearing throat, and Tim’s eyes dart up, even as Cass stays still. Alfred stands there, wrinkles pronounced and voice hoarse as he speaks.

“If I may, Timothy?”

Cassandra doesn’t move to kick the older man out, not like she did with Bruce and Dick, and Alfred-

Well, Alfred is Alfred.

And so, Tim nods.

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[pebble-of-gold]

WOO 2023

Lets talk about my top 10 films that came out in 2022! I watched a lot of films last year!

1. Everything everywhere all at once

I could write essays on this movie but putting it simply I watched this film in theatres 5 times. There was nothing in this movie that dissapointed me. Its an incredible example of nihilism vs existentialism and I cried 3/5 times i saw it. I now own it on dvd.

2. Bullet train

Bullet train I saw ever so slightly less coming in at 4 cinema visits! Fantastic visuals and soundtrack. Wonderful casting and a fabulously written script! One of my favourite examples of a film that is just fun to watch. I'll be honest on the 3rd and 4th time I was a bit bored but theres not as much going on to rewatch as EEAAO.

3. Black panther: Wakanda forever

I started crying and I dont know if I stopped? An incredibly touching tribute to Chadwick Boseman and a heartbreaking reminder of who we've lost. I think this is the best marvel movie since endgame honestly.

4. The unbearable weight of massive talent

Nick Cage is unironically one of my favourite actors and him and pedro pascal have created an amazing piece of media here. It is so funny and thats all it needs to be! Its just 2 guys getting to know eachother. Fair enough theres some action and spy shit going on but with that removed it is just pure fun.

5. NOPE

A slightly controversial one I know, However, I will never get over the wacky inflatable arm tube men. Im not even joking. They are what made me want to see the film in the first place! No but an excellent example of terror vs fear and a perfect film to discuss questions like "how far should you go for the shot" and issues like exploitation of animals.

6. Three thousand years of longing.

First and foremost its Tilda Swinton and Idris Elba enough said. This movie is gorgeous. The cinematography is beautiful and the costumes the makeup the set design the props my word they did not dissapoint! The message of the film is largely isolation but also behind that theres a sense of love is eternal and how much would you do for love. I couldn't recommend this film more.

7. Matilda

Ok this one is the music and choreography for me. It's a fun film and i loce the set design for it. The costume for mrs wormwood is to die for and I want it all. Theres not a huge moral like the others on the list its a good example of what goes around comes around and good prevails. The camerawork is amazing too.

8. The Menu

Everyone in this film is an awful person EXCEPT Anya Taylor Joy's Character and I live for it. The pacing is wonderful, the camerawork again fantastic and the characterisation!!! There is so much tension and it keeps building until you reach the climax its a wonderful. I like to think the film is about anti capitalism and the death of creatives due to the preassure of critics.

9. The banshees of inisherin

My favourite type of media is where nothing happens but SO MUCH happens. (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead is a wonderful example of this) and Banshees is an amazing example of that. At its core its about loss and lobelyness. Plus It has a RELATIVELY ACCURATE autistic character and thats my favourite part.

10. Don't worry darling

DON'T BOO ME DON'T YOU DARE. OK I ENJOYED IT. SOMEONE HAD TO! HARRY'S ACTING WASN'T EVEN THAT BAD YES IT COULD HAVE BEEN BETTER BUT THERE WAS SO MUCH SHIT GOING ON CAN YOU BLAME HIM! plus I was living for the drama of DWD and no it was not at all about feminism or the female orgasm but it was about control and it was a fantastic film to showcase that.

Honorable mentions go to:

Where the crawdads sing, Batman, The bad guys, Sing 2, violent night, JJK:0, Multiverse of madness.

Thor does not get an honorable mention and I will not see avatar 2 because I want it to flop.

[riftwalker-limbro]

when you have a game moment that you can translate almost directly into lore snips

Barely waiting for the ramp to go down, Kelth separated from Limbo and stumbled down into the orbiter.

"Operator, you shouldn't go on missions for that long!" Ordis chided. "What if you lose focus and-"

"Limbo has my back if I do, and it's just Mars," Kelth said, flippant, leaning onto the frame's offered arm, not feeling like grabbing their cane for the short walk into their quarters, but also not having the strength to steadily walk that far. "Ordis, how many-"

"Before you ask me that, Operator," Ordis interrupts, voice grave, "think about if you really want the answer. Really think about it."

Kelth, finally seated on their couch, swatted in the general direction of Ordis' camera. "Whatever. How many void traces was that one?"

Ordis remained silent.

"I promise I really want to know," they said.

"One hundred twenty-one void traces, Operator."

Kelth grunted and slid down the couch, halfway to the floor, which was thankfully covered in a rug.

"That was over an hour! I could swear that-"

"I'm sorry, Operator. Relics are fickle things."

From the corner of their eye, they could see Limbo add notes to his blackboard, which was currently filled with notes on Void Relic statistics, adjusting the average. He looked at them over his shoulder, shrugged, and circled the number he'd calculated again. There were traces of older circles around it. Limbo signed "fickle?" and made a scoffing motion with his entire upper body.

Kelth groaned again, dramatically flinging their arm over their eyes.

"Hot chocolate is on the way, Operator."

[frost-queen]

Witches road// part 2 (Fem!reader x Agatha Harkness)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic,@alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer, @slythetic , @p0nycurtis , @quailbagutte , @fantasticcroissantpandagarden, @lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

Summary: Summoning the witches road, you are met up with the first trial. Being close around Agatha once more breaks unfamiliar things out of you. Can you overcome your fears and get a sense of what is becoming of you. [Witches road series]

Gather sisters fire

Water, earth and air

You quirked your eyebrow intriguingly up when you entered the house. Hand sliding on the doorframe whilst entering. Making a loud hum sound, looking around. – “What?” – Agatha asked entering behind you. – “Nothing.” – you responded looking over your shoulder to her. – “It’s just not you.” – you gestured at the clean suburban lifestyle, something unlike her.

“Well I didn’t have it to the picking Y/n.” – Agatha responded annoyed. Chuckling amused, you walked to the living room. Seeing another witch already present. With wide eyes, she looked at you. – “Are my eyes deceiving me?” – she questioned. – “They are not.” – Agatha responded walking past her. Your familiar jumped on the sofa making Agatha hurry over.

“Uh-uh no pets on the couch.” – she started clapping her hands to scare him away. Your familiar hissed back in defence, making her pull her hands back. – “Fine then sit.” – she replied bothered. Jennifer’s gaze went from you to Agatha, keeping a close eye on it. Trying to find something subtle in her behaviour.

She got quickly disrupted when the other witches walked in. – “Let’s summon the road.” – Agatha said happily, clasping in her hands. You started humming the tune of the hymn, going towards her basement. – “Is… is she alright?” – Alice asked with a point at you.

Agatha waved it away, going after you. Down her basement you all came to stand in a circle. Agatha came standing beside you. You glanced down at her offering hand, humming in disagreement as you went around taking Jennifer’s hand. Agatha narrowed her eyes with a soft glare.

Your familiar meowed near her feet, startling her. Looking down at the black cat, she showed him her clawed hand. It made your familiar hiss back at her, hairs up straight. Agatha straightened her posture. A sudden thundering made her freak out. – “Let’s get a move on.”

She grabbed their hands, readying themselves to sing the witches ballad.

Seekest thou the road

To all that's foul and fair

Gather sisters fire

Water, earth and air

Darkest hour, wake thy power

Earthly and divine

Burn and brew with coven true

And glory shall be thine

Your gaze went upwards sensing the hauntingly arrival. Their presence carried by the screeching wind. Like a banshee’s cry sending a wave of crumbled leaves with them. The pressing hour of the witches road nearing. Only one chance to succeed for else the seven would devour her.

Your familiar jumped on your shoulder, laying his tail around your neck. Squeezing your newly sister’s hands, you sang along. The words you had carved in your head for centuries. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road. A pulsating force made you move your chest a bit back. Taken back by it’s intensity. The seven had entered the house. Having stepped over the boundaries.

