#but if he had been mine from the start he would have been a cull

[kedreeva]

Might be a silly question, but if someone needed to handraise a male peafowl, could they wear some sort of face covering and use a hand puppet like wildlife rehabbers and zookeepers do to prevent imprinting?

The ONLY reason anyone would "need" to handraise a peacock is if the bird is in need of major medical attention that requires more handling than usual. Rehabbers use hand puppets for feeding chicks, but peafowl are precocious- they aren't directly fed by their mothers or fathers, they are just shown foods and they eat by themselves. They're also pretty perceptive little shits with excellent eyesight right from hatch, and do NOT like things that look like peafowl but Aren't (they seem to have an uncanny valley, I have video of chicks freaking out when shown not-real peafowl), so I would think a puppet wouldn't work anyway.

The good news is pretty much no one should "need" to hand raise a peacock; most major medical issues should be culled, not raised, and ones that ARE raised should be handled by experienced keepers that can deal with the problems that occur. This is a part of responsible breeding.

And any chick that isn't a medical issue should never be a "need." Peafowl breeding season is during the summer, when people all over the place are hatching a bazillion chickens, turkeys, guinea, and quail every day- including large box stores like TSC, FFH, and other farm stores, and local feed mills often have local bred chicks. You should have no problem finding companions for solo peachicks (or groups), and you should be able to leave any groups of chicks alone enough to not imprint them.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Astarion with a s/o who comes from a noble family of mages? S/o's family is super laid-back and chill with everyone, though.

For the first time in nearly 200 years, Astarion was nervous. He couldn't believe it. Him. Nervous.

He genuinely couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been nervous before. Terrified, depressed, manipulated, scorned, disgusted, mutilated to the core. But he’d never been nervous.

Astarion supposed this came with the territory of ‘meeting the family’. He wondered if they had felt nervous when they met his family? Probably not. Since they ambushed them in the middle of the night and then scurried off into the dark, with not so much as a goodbye. Besides, he genuinely doesn’t think that [Y/N] could be nervous. Nervous in meeting people came from a subconscious thought that people wouldn’t like them. Who wouldn’t like [Y/N]?

“You look like you’re going to the gallows.” They comment as they cross the threshold of the estate and head towards an equally ornate door.

Astarion had walked past this gate a thousand times in his years. Skulking in the shadows. Looking for victims. Such grand homes were off limits to him before, because of his condition. Cazador had been very clear that he was only to take wretches and low born when he went hunting. He told Astarion that that would be who he was best suited to go after, as it was similar to his station. Plus, when noble people start disappearing people tend to care. Cazador didn’t need that kind of attention. So he walked past the house, looking at it’s bright pillars and shining light from the windows, with envy and distaste. Now he was being welcomed in.

“What? I’m the picture of excitement, my love.” He told them. Not letting them get a glimpse of his internal monologue. “It’s just…been a while, since I’ve been invited to a social setting. Cazador…before…he would host events at the palace to cull more sheep, but we were only their for a moment before sent back to the kennels. No opportunity to socialize when you’re on the rack. So you lot were the only real conversation I’ve had in decades. Not that I didn’t appreciate everyone’s company, now that it’s over, but they all go leave something to be desired on the wit & banter scale.”

[Y/N] chuckled. Sensing that his jabs were in good fun, and perhaps sensing that they were also made out of nerves. He paused them then, just before ringing the bell for the door. "I want to make a good impression. Not a....pretend one. Like I'm used to. I can put on a good show for a few hours and have people eating out of the palm of my hand. But long term?" Astarion may have just gulped then. "I appreciate that I'm perhaps not the best choice for the only child of a noble family."

[Y/N]'s cheery disposition fell, and they calm close to cup their hand to his cheek. "Don't say that. You're wonderful. And, you're the one I choose." If he had a beating heart it would be singing like a hummingbird's. "Besides," they added as they rang the bell, "who wouldn't be swayed by your charms?"

"Hmm....that is true...”

They are greeted by a maid and then almost instantly by their mother. Who seemed to be waiting in the wings. Clearly over the moon to see them. It surprised Astarion.

When he thought of noble houses, he thought of starched shirts and stiff upper lips. Preening complexions looking down their noses at others with cool indifference. But this woman seemed so….warm.

“You must be Astarion! It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She greeted him with her hand to shake his.

It was like her greetings flipped a switch in his mind, and Astarion instantly went into his ‘charming self’. “The pleasure his all mine, your grace.” He gave a little bow and scooped up her hand to kiss it. Which made their mother giggle.

“Oh my! They are the charmer, aren’t they.”

“I certainly think so.” [Y/N] quipped.