Your gaze went to Agatha in front of you. Seeing her sing with fear in her eyes. Very well aware of the troubles waiting upstairs. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road.

The chanting became louder and louder. Overpowering the rumbling from upstairs. The ceiling shuddering with snippets of dust fluttering down. Squeezing their hands tight, you felt the primal force of a coven brewing down deep. Gaze fixating at Agatha with a hard stare. Maiden, mother, crone. An ominous sound seeped through the house.

Thundering with an ominous omen. A path one should not take. Down, down, down the road. Down the witches road. Roared through the basement. Chanting loudly with every might from your lungs. Elevating with the brewing hymn. Looking up, you let the chanting fully consume you. To glory at the end.

Hands were released as all looked breathless at each other. For an eerie moment, everyone wondered if it worked. Emptiness. Whilst Agatha and the others were bickering. Knowing what was at her doorstep, you lowered yourself. Kneeling down to touch the cold ground. Your familiar jumped off your back, meowing soft.

You started to hum the hymn once more, brushing your hand over the ground. Closing your eyes briefly. When your hands felt roughness, you opened your eyes once more. Thundering rushed down the stairs as the teen appeared out of breath. – “Is that the door?” – he asked breathless. All looked at him before looking down at the ground. You were smiling wickedly at the door. Agatha immediately knelt down to pull the slots open.

“Help me!” – she yelled out with urgency. All came to her help. Revealing a set of steps. Stone and cold. You whistled brief as your familiar jumped on your shoulder. – “Down, down, down.” – you whispered taking the first step. Others quickly followed, going down. Letting the road consume them. Agatha closed the doors before the seven could claim her.

Following the glowing bouncing off the walls, you lead them down. A smile curling up when you met with the woods. Taking a deep breath, you let it consume your lungs. Letting it take over every breath of you. The teen came standing beside you, smiling excitingly at you. You smiled back at him as your black cat stuck his head out to him. The teen looked wonderous over to you.

With a simple nod of yours, you accepted. The teen reached out to scratch your cat behind the ear. – “May I ask you something Y/n?” – he dared to ask, lowering his hand. You hummed softly with a nod. – “How… why… why… were… you?” – he started, stumbling a bit over his words. Unsure how to phrase it. – “Buried?” – you responded knowing where he was going with it.

Staring off into the distance, your mind got pulled back a memory. Standing frozen as the teen tried to get a reaction out of you by waving his hand before you. – “Crawling all the way…” – you said numbly. Your cat meowed in your ear, making you shake your head awake.

Plastering on a smile, you looked back at the teen. Tapping his nose with a playful shrug. You then hummed loudly to hop after the others. – “Is… is she alright?” – Alice asked Jennifer lowly. Jennifer moved her gaze onto you. – “I’ve only heard rumours, but she was betrayed…” – Jennifer responded. – “By whom?” – Alice wanted to know. Jennifer only looked in Agatha’s direction as it said enough.

Alice nodded nervously as it made a bit more sense. Agatha came to a stop, turning round to everyone. – “We will be tested at every possible given.” – she explained. There were some uncertainties amongst the sisters. Unsure how they would be tested to find glory at the end. – “Shall we?” – Agatha exclaimed, clasping her hands together. She noticed your gaze was fixated on the ground. 

Staring lost at it, almost like in trance. Agatha chuckled nervously coming over to you. She came standing behind you, taking you by the shoulders. – “Y/n, let’s go.” – she whispered to you, her lips close to your cheek. You numbly rocked your body wobbly on your heel. – “Let’s go…” – she repeated tugging on your shoulder to follow her.

When Agatha turned around she noticed Mrs. Hart… uhum Sharon had taken off. It made her groan loud needing to search for her. All of you started to run, hearing screams. Screams filling the witches road like an embrace. Familiar and known. Your eyes widened seeing Mrs. Hart trying to pull her purse out of a puddle of mud. Slowly devouring her purse. Making it one with the earth.

You rushed over to her, grabbing her by the ankles, ready to pull along with Jennifer as your eyes fell on the mud puddle. Seeing how it was swallowing the purse whole. It made your whole heart empty, waiting for the beat to come out. – “Y/n! Y/n!” – Jennifer called out as you weren’t helping.

Agatha noticed the trauma reflecting deep in your eyes as it made her come to assist. Grabbing the ankle with your hands around it to assist in tugging. Mrs. Hart got pulled back, making you fall down. Blinking rapidly, you crawled on top of Agatha. A distant look in your eyes, as you held a stick against her throat. Pushing it slightly into her skin.

Cheeks trembling with fury as a part of you wanted to jab it through her throat. Agatha had moved her hands up, seeing you were miles away. A darkness deep in your eyes. – “Y/n.” – the teen spoke approaching you. – “Lower the stick…it’s alright…” – he said calmly, reassuring you. – “Y/n… it’s alright…” – he came kneeling beside you.

“Let Agatha go Y/n.” – he spoke softly reaching for your hand. Panting loud, your hand trembled. Once the teen moved his hand over yours, it seemed to steady. He slowly moved the stick away from Agatha’s throat. Taking your other hand to help you off Agatha and up your feet. Agatha touched her throat for a pinch.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” – you told the teen, not sure what overcame you. – “It’s alright.” – he responded with a soft smile. Your familiar came brushing against your leg, making you look down at him. Kneeling down, you picked him up, letting him snuggle against your chest.

The comfort of him brought you back to reality. Not sure what had overcome you. – “Has that always been there?” – Jennifer asked after some silence. Making you all look at the house in the distance. Agatha smirked coming nearer. All of you followed her towards the house. You remained in the back, feeling out of yourself. Like you had no idea who this person was.

This person that seemed to keep trying to crawl her way out. Been in the darkness for a very long time. Chained and shackled. The house was warningly welcoming.  Looking at the others, you saw there had been a change in appearances. It made you rub your hands nervously together. By the diner table, you stood holding the glass of wine up.

Mrs. Hart drank the wine in one breath, making you raise your brow at her. – “Shall we take the girl talk to the sofa?” – she said tipsy making you all return to the living room. You took a deep breath, feeling a shiver up your spine when Agatha stroke her finger up your arm.

“Do not drink it.” – she whispered to you with a witchy smile. It made you stare down your glass. Seeing the wine swirl around like blood. Glaring at her, you moved the glass up. – “I stray not from the path, I hold death’s hand in mine.” – you told her before emptying your glass down your throat. Down, down, down it went. Agatha’s gaze widened. With a beckoning look, you threw your glass against the ground.

Shattering into a dozen pieces. It made her jump back to avoid the shatters. The first symptoms appeared with Mrs. Hart. Her face all swollen, you could barely recognize her. Then it consumed the others. Taking each and one witch. Poison. The wine was poisoned. Your cat meowed soft at the first trial. Counting down till the hour of death. Waiting patiently at the door for unsuccess.

For the only wakening to keep death at bay was an antidote. Jennifer send everyone off. You went with Lilia and Agatha. Haunted by the hour of death and it’s testing. For a witch would be tested greatly.

The chime of a bell made you stop in your tracks. Lilia and Agatha continuing. Another bell chimed as it send a shiver down your spine. Feeling the room turn, you slowly turned around. An ominous sound grasping you when you stared down at an empty grave. A bell chiming twice.

A banshee’s cry carried by the wind as crumbled leaves fluttered over your feet. Down. Down. Down. The empty hole in the grave seemingly enlarging till the very crust of the earth. A gaping mouth ready to swallow you whole. Your body started to shock a bit. Feeling a cough come up. The bell chimed for a third time. Trying to hold in the coughs. A thickness in your throat.

Coughing loud, you coughed up earth. Dry earth, coughed out like powder. Seeping out of your mouth as it made you sink to your knees. Kneeling at the bed of the grave, the bellowing emptiness below. Down. Down. Down. Coughing more, the earth from your mouth fell in the empty grave.  

Feeling yourself choke on the earth and sand in your mouth. There seemed to be no end. Thy breathing woven to earth. Trying to grasp for air, you grasped your fingers down your throat. Body wobbling as you felt yourself nearly tip down the gaping mouth of your boundness. All that gravel. Chained and shackled.

Body releasing gravity as you felt weightless. Tipping forwards, ready to meet your earthy bed. A sudden grip on your shoulder made you gasp awake. Blinking rapidly at the vast ground. No more cemetery. No more grave. Touching your mouth, it was clean of any earth. – “Y/n?” – Agatha asked concerned.

She came kneeling beside you as you teared up. Letting yourself fall against her chest, you cried soft. Agatha shushing you soothingly. She placed a sorrowful kiss at the top of your head.

Gaining your senses, you pushed yourself off her. Returning to Jennifer to assist her. She noticed the spooked expression on your face. – “You too?” – she asked, making you nod. One of the side-effects of the poison you weren’t keen on. Your black cat jumped on the counter, purring loudly as you stroke his back. – “Is it true?” -Jennifer asked making you look up at her. – “Did you truly get betrayed?” – she wanted to know.

“It's my whole heart. Weighed and measured inside.” – you responded as it sounded like a riddle to her. – “Deemed and delivered a crime.” – you went on, staring into the distance, still petting your familiar. Not wanting to engage in it further, you picked up your cat, moving away from Jennifer. Jennifer nodded respectfully. The others returned all with their ingredients for the antidote.

You held on close to your familiar, watching Jennifer brew the potion. Your cat jumped onto your shoulder when you held hands to change the potions colour. Needing it to be teal. With the teens blood it reached teal. Letting a fallen hair drop in. The hour of death at your shoulder, breathing down. Trying to outrun it. To escape the hour of death, you drank the potion.

“Hurry!” – Agatha shouted as the glass had broken. Sending a flood of water inside. Your cat jumped into your arms as you ran with it to the open oven. Jennifer crawled through it first. You followed with your cat as the others were behind you. Jennifer’s scream was loud when she went down the slide. Followed by laughter. Cackling with pleasure down the slide till your body bumped against hers. One by one, they went down the slide. All getting up but one. For Sharon was dead.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[romavoid]

Nullity can’t remember when she started humming the tune. It was small snippets of a bigger song, that she did know. But what song is also lost to her. Was it before the sky kingdom, with her biological parents? Or was it after that, during her unsteady days adapting to the higher, less nocturnal climate? She was too young to really remember either way.

Still, it's a nice melody to sing to, especially when baking.

“What’re you trying out this time, Nul?”

The nightwing squeaked loudly, whipping her whole body around in surprise. In the doorway to the kitchen loomed a large, redwood-coloured skywing, clearly trying to hide his mirth.

“Dad!!! You can’t do that to me!” Nullity yelled past his now booming laughter. She felt blood rush to her face, flush with embarrassment.

“Aw darl, that was an amazing reaction!” Her father replied, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“Yeah well, I'm making banana bread, and it’s gonna be way better than yours, so ha!”

Despite his frankly annoying tallness, Nullity’s adoptive father was a baker, and a good one at that. Hired among the higher circles of the sky kingdom - both in altitude and class - he would prepare pastries, breads, cakes, and other sweet and savoury foods for other dragons to snack on. But for a long, long while, his family and creations were a one dragon job, until he found Nullity.

“Oh banana bread? That’s a good one, what’s your flour to banana ratio, though?”

“Oh 1 to 2, obviously, but I’m adding some walnuts to it as well.”

Nullity’s father smiled fondly. “Attagirl.”

Yeah, he was a great dad. Silly and often times oblivious, but great. But of course it wasn't just him that found Nullity in the woods…

“Morning Nully, morning Finch!” a voice boomed through the entrance of the house.

It was her mother too.

Their story goes a little like this:

It was one of those restless nights for Finch, when his mind was too loud to get any decent sleep, that he found his little garden. Nestled in between some brambles of the kingdom’s outer wood, Finch had started growing his own food. It was embarrassing, honestly, not trusting his own kingdom's community gardens, but wild fruits and vegetables had always tasted better! Plus, it was a good reprieve from work, too.

On a completely unordinary night, Finch felt like digging up some carrots. “They should be grown by now,” he had thought, “Just in time for carrot-cake season.” So he flew over to his super secret spot, to dig up his super secret carrots, for his super amazing deserts when-

“What are you doing here, citizen?”

A skywing guard found him… with his claws about 1 foot in the ground, and mud splattered all over his scales. The shriek that left his mouth bordered on banshee.

To say he overreacted would be a lie, he had been coming to the garden for almost a year, and no one had found it, or him. He was scared okay? But the way the pink-red guard yelled back in surprise, meant he wasn't the only one.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Calm down!” She squawked at him. “What on earth are you crying about!?”

“You!-” She then whacked him in the face. With her whole wing. OW-

“What is your problem!” he muffled, trying to shove the wing back.

But he stopped, and saw what the guard saw.

The brambles were rustling, he noticed, different from any animal Finch had heard before. Then, out of the thorny bush, slung a black-grey and bleeding tail. A dragonet tail.

The two skywings were frozen with shock.

It was only when a small, scared squeak, left the toddler’s mouth did they finally move.

“Oh gods” The guard breathed. Finch shoved her wing away and rushed over.

He peeled back the branches as delicately as he could, both him, the child, and the guard flinching at every snap of twig. His heart hung heavy in his chest.

“Did you know of this?” The guard - who Finch still didn't know the name of - whispered loudly.

“N-no… nobody comes here.” Finch replied, just as startled. “Why a kid? Why a kid?”

Finch’s hands were shaking, his mind reeling. There’s a child, abandoned, stuck in the thorns in the middle of the night, scared, hurt, and alone. It kept squeaking as well, too young to form words yet. Something needed to be done.

“You…” He hesitated towards the guard.

“Xantus”

“Xantus, thank you, could you search around the area? T-They must have parents, right?”

The guard nodded gravely, taking off into the upper trees.

Finch turned back to the bramble, picking thorns off the child's delicate scales. Their legs were now free, but that was about it. Finch cooed at them, whispering small reassurances, as he painstakingly untied vines and thorns around them. It took a long time, long enough for the guard, Xantus, to come back with no news. The legs were free, then the wings, the chest, the arms and then finally the neck, then face.

Finch noted that, when the sunrise shone through the branches, and the child’s light-burgundy eyes locked on to his, he wanted to be a father.

—

Of course, Nullity wasn't adopted by them until about 10 months after she was found. In that time, Finch and X had to go back to work, giving the child over to the sky-mud joint orphanage. But during that time, both skywings couldn't stop thinking about her. The situation was strange, but above all else, heartbreaking. Her description, age, or location, wasn’t on any census. No kingdom could vouch for her birth, not even the nightwings. Legally speaking, she was a nullity. (ha)

So call it impulsive or parental, but Finch needed to give that child a home. After some consideration, he flew over to X’s, and explained the situation. He knew that, on that completely unordinary day, his whole life had changed. It was to Finch’s surprise, however, that Xantus felt the same. “I couldn’t think, I couldn't eat, I couldn’t sleep, without knowing if she was alright.” She had stated at the time, offering to help the new dad any way that she could.

So they adopted her together, and raised her together.

—

Back in the present, Nullity noted she was still humming that unknown tune, her claws mindlessly stirring her banana bread mixture. Through the doorway, she could hear Finch and X bicker, their loud skywing laughs ringing in her ears.

She loves her parents so much.

[scaly-freaks]

Snippet of Rhaena/Aemond from my AO3 fic which I probably won't be able to fit into the work itself because...plot issues. Might write bits here, I don't know. We'll see.

tw // implication of dubcon

"WHERE IS SHE?"