The rest of the evening went….well. Or at least he thought it had.

Astarion was a little lost on the mark on how to charm people platonically. It just didn’t feel as natural as what he was doing before (although nothing was ‘natural’ about it. only routine). Their mother kept the conversation going with her light chatter and bubbly personality. While their father provided stoic, but congenial remarks throughout the evening. He was a good man. An honorable man. It was so rare to find them these days, particularly amongst nobility.

Very late into the evening, almost getting too close to dawn for his comfort, Astarion and [Y/N] bid goodbye to their parents. With an open invitation to come back any time, and a few notes on upcoming social events they were welcome to.

“That was…interesting…”

“What? You don’t like my parents?” [Y/N] asked as they walked home.

“No, no. I do. It’s just….I always pictured noblemen & women to be more…formal.” He doesn’t remember much of his former life, save for his death, but Astarion always assumed that his attitude came from his breeding as a young man of the nobility back in his time. He would be devastated to find out that he was really just an ass of his own doing.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve only ever met nobles in a formal setting.” Astarion shrugged. He supposed that was true. “Who we are for the public and who we are in life if very different. My family ‘can put on a good show’, to use your phrasing, but typically find it exhausting. Neither one of them is the best at politic, but our line is so old that it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“So they had you to be their political cat?” Astarion remarked with a grin. Thinking back on all those poor souls they persuaded into giving up their purse or letting them pass without incident.

[Y/N] returned his grin. “They like you, though. Mother made several mentions of it when we were alone. Father too.”

“He mentioned that he liked me?” That was a surprise.

[Y/N] pondered the question for a moment. “Hmm…it’s more that he didn’t make mention of it. If he hated you, he would have let me know. You too, in fact.”

Astarion let out a heavy sigh from a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He had done it. He had made a good impression. They liked him.

His chest suddenly felt tight. Swelling with…pride?

Astarion couldn’t think of a time when someone generally liked him before; save their adventuring camp. Lusted after him. Wanted to be ‘friendly’ with him. But just plain liked him? That was a new feeling.

They walk home in relative silence after meeting the relatives. [Y/N] seeming to enjoy the night air. While Astarion tried to process these new feelings of nervousness, pride, and platonic affection.

[keikikait]

i saw a one shot of geto impregnating the reader bc he wants an heir and honestly i just knew you would eat this prompt up. please? for me? 🫶🏻

ꜱᴀᴠᴇᴅ! (ɢᴇᴛᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader (not au, reader is early to mid 20's)

word count: 1.9k

summary: if you want to be saved, you must bear geto a child

warnings: SMUT 18+, dark content, dead dove do not eat, read at your own risk, forced pregnancy, dubcon/coercion, mean geto, slapping (once), voices in head(?), use of 'cock' and 'cunt', blood mentioned towards the end, not proofread

a note: check out my other geto fic here

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

AGAIN TW: SMUT 18+ DARK CONTENT. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You were one of the chosen few, a sorcerer Geto decided to spare during his cull. Your cursed technique wasn't anything special, but it had potential. He tried to train and mold you into the picture he painted of you in his mind. You trained and trained, spending countless hours alone with him as he tried to make you worthy and useful, but to no avail. You had ruined the canvas in his mind and splashed oil on it in a selfish act of disobedience. 

Geto had spent the last few months cleaning out the weak from the group he saved, training them, analysing their every move to see if they were worth his time and effort. If they were worth saving. Weeks had gone by and your group of thirty is now down to twelve, and now it was your turn.

He pushes you over, tackling you to the light green tatami mat underneath you. “You're too slow. You keep letting your guard down.”

You swallow hard, panting. Your lungs and throat ache, a growing burning sensation in your chest. “Geto, I’m sorry--”

“You're sorry? Do you think I want apologies? You think I want your self-pity?” his voice carries a coldness that would've made your spine chill even under normal circumstances. He presses his lips thin, staring down at you. “I want you to do better. I want you to be better.”

You gulp, shifting on the mat, trying to move away from him to stand back up. “Geto--”

“Don't interrupt me,” he cuts you off, his voice still cold despite the sudden increase in volume. “You're too slow. You always have been. And the only reason you've improved this much is because you're terrified of me. Don't you think that's pathetic?”

You try to stand up and he pulls you back down again, holding both of your wrists together with one hand above your head, pressing you into the mat. He settles all of his weight on your hips, smirking at the pathetic, stupid look on your face. You squirm, your lower back starting to ache. “I know, I know I've failed you...but I'm getting better every day! Please, just let me try again!” Your voice is so strained and desperate, slightly hoarse.