For such a petite woman, his wife screams like a banshee. But to her little dragon - that raw, pink, ugly creature - she coos like a siren, all trills and undulations.

Rhaena's arm sweeps across the table, sending his books scattering. Half of them belonged to her grandfather, along with a few scrolls from Yi Ti scribed in a language Aemond has yet to decipher. He pores over them in the evenings, following along with Corlys's annotations - he never had much opinion on the man beyond helping to kill his wife. But Aemond must admit that he had a sharp mind for linguistics.

"Your dragon - " he pauses to finish reading a line of script, thumb pressed to the ink-stained paper. " - is safe. Don't fret."

Rhaena's voice dips low, trembling with rage. "Give her back. She needs me to feed her. She won't feed unless I prepare the bottle - "

"That's funny. She was feeding just fine when I left her with the dragonkeeper." Aemond flings the scroll on the table, and tosses one leg over the other, hands folded across his stomach.

He smiles at her - that cold, cruel, curl of a smile - and waits for it to sink in.

For months now, he has been patient, allowing his wife to come to terms with the reality of their marriage. Granted, he had forced his sister to give her stepdaughter over in marriage as the only elder left in that wretched household, but there was no mistreatment beyond that. Rhaena had her own chambers, her own separate life. All he asked was that eventually, she turn her mind to the reality of ruling a great house.

Heirs.

"Give her back," she repeats, and he almost feels sorry for her. It is clear she is struggling to draw air into her lungs, the absence of her dragon has her so distraught. "Please."

"Give me what I want and you can have your dragon."

"Sire a bastard and have your brother legitimise it. Isn't that what you fought the war for? So that you could both do as you wished? Now this realm is yours. Go! I give you permission. Find a whore and sire a whelp, but first return my dragon to me."

Aemond rises from his chair, slowly, so as not to alarm her.

Ever since the incident in the riverlands, Rhaena has treated him like a caged tiger, giving him a wide berth where and when she can. When he is reminded whose daughter she is, her fear strokes his nerves like silk on velvet, satisfies that deep, sadistic pit in his stomach he has nursed since the first time he watched Vhagar's flames swallow a man whole.

He won't hurt her - the girl is too precious for that sort of bad behaviour - but her fear keeps her in line, prevents her from choosing treason in her bid to escape. Besides, her mother's dragon now keeps watch, turning her childhood home into a prison, one which she has tried and failed to run from. The irony is steeped in poetry.

Rhaena takes a step back, and then another, glassy eyes searching his face for any indication he will accede.

"I want heirs off you." Half the battle is won through physical stature, and Aemond towers over his wife in her delicate rose-pink dress and gold-braided hair. She is a petal, easily plucked and viciously torn, unlike her sister who is all thorns and ice. "A boy, another boy, and then maybe a girl. Little fishes to populate Corlys Velaryon's grand, old Driftmark."

She is staring at him as if her mind has left her body and walked a hundred miles into the sea, deep under the white foam, to a place where he cannot reach her. Except a single trace of his finger down one of her braids brings her twitching back to him.

Only one question remains.

"So...do you want your dragon back, Rhaena?" Aemond asks, sugary sweet.

[starrieisdelusional]

snippet of arthur snapping to banished!merlin in s4 of my fix it au

Arthur has really been an idiot hasn’t he?

He’s not one to overthink things. Arthur has always rely on efficiency. Running a kingdom needs to be orderly. He doesn’t have time to think unnecessary things. Mundane tasks such as ironing his clothes and preparing his food are left to the servants. Kings does not have time to think of such things, let alone dispensable things.

Now he’s cursing himself for being so negligent. It should be obvious from the very beginning. Branches does not fall from the sky at proper timings, nor do fire blows up indoors, dancing up the ceilings. Arthur thought it was merely coincidence, but after running a kingdom for a year he sees now that coincidences usually happens for a reason.

Arthur felt the blowing of the wind too often on his expeditions. He knows how unidentifiable creatures shows up in the morning, in the forests of Camelot. Or how assassins made a fool of themselves, dying before they even had the chance to take Arthur’s life. And each time it happens, he always saw a blur of a figure, so quick Arthur thought he is hallucinating.

He knows Merlin is there. Hiding in the shadows, watching Arthur from every corner. He was enraged at first. How dare he? Did he really think that Arthur was that stupid not to notice his little stunts? But every time he tries to catch him, it always ended up in concerns

Guard: (in a flashback) Is everything alright my lord? Arthur: …fine

The castle staff never question his disappearance, oddly quiet of Merlin’s banishment. Guinevere didn’t talk to him for a month. He didn’t miss the glare that came from his army. Lancelot and Gwaine have always been fond of the manservant. They stopped after a few months.

Arthur thinks that the camelot notice him. And they pretend not to. But he can’t really do anything can he? Not without sounding like a lunatic. So he never addresses it. Even when it’s so blatantly obvious.

Arthur is sick of it truthfully. It reminds him of him in a way. Is it too much for them to trust him? Morgana and his father too…and now Camelot. Is it because he’s such a fool for a king?

So one night when they were on an expedition, when Arthur is sick of all the lies, and the hypocrisy and everything. Arthur sneaks out of the camp, to where the banshee is last spotted.

Arthur waits for it to come. He waited and waited, until he heard a scream, when it almost got him, it dissolves into dust, hit by a spell so powerful Arthur still feels the intensity.

Voice: It is not safe out here, go back to your camp Arthur Pendragon

Arthur: Stop taking me for a fool Merlin, I know it’s you

When there’s no reaction, he groans, drawing his sword

Arthur: COME OUT MERLIN STOP BEING SUCH A COWARD!

It was quiet for a while and Arthur screams. He thrust his sword into the ground.

Arthur: I’LL LET YOU KNOW MERLIN- THAT’S RIGHT I KNOW IT’S YOU -THAT I HATE YOU! YOU LIAR! I TOLD YOU TO NEVER APPEAR IN FRONT OF MY SIGHT EVER AGAIN! AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU STALK ME LIKE A CREEP! HAVE IT EVER CONCURRED TO YOU THAT THE THINGS YOU DID AREN’T NORMAL? WELL YOU ARE! DO YOU REALLY THINK I WON’T NOTICE THAT YOU’RE IN CAMELOT THIS WHOLE TIME?? YOU’RE AN IDIOT AND A INEPT INCOMPETENT RUDE BUMBLING OF A FOOL!! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!!

Arthur wipes the tears that starts to fall out of his eyelashes

Arthur: I hate that you won’t go away, I hate everything about you, I hate that stupid grin of yours, I hate your attitude, I hate your stupid face, I hate that stupid haircut, I hate your tears, I hate that I think of you each night

Arthur grips the hilt of his sword, struggling to speak

Arthur: I won’t forgive you Merlin of Ealdor. For as long as I breathe I will make sure you can never go back to Camelot nor will I ever allow magic to roam free in the land. I will follow my legacy as Uther Pendragon’s son

Arthur went back to the camp. He feels warm despite the cool winter air and his heart feeling like lead.

When morning came, there are no more banshees. Arthur saw a cloaked figure behind the trees, watching.

season 4:

main post:

To find my other ramblings about this AU, filter with the hashtag #must we really rely on fate?

[hirukochan]

I know you are busy right now with your fics and I really admire how brilliant they turn out to be with you working on multiple projects. I really appreciate all your hardwork and dedication and ugh, I just love your work so much.

But can I just say that I saw your comment in one of your fics about a potential forbidden Malfoy OC/Reader x Voldemort and I am really looking forward to that? I'm a huge Harriet x Voldy fan but i really love the Malfoy idea and the whole corruption concept. I have this weird imagery of them like Voldy being the snake from the apple tree in Eden and Malfoy Reader being naive, trusting, and too curious for her own good Eve.

Thank you so much!!! It means the world to hear that! I am thrilled to know so many people enjoy these silly little stories I come up with :D!

I am very much looking forward to writing that story! And I will. First I need to finish some published stories but this one is at the top of the list! I hope I'll get to it some time next year and I will be certain to post about it here too!

I don't know from what perspective I will be writing it yet.

Corruption is a main theme for the fic as I've been planning it right now. The youngest child of Narcissa and Lucius is a very sickly girl who had little influence outside her family and who has never even left her family's estate! Voldemort shamelessly preys on that and revels in the slow but steady destruction of her innocence and purity - something he never got to have.

I have a little snippet/teaser here of that fic for anyone who is interested! I have yet to find a name for the fic - because love coming up with names for stuff!!!! (not.)

Malfoy daughter X Voldemort Snippet

words: 1200

warnings: none that I can think off :D

Astrea Lucretia Malfoy knows there are certain expectations that come with being a member of the ancient and most honourable house of Malfoy. Astrea knew these expectations before she could as much as crawl. They were handed down to her from the very first beat her heart took inside her mother’s womb and Astrea would sooner throw herself off the roof of her family home than do anything that would bring shame to her house and her parents.

Astrea loves her parents.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are proud people and Astrea would never want to embarrass them. Astrea knows how to behave. She knows how to greet people and how to make pleasant conversation. Astrea can play the piano and dance and yet despite having devoted her life to trying and be the perfect heiress to her proud parents - she is not.

She is a smudge on her family’s proud family tree and there is nothing she can do.

Astrea looks down at the crimson spots on the snowy white handkerchief in her trembling hands. Steps sounding from the hallway have her hastily fold it and stuff it in her dress. The corset her governess put her into for today’s special occasion.

Time has run out. Astrea can’t escape him any longer. She knows it was an endeavour doomed from the beginning but she had to try.

Her governess opens the door, looking like a banshee coming to announce Astrea’s death, dressed in her stern black uniform. Astrea hates the sight of that uniform. Hates the black dress that makes her think of death every time she sees it because death is the last thing Astrea wants to think about it and yet it’s the first thought on her mind when she wakes up and the last when she falls asleep. Death hunts her in her dreams and she knows death is approaching steadily in reality as well. The handkerchief stuffed between her breasts and the corset bears the proof of that.

Astrea has been sick for as long as she can remember. Despite hiring the most renowned healers and researchers and even shamans nobody has been able to give the proud Malfoys and their inexhaustible vaults at Gringotts an answer as to why their only daughter is a sickly, weak child. She just is. Getting infected with the Dragonpox that would later take her severe, powerful and feared grandfather Abraxas Malfoy did little to improve her condition.

Nowadays Astrea can at least leave her bed and walk freely about the Manor but she knows that little and treasured freedom will be snatched from her the second her overprotective father learns of her relapse.

Astrea pushes her governess' hands from her hair and gets up. She ignores the lightheaded dizziness rushing through her at the swift movement. She does not let it show either.

She can wait no longer.

He is expecting to be introduced to her after all.

The Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all times, once believed to have vanished and now returned, reborn. Of course, Astrea knows all about him. She has been taught about him alongside her older brother Draco all her life. Taught of his greatness, his might, his goal to save wizardingkind and she has been taught of her duty to serve him.

And yet she stole from him.

The precious dress made of fairy-spun silk slides over the carpeted stairs. Astrea’s chest strains against the corset. Her governess tied it tighter today against Astrea’s protest.

Nobody here listens to her.

Nobody cares.

Oh, they all ‘care’ - they bend over backwards to delay the inevitable, forcing her to go through heinous treatments to expand her life and yet nobody cares.

Expect for her Uncle Sev perhaps. Her godfather, her father’s best friend and also on the few occasions she is allowed to practise magic, her tutor. He always has an open ear for her and a shoulder to cry on when she needs it.

But there are a few secrets she keeps even from him. The handkerchief and her impertinence. Both she carries on her person tonight. Perhaps a mistake though she seriously doubts the greatest Legilimens to ever live would need her to carry her sin with her to detect it. He’ll know the second he sees her, therefore her avoiding him. In the days before the Dark Lord’s arrival to take up residency in her family home she strategically scattered gasps and moments of pause into her demeanour and speech, then on the morning of his arrival Astrea dipped the thermometer her governess forces past her lips every morning in her teacup for a few seconds as the old hag was preparing her bath.

She spent the past week in her bed but she can’t keep this charade up for long without risking her feeble sham-freedom.

Astrea treasures her freedom above all else.

She enters the sitting room. Her parents are sitting on a sofa with Draco in between them. Uncle Sev sits on their opposite, his face as expressionless as always, swirling whiskey in his glass lazily. There, right across from Astrea is he.

The dark one.

The most powerful and dangerous man to ever walk the earth.

And Astrea not only gets to walk on the same earth at the same time, she gets to be in a room with him, to breathe the same air as him, share dinner with him.

Her chest is bursting with pride, her heart flutters in its cage of fragile bones like the many exotic birds in their cages in her room. Her father keeps bringing them home in hopes of making her smile but Astrea finds no joy in dooming others to share her fate and yet what can she do? These birds, much like her, have no chance of surviving outside their cages and yet she can’t help the occasional thought of just letting them all go, letting them try their luck and run after them, with bare feet and no shawl and wouldn’t that be worth the impending death following them? Living and if only for one second?

Astrea has never felt so alive as she does right now. Her trembling fingers grasp the edge of her dress and lift it slightly as she sinks to her knees, bowing her head at the same time. She struggles to keep her back straight and her body stiff, to not fall over and to make it all seem effortless too. Her long pale blond hair falls over her shoulder. She doesn’t even pause to remember she has never curtseyed in a dress cut like this one, doesn’t remember the corset, doesn’t realise her hair is shielding the sight from her parents and Uncles and doesn’t notice how crimson eyes darken as they skim over her, lingering on the neckline of her dress.

Astrea has grown up well-protected and so she does not realise the different ways men look at quickly coming-of-age girls like her. Merely a year away from being presented to society, something Astrea has never had to worry about as her poor health will hardly allow for such a thing her mother has neglected to prepare her, to warn her of the more unsavoury desires of some men. And still - Astrea knows more than her parents think. She is no idiot and has read nearly every book in the Manor, even those her father keeps away from her in his own library and especially his study and what she can’t find in books her friend tells her about. Her only friend.

“Rise.” The high-pitched voice caresses her skin like morning dew, the leaves of her flowers in front of her windows. Like the wings of her feathered companions, her bare arms. Astrea shudders and - against all her formidable education - she stares.

Amusement twinkles in the crimson eyes of her lord and master, dark red like the drops on her handkerchief. They assess her, gliding over her body, her dress and eventually coming to a halt on her eyes. The corner of his lipsless mouth twitches and for a second Astrea has forgotten everything. The blood, the fatigue, the guilt at lying to her parents, the weight of her sin pressed against her naked thigh beneath her dress.

Lord Voldemort looks different than she could have ever been able to picture him. Pale skin that’s scattered here and there with a bundle of scales that shimmer in the flickering light of the gas lamps on the walls, shimmering like the expensive opal jewellery her parents brought back for her from one of their trips to France once. His pupils are long, shaped like those of a snake and where there is supposed to be a nose, only slit nostrils stretch across his skin.

He is tapping his nails on the armrest of his armchair, one with a regal, high back and luxurious tropical wood, stained dark to fit the room’s aesthetic.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lord.” Astrea says, though her voice sounds strange even to her own ears. “I am saddened to have missed your arrival.”

“I am as well.” Voldemort says, his voice silky smooth, sounding so familiar and yet so strange. Though the fluttery feeling it ignites in her belly is very familiar. She has only ever felt it around her only friend…

Voldemort rises from his seat, abandoning his untouched drink on the table beside his armchair. He towers over her, taller even than her father and uncle. Astrea feels minuscule next to him, not only due to the size. She doesn’t even reach his shoulder.

“Join me? I am curious to learn more about the youngest Malfoy offspring.”