“Is that an attempt at begging?” he says in a taunting tone, a cruel smile spreading on his face. “It's almost cute, really, but pathetic all the same.” He reaches up, brushing some hair out of your face. It makes your heart skip a beat, just for a moment, before he roughly grabs your chin and squeezes. 

You instinctively close your eyes, your breath hitching as you try to jerk your head away. “Open your eyes,” he says, squeezing harder. You know in the back of your mind that disobeying him will only make you angrier, so you give in, meeting his gaze. “You want me to help you get better?” he raises his eyebrows, the teasing smile still on his face. He leans closer, his breath brushing over your face, his voice a low murmur. “Do you want to be saved?”

You nod, desperate for his help, for him.

“Saved,” he repeats, running his thumb across your cheek. “So you want to be…” he lets his touch linger there, a moment too long to be unintentional, before tightening his grip on your chin again. “Mine?”

“Yes,” You say, your voice soft.

“There is a way I can help you,” He says, stroking the underside of your jaw. “Make you better. Make you good.”

You nod desperately, willing to do anything for him. “Yes. I’ll do it. Please!” You sound so desperate, so cute. 

“Good,” he says, his tone still light but his hands tightening on you even more. Then, it fades into a cruel, sadistic grin, his fingers squeezing and digging into your soft flesh. “I just need you to do one thing for me.”

You nod again, waiting for him to get his teasing over with and tell you. Is it more training? More work with your cursed technique? Maybe he can find a way to get you a new ability-

“I want you to give me an heir.”

Your throat dries and your heart drops to your feet. You stiffen in his grasp, feeling goosebumps lick up and down your arms. “Huh?”

“An heir,” he repeats, his fingers pinching the soft flesh of your neck, leaving a small red mark. “I want you to give me an heir. A baby. Only the strongest sorcerer can come from my genes…no one else is good enough. Just me…and you, I guess.”

You shake slightly, a thin coat of sweat covering your body.

He smiles, his eyes wandering down to your chest. His hands push your shirt up, his hands rubbing your stomach as he speaks, “Don’t tell me you're scared of having a baby, of giving me one…right?”

You don’t respond, trying hard to find your voice but it’s lost, capsized in a sea of anxiety.

He squeezes your neck hard. “Do you think I'm kidding?” an edge to his tone tells you he's getting irritated, his teasing smile gone. “I'm not joking. You're going to have my child, and I will not accept no for an answer.”

You speak, “Geto, I’m not ready for a child…can we wait? Please?”

He growls, picking you up effortlessly by the throat and throwing you over his shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re ready when I say you’re ready.”

You squirm, planting your hands on his back as you try to push yourself out of his grip. “Geto, please-”

He ignores you, smacking your ass as he pushes open the door to his private quarters. “Shut up. I need a child, I need to mold someone into carrying on my legacy since you were such a letdown.” He shuts the sliding door, securing it before walking across the room and tossing you onto the tatami bed on the floor in the middle of the room. You land with a loud thump and it knocks the wind out of you completely. He slips off his haori before climbing on top of you, pinning you down with his hips once again. 

“Now,” he continues speaking, holding your wrists down, his fingernails digging into your skin. “Let me try this again. You’re going to be a good girl and spread your legs for me. You’re going to take my cum like a good bitch, and you’re going to give me an heir. Do I make myself clear?”

You take a shaky breath, “Geto--” Your words are cut off by a squeak as Geto smacks you across the face, his palm flat. Your ear starts to ring and your vision goes slightly blurry. You look over at him, feeling the right side of your face start to heat up.

Geto stares at you before leaning down, his face almost touching yours. His voice is hushed, almost a whisper, “Don’t you want to be saved?”

You nod.

“Don’t you want to be good?” He asks. “Be useful?”

You nod.

“Then take my fucking cum,” He grips your jaw. “And shut the fuck up.”

You lay still on his bed as he stands, carefully taking off his nagagi. He hangs it up, along with the haori, watching you with a satisfied, sadistic smirk on his face.

He looks so handsome walking over to you. 

Geto climbs onto the bed, pushing your thighs apart with his big hands. He rips your underwear, white and lacy; his favourite, right in half, pushing your thighs to your chest. He leans down and spits directly on your clit, rubbing it around with his thumb. You shiver from his touch, squirming on the bed, gripping the bedsheets.

Maybe you should just let him, a small voice in your head says, although you do not recognise it, don’t you want to be good?

Geto kneels in front of you, pulling his cock out, spitting into his hand, and rubbing it over the tip before tapping it on your clit. He pushes in, frowning at the slight resistance. “Loosen up. Relax. It’s just a baby.” You try your hardest to relax, your palms going flat. He slides in a little bit more, groaning at the way your cunt hugs his cock, and at the light streaks of blood that have started to coat his shaft. He leans his weight on you, his mouth against your ear. He starts to whisper to you, sweet lil nothings to try to relax you, distract you as he pushes his cock into you.