“I am an open book for my lord.” She says with a chaste incline of her head, hiding both from the intense gaze of her master and the redness spreading across her cheeks. “My lord merely needs to ask.”

The stolen leatherbound diary pressed against her thigh she accepts Voldemort’s arm and follows him into the dining room where he even pulls out her chair. No man who does not also share blood with her or is made of ink and magic has ever treated her like this. Astrea sits down and is glad for the rest, ignoring the sweat drenching her back beneath her dress and corset. She doesn’t notice the eyes wandering to her décolletage once more.

“I hope my family’s home becomes my lord well?”

“Yes.” He says, red eyes blazing. “Alas I was uncertain for a bit but it could convince me after all.”

“I am relieved.” Astrea looks up and smiles, finding it contains the same amount of joy it has when addressing it to her ink friend and all the joy it lacks when looking at her family.

“So am I.” His upper lip twitched into a crooked grin, revealing a single, sharp, long fang. The grin looks so familiar-

Astrea shakes the thought off.

Perhaps she should not have brought the diary but she can’t leave Tom in her room alone! He is her only friend and she has to keep him safe! Perhaps Voldemort does not know she has stolen it from her father’s study all those years ago in a fit of infantine anger and desire to hurt her father back for all that he is keeping her from. All she wanted was to join Draco’s birthday celebration and he forbade it. Tom said she did no wrong and that she should believe him but Astrea finds it difficult at times.

She has considered putting the diary back many times but Tom has told her how lonely he was before she saved him and one does not abandon friends! At least that’s what Tom says. Astrea has never had a friend but she trusts Tom. He would never want to harm her.

***

What a curious little creature, Voldemort thinks as he slips into the girl’s room unnoticed. She is lying in a huge bed framed by flimsy, delicate curtains, as delicate as the girl they give fleeting shelter to.

She is asleep, her lids closed, hiding the bright blue of her big eyes. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. Beneath her hand, curled into a feeble fist on top of her pillow, beside her head sits it.

The impertinence. The utter impudence to bring the stolen object to her first encounter with its rightful owner. It’s almost charming. Like an ant that believes itself so powerful it can revolt against the boot.

He will take pleasure in crushing her. In ripping her chaste innocence from her to savour it, to claim it for himself. He’ll punish her for her crime and Lucius for being so careless he has not even realised it’s missing. The object Voldemort entrusted to him. A piece of his master’s soul - though that part he is obviously unaware of. Voldemort is not so stupid as to hand over crucial information to a mere henchman like Lucius. Though his daughter will make a lovely addition to Voldemort’s bed.

He reaches out a pale hand with skeletal fingers to take the diary, reclaim his stolen Horcrux-

Voldemort is pulled away, something tugs on his mind and he falls forward, like dragged into a pensieve and he finds himself in the Slytherin common room, standing by the fireplace he once tossed the annoying cat of a classmate into. In front of him on the leather sofa lies the girl, the same girl, in the same flimsy, nearly see-through nightgown and she is asleep in his arms. In his arms.

Within the blink of an eye his younger self, looking the role of the proper Prefect he had been at the time, stands in front of him. Voldemort had never been short but his adolescent self can’t match the height of his new body and yet he doesn’t seem impressed or like he even remotely cares.

“She is mine!” He hisses in angry parseltongue, his eyes flashing red and Voldemort is forcibly expelled from the diary, such force he stumbles a step backwards, staring at the girl sleeping on his diary as peacefully as humanly possible.

Read it here

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

CYOA Chapter 39 Snippet

James Potter: alright columbo you got me how was your first night in the house?

Lily Evans: To be honest, I was a bit out of it too. I'd stayed up all night packing my stuff and dealing with Wendy and Paul who wanted to know WHY I was packing my stuff and being generally very pissy with me because I was taking all of the fancy kitchen things that I got from your mum and they don't use anyway. So I don't think I was fully lucid at all, like to the extent that for a second I honestly thought that cardboard cutout was you.

James Potter: so your reaction to seeing me unexpectedly would be to scream like a banshee, run face-first into a wall and start laughing hysterically?

Lily Evans: I didn't run into the wall, I ran TO the wall. For safety.

James Potter: you need a wall to protect you from me?

Lily Evans: In my defence, my reaction to flicking on a light and seeing ANYONE standing dead still in the middle of a room would be immediate terror.

James Potter: what a sexy experience for you

Lily Evans: That wasn't the kind of fear that gets me going though.

James Potter: but surely andrew garfield does

Lily Evans: Considering I thought he was YOU for a fraction of a second it was actually quite disappointing.

[liverobinreaction]

can you give a snippet preview of something you’re writing?

Of course :D I’m always happy to share what I’m working on, especially since I’ve been swamped with studying lately and have had to write here and there! Here’s a snippet of And Death Said Forgive Me (set in the banshee!au)

For a moment, neither of them talk. She’s gotten older, he notices. There’s silver in the roots of her hair, and crow’s feet lining her eyes.

It’s uncanny, how familiar and unfamiliar his mother is. He’d forgotten the slope of her nose and eyebrows, the memory of her voice fading over the years. And yet, for lack of a given word, he still knows her.

“You’ve done well enough for yourself,” Janetfinally comments, and he chokes back a disbelieving laugh.

She’s always used politeness as a shield. And it’s that memory that causes the fragile awe to evaporate.

“Going straight for the pleasantries, I see. Sure, why not. Yes, I’ve done rather well. What about you, mother? How has your stint in the not-afterlife been treating you?” he replies, pasting a polite smile on his face.

His mother doesn’t flinch, but her eyes flutter shut.

“I’ve been well. Travelling Europe, mostly, though I’ve begun to settle down in Norway.”

His throat aches with phantom screams, desperate to claw their way out and finally be released into the world. But he’s been raised better than that. So instead he shuts his eyes for a moment, breathes, and schools his face into a careful mask.

“Why are you here, Janet?”

If his refusal to call him mother shocks her, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she inclines her head.

[cal-writes]

Wait wait I just read the detco spn au snippet and I'm going insane?!???? Why was shinichi on a stone slab like some sacrificial lamb?!?!? Oh man, now I'm itching to know the lore behind their powers

well 🌚

-

“You won’t have need for this.” Irish told them, tucking the book into his waistband and extending his hand. His open palm showed a rune that Heiji had never seen before. He glanced over at Kaito who stood with his arms outstretched at his sides, energy gathering around him. Irish’s rune began to glow, the wind picked up as Kaito began to cast when an ear splitting scream brought them all to their knees.

Shinichi-

Heiji hit the ground hard, hands over his ears to protect them from the banshee’s scream. Under great pain he turned his gaze toward Shinichi who had been walking just behind them. The smaller body was crumbled on the ground, arms glowing red hot. In the cool air of autumn it almost looked like Shinichi’s body was starting to burn, plumes of white mist rising from his skin. Heiji had never heard Shinichi use the scream physically. The banshee scream was a warning, possible of carrying through minds. This was agony.

Shinichi’s scream rattled the earth, leaves falling off the trees, ripping out of his throat until it warped. Heiji crawled over the damp earth until he could grab a hold of his friend. His skin was scalding, the bones shifting underneath the skin.

The scream cut off suddenly. The relief so instant that Heiji collapsed again into the mud again. But the sound of crunching bone was enough motivation to get back up.

“Shinichi-” He managed to gasp, hands falling on his friend’s back. Next to them Kaito got up on shaky arms, his ears bleeding.

Shinichi’s body was big again. It was like Heiji remembered it being before all this. Adult limbs, straining against the stretched children’s clothing. The only difference were the markings all along the arms. He was panting and groaning, head pressed into the ground, fingers buried deep in the dirt. Even through the fabric of the clothing Shinichi’s skin was burning.

“What was that trick?” Kaito asked, shaky attempt at bravado, his gaze focused on Irish. The man hadn’t been spared by Shinichi’s scream, only now getting off his knees, shaking his head. Heiji’s gaze fell onto the book that had fallen to the ground at some point in the chaos.

Irish began to chuckle before evolving into a laugh that echoed through the woods. “Oh, you’ll see.” He spat out at them. Heiji’s hand tightened in Shinichi’s shirt.

Kaito swept his hand out in a wide arc. “You won’t be seeing it.” He told him, eyes glowing and shortly after Irish stumbled back, eyes blind. “Let’s get out of here.” He muttered to Heiji, folding his hands in front of his face. A whistle sounded and from the distance, Heiji heard the fluttering of wings. A moment later the sky darkened with a flock of frantic birds that descended upon Irish who swung his arms widely. It was only a distraction Heiji realized as he saw a handful of birds grabbing for the book fallen on the ground.

Heiji grabbed hold of Shinichi who had yet to straighten back up. “Come on.” He told him and tried to pull him onto his feet.

Shinichi’s hand shot out toward Heiji. He jumped back before the pain registered. He tasted the blood on his lips and then the sharp sting of cut skin made itself known. Shinichi fell back to the ground, not more groaning, no noise at all. Heiji’s hand flew to his chin, hissing as he felt the cuts over his chin and lips. His shirt collar was ripped. Claw marks.

“No.” He felt himself say and Kaito dropped his concentration on the spells to look at them.

Shinichi rose from the ground, back bending inhuman, hands raised to stare at them with a bowed head. His fingernails were elongated and sharp, one flecked with Heiji’s blood, fingers curled to claws. His head looked up and Heiji had to take a step back when he realized Shinichi’s blue eyes were flooded with red.

Irish’s laughter came back through the fluttering of hundreds of wings as the birds retreated, taking the book with them. He was rubbing at his eyes as the blinding spell faded. “That, gentlemen. Is what we call a silver bullet.” He said sardonically.

“Kaito?” Heiji said, bracing for whatever was to come with a heavy feeling in his chest.

Kaito was just staring at Shinichi between them, eyes and mouth wide open. ��I-” Shinichi ran forward so quickly Heiji wasn’t sure if he had blinked and missed him moving.

“Yes, come to me-” Irish said. Squawks of unfortunate birds too slow to get away. They turned into shreds under Shinichi’s claws. But Shinichi didn’t stop in the way Irish seemed to expect. “-wait. Stop! I command-” Shinichi crashed into him without regard. Claws shredding clothing in an attempt to claw at his chest.

Heiji started running. “What’s happening?!” He shouted at Kaito who followed suit.

“Well, I think we can confidently say they messed up the controlling bit of the ritual!” Kaito threw back.

Irish threw Shinichi off him before he could get eviscerated, scrambling away backwards. Shinichi landed hard, rolling around the underbrush, hitting a fallen tree trunk but he got right back up again undeterred. Scratches over his skin nothing to him. It was possession behavior if Heiji had ever seen it but it was impossible. There was no spirit or demon inside Shinichi’s body. Before they could reach him, Shinichi was back on Irish, slashing at his throat.

Heiji couldn’t wait to think, he tackled Shinichi, arms wrapped around his middle and wrestling him to the ground. There was an inhuman strength to his movements as they tussled in the dirt. In the back he could hear Kaito bind Irish with tree roots.

“Shinichi!” Heiji shouted, grabbing his friend’s hands before the claws could scratch out his eyes. “Come back to yourself! This isn’t you!” He had to throw him off before he could lose his grip, wincing in sympathy as Shinichi landed hard but there was no stopping him. He got back up again instantly, claws catching Heiji’s arm as he tried to protect himself.

“How do we stop him?” Kaito demanded, leaning over Irish who struggled against his bindings. Kaito looked around frantically to where his birds had taken the book but it was nowhere to be seen.

Heiji tried to sweep Shinichi’s legs out from under him, only to have him jump and lunge at Heiji. His claws buried themselves into his shoulders, taking him down to the ground once more. Shinichi’s mouth opened wide, jaw unhinging to show the row of razor teeth. “There’s no stopping him now.” Irish voice was a gurgle. Heiji pressed hard against Shinichi’s chest to keep his teeth away from his throat. Shincihi was going to kill them, just like the two black organization members a few days ago. If they didn’t stop him.

“Kaito!” Heiji shouted and a moment later Shinichi’s body was pulled away by Kaito. “You said control!” Heiji panted, dodging away as Shinichi broke Kaito’s hold and tried to rush at him again.

“What?” Kaito asked frantically. His hands waved, the ground shook, vines wrapping around Shinichi’s feet and making him stumble.

“You said it’s easily broken right? Put him under control!” Heiji shouted, tackling Shinichi once more and pressing him into the ground with his full body weight. Shinichi bucked underneath him like a wild animal, twisting and turning with no regard for himself. If he didn’t end up killing them, he would get himself killed.

“Are you sure?” Kaito asked, holding Shinichi down and looking at him with a level of seriousness he wasn’t used to. “You don’t know what this entails-”

“There’s no time! I trust you. Do something!” Heiji was almost begging, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping Shinichi contained. Kaito looked at him, lips pressed together in a thin line.

[cosmiischillin]

Twilight Town AU: The Ragdoll Monster

In the original Ruby Gloom, Ruby was essentially the lone “human” of the group. She does live with a cyclops, a skeleton, a banshee, conjoined twins, ghosts, a bat, and three crows/ravens. In addition to Twilight Town, there’s also a witch and a fallen angel. Now I do say “human” with quotes since she’s described a lot as ragdoll-like if not straight up a ragdoll.

So I’m gonna describe and sorta layout what type of monster, my process in creating her, and what I have planned for her for y’all to read below.

The Ragdoll Monster

So in the AU, she is explicitly a living ragdoll. I think it’s a general agreed thing in the fanon that she is a ragdoll in the likeness of Raggedy Ann. To be honest she reminds me of Strawberry Shortcake a lot more.

With that in mind, I gave her all those little stitches on her body and even alongside her clothes since I think she looks adorable with the patchworks and wearing a lot of textile knits. I even made it a special ability that she can sew her body parts if she ever ends up injured though you’re better off not letting her bleed

The Dark Side

So it is planned already that Ruby is more than just a sweet looking face. This part of her design was based on the earlier versions of her character. The darker and very much goth version before the show. I was inspired by these snippets from an interview about her and some artwork of her

She also has a lot of inspiration from Coraline, in fact her eyes were gonna have little white spots to look like buttons but I couldn’t get them to look right hence her big eyes now.

Now for her really dark side and Lore. Her monstrous side is based on two things. One is the creep factor of dolls and puppets and the other is vampires.

I didn’t put him in her mood board but Ruby got some inspiration from Wally Darling such as his creepy little stare which gave me more ideas alongside the early ruby works.

Now the vampire part was added when I began concepting classic monsters into the AU. Out of nowhere I began to draw Dracula with a regular doll version of Ruby. I love the concept so I expanded it.

Lore and Backstory

Dracula and other vampires can turn humans by having them taste vampiric blood so, to test it out, Dracula got a baby ragdoll then injected his blood into the doll’s insides. Miraculously the ragdoll was brought to life though she appeared to be like a normal infant with an overly cheerful disposition. It was only then she showed abilities that not even vampires could possess. Dracula decided to name her Ruby and sewn up the rest of her appearance, calling her his daughter. At some point, Dracula hired the Raven brothers to leave his castle with Ruby to a place she could be safe from humans and to record anything new powers she develops.

Ruby has lived in the Twilight Town Mansion for now 17 years. She is upset that humans see monsters as nothing but evil and dangerous creatures that should be destroyed hence why she creates her new Blog, the Good n Gloom where she will be able to show that monsters are just like them If not a little creepy and kooky. But that doesn’t mean that when push comes to shove, she’ll do what she has to do in order to help her friends.

I hope you like this slightly longer post talking about Twilight Town! This is the first time I got to go in full about the lore and what has been done for these characters! I guess the vampires are kinda different from the classic movie version ^^:

Next Character: The Banshee

[frostbitebakery]

I'm so in love with all of your art. My favorites have to be Codywan, Cody and Obi-Wan separately, and your cursed series art.

May I ask how you came up with the idea for the cursed commanders and Boba Fett series?

Ahhhh this message was the best way to wake up! Thank youuuu 💜💜💜

The Unlucky Ones, my beloveds! That one started like all the others: I went “lmao wouldn’t it be cool” and then it grew into a monster of a concept and venus flytrapping @adiduck in the process.

TUO started because for Halloween I had already Eldritched Obi-Wan so it was Cody’s turn.

I love character design. I like to play around with the given themes or throw them into the ocean and do my own thing. So every time for character designs it really does start out like, “I want to draw that character in these clothes”. There’s no plan. That always happens along the way.

For TUO!Cody I wanted him scary but still being Cody. I thought about typical Halloween things and went with skeletons. Mainly because of the white armor and I thought how cool it would look if the armor was shaped like bones. But I didn’t want the armor to look scary, I wanted him to look scary (and badass) (and like a sexy bastard). While looking for bone refs, I saw enough skulls in different positions. Some of them looked like they were screaming, howling. And I thought, duuuuuuuuude. Duuuuuuude. A skeleton projection rising out of Cody and growing taller and lifting its arms and rushing forward with a scream while Cody stands there like 😎??? YES. LET’S DO THAT.

So the concept of the Curse was born.

It always starts as a visually appealing concept. I try to make sense of my decisions later.

For the other Commanders I thought about how to apply the Cody concept art on them. I didn’t want to copy paste the armor design. But I also wanted them to visually belong together in the same verse.

The designs should be distinct and representative of each character. Even if some details seem questionable at first glance, I always want them to make sense in context. So I add snippets to basically explain myself.

Wolffe’s armor in canon went from red to grey in grief and is rather neat with stenciled designs. For TUO!Wolffe I wanted to up that grief given what Wolffe goes through in TUO. The grey canon design turned into rotten fabric and veils. Which turned Wolffe into a banshee-inspired design. The armor design is reminiscent of those fluttering torn fabrics that indicate a tragedy happened here and the grief is ever present. Going with the banshee and with how I deformed Cody’s face, Wolffe got a deformed jaw (think The Mummy when the corpse screams) which he hides behind a bandana.

Adi suggested beauty in decay for Bly. So he’s got flowers growing out of him. And I desperately needed a reason for him to tell Aayla “General, hold my flower”.

Fox has a deformed back which is only known so far to Adi and me. He started with the little white tufts of hair bc I love that on him and wanted it for TUO!Fox. By then it was already established that their hair goes white with each death. So that meant if I wanted the Fox ears, Fox had to have died twice already. Things like that were the reasons the backstory avalanched into a monster. And suddenly you go from “aww, the white hair looks like ears so cute!!” to “actually Cody killed his brother in training because how the Curse was genetically modified and added to the Commanders makes them go into a berserker state” to “the non-command class clones have instated containment protocols for when a command clone goes berserk”.

Now Ponds. Ponds had to survive. I’m not spoiling his whole story but his character design was inspired by “rising like a phoenix out of the ashes”. So his armor has bird bones and wing bone structures. And with how he looks, his backstory makes perfect sense and is heartbreaking.

Boba was a request by a dear friend. He’s not cursed in TUO canon but my friend loves the design so much she asked if I couldn’t do a Boba design. So I did.

[screamingmandrakes]

An excerpt from a Dead Dove WIP

This fic is not extremely underage, that is my hard limit in dead dove and i will never write or nor do i read it. it jumps through the years of voldemort’s life and all explicit content happens when tom is a teenager/young adult. this fic, however, does have themes of accidental grooming, pseudo-incest and sexual assault. It’s one of those ‘Hermione raises Tom’ fics, except it goes incredibly wrong because Tom is fucked up (AKA: I’m pushing my mommy kink agenda)

Written for @april-17-rose and @maplebalderdash ✨ name taken from happy house, a song by one of my favorite bands siouxsie and the banshees.

This snippet is SFW!

The mattress sinks beneath her as Tom clumsily moves around. She shuts her eyes, willing for sleep to come and take her. For a moment, it almost does: the exhaustion from using her magic lulls her halfway there on its own and the weariness of dealing with Tom only exacerbates it. She relaxes against her pillowing, just about to sleep —

Hermione stiffens as she feels Tom snuggle up against her back. His small frame is warm but feeble – bony – and in that moment of surprise, Hermione can't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. But pity doesn’t overpower her discomfort, so she remains uncomfortably stiff.

Tom makes a tiny, hurt sound.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Sorry, Mother.”

Shock slams into her like a battering ram, stealing her breath away. Mother? Mother? The words echo in her mind, reverberating between her ears. She’s not Lord Voldemort’s mother, no, no, no. Hermione isn’t anybody’s mother, last she checked she never even technically graduated school. Despite his hurt, Tom continues to snuggle her and she can do nothing but lay there as she processes his words.

It was bound to happen, wasn’t it? For her to become his mother?

Hermione blinks at the wall, nausea churning acidly in her stomach. Minutes pass in silence, and neither Hermione nor Tom drifts into sleep. He presses against her back, clinging as close as he possibly can, yet the tension in his body is not one of a sleeping boy. It’s after another ten creeps by that she caves in.

She says nothing, but Tom understands to let go of her as she turns herself on the mattress. She adjusts the covers, setting onto her back before resignedly opening her arm to Tom. With a soft, but happy expression, he crawls into her arms, resting his head over her heartbeat. Hermione sighs, slipping her hand into his hair and rubbing his back with the other.

“Goodnight, Tom.”

Relaxing against her, he replies, “Goodnight, Mother.”

[sophie1973]

I was tagged this week by my usual suspects Mel @onthewaytosomewhere, Jamie @stellarmeadow and @iboatedhere

Today I'm offering a little snippet of the Birthday fic I posted yesterday for May @itsmaybitheway

You can also read it HERE on AO3

Tags under the cut

The front door slams with a sudden, jarring bang, and they both startle. Their intimate moment is brutally interrupted, and they regretfully let go of each other. “Dad! Papi!” Emilia June Fox-Claremont-Diaz, their little hurricane, bursts into the kitchen, her curly chestnut hair bouncing with each step and a beaming smile lighting up her pretty face, radiating her excitement. “What’s with the banshee wail? And by the way, you’re paying for that hole you just made in the entry wall," Alex says, a hint of a smile on his lips. Millie completely ignores him. “You’ll never guess who is coming to Austin in July,” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and vibrating with excitement.  “The Queen of England,” Henry quips, and Alex snorts.

In most households, this might be taken as a joke, but not in theirs. The Queen of England was actually coming to spend a fortnight with her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Millie rolls her eyes. “Haha. I thought Papi talked to you about the dad jokes. Anyway, I love Grandma, but no, it’s October Sun. Can you get a ticket, please? Please, please, please?” She gives Alex her best puppy eyes and pouty lips, a tactic she knows works better on him than on Henry. To be fair, Henry is far from immune himself, but since Alex always had a hard time refusing his little girl anything, Henry had to step in from time to time and be the reasonable parent. To be even more fair, Henry sometimes couldn’t say no either, and Alex was the level-headed party. Thankfully, they had managed to find a perfect balance over the years. “Wait, which one is October Sun? Is that the band with the lead singer who looks like Dad?” Alex asks, and Henry can't help but sigh. “Yes! Just, you know, much younger.” “Delighted to hear I’m a decrepit version of a boy band singer,” Henry says, taking offense. He is not even 40 years old, for fuck’s sake. But he supposes that it seemed dreadfully ancient in the eye of a 14-year-old girl.

Tagging with no pressure

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @firenati0n

@bitbybitwrites @piratefalls @orchidscript @pridepages

@anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @theprinceandagcd @happiness-of-the-pursuit

And open tag for anyone who wants :)