You’re happier here, the voice in your head says, because he told you you should be.

Geto starts to get annoyed at the constant resistance from your little cunt. He clamps his hand over your mouth and fully pushes his cock into you. It stings, your lower half aching as he starts to rock his hips, pounding into you. Blood pools around the base, swiping across your thighs like an aurora on a cold winter night.

“Geto, please, slow down.” You say, your voice muffled against his palm. He ignores you, pressing his hand down harder, bumping into your teeth. It makes you feel weird, your entire body filling with nausea. 

“Take my fucking cock,” he grumbles, more to himself than you. He looks down, pulling out all the way before sinking back in. “Fuck. You’re fucking made for me, aren’t you? Made to take my cock and my cum and carry my fucking babies. Maybe I’ll give you some more after this one is born. You can give me a little army of powerful sorcerers.”

Tears sting your eyes and you squirm on the bed. “Geto--”

“Shut up,” he growls, pressing onto your mouth and teeth again. “Just shut the fuck up.” He pulls your shirt up over your chest, exposing your tits to his hungry eyes. “I can’t wait for these to get all swollen. And your belly too. Fuck. You’re going to look so pretty all round and pregnant and waddling everywhere…”

Just be good, the voice in your head says, don’t you want to be his?

Your eyes screw shut as his hips move faster, pounding into you. He groans and grunts in your ear, biting down on the lobe gently. You shiver, and your cunt clenches.

He cums hard, wrapping his arms around your head as he fills you up with his cum. He grabs your hair and tugs your head back, looking into your eyes, starting to chuckle as he sees the fear start to set in.

He pulls out, watching his thick cum ooze out of you, tinged red with your blood. He smirks, picking some up with his fingers and rubbing it over your clit. “Look at that. You finally did something right.” Geto steps off the bed, heading towards his restroom to clean himself up, your ripped underwear in his hand. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, the nausea starting to creep in.

You don’t know how long you’re lying there once Geto finally returns, wiping you down with the other half of your ripped underwear. He tucks it away for safekeeping, climbing into the bed next to you.

He turns your face towards him, scowling. “Are you crying?”

You didn’t even notice the tears. “Just from the adrenaline. I promise.” You’re lying, of course, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Better be,” he hisses. “You’re making me feel sick.” He turns away from you, completely ignoring you.

Your hand falls to your belly, cupping it slightly. You didn’t want this to happen, especially not like this. You weren’t ready to be a mother, and Geto knew this.

But at least you’re saved.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

this was just supposed to be a blurb, oops.

[cactus-flowerstuff]

JUJUTSU KAISEN MANGA SPOILERS

gege is cooking with fucking uranium I swear. I love writing. Writing and storytelling is a huge passion of mine. I haven't seen anyone talk about this- so I'm going to.

Choso's death was weak, unwarranted, just done for the fuck of it, and objectively stupid from a writing standpoint.

Let me explain. During the entire culling game ark, Choso and Yuki are given a deep and understanding development. Choso realizes that he himself can live as a human. He's allowed to be selfish. Not only that but Yuki sacrificed herself for him to be selfish and live as a human. He mourns his brothers yes, but he lives with them in his body- in his soul. So he chooses to live his life as a human for them because they never got to do so.

So why. The fuck. Did you kill him when that development HAS NOT CONCLUDED?

He never got to LIVE as a human. A few weeks/months is not fucking enough time gege. And the panel of him being like "150 years was only a few days to Yuji" makes no sense because that means Choso was still living as a curse. Not a human. Not to mention he spent most of that time training. Also his death was just "me protect brother". Which is cool and all but it completely destroys his development. A better way to go out would be to probably fight Sukuna not only for his brothers but also for the betterment of humanity (if he got to experience it). But no. We get a sudden, lack luster death that means NOTHING. Especially since Yuji has had what? 10 CATALYSTS?! It makes. No. SENSE. You spend chapters upon chapters developing him- only to give him a death that only ties back to the most basic thing we know about him. And that is "I love my brothers."

What a dog shit way to develop a character only to kill them. And I know why gege did it. It was because Choso's the only mf left that would have an impactful death because no one gives a shit about Miguel. Hell, I think Maki would have been better because her ARC IS DONE. ITS CONCLUDED. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN GREAT TO HAVE HER AND SUKUNA DO A FINAL CLASH- TAKING EACH OTHER OUT. BUT NO. NO. WE GOTTA KILL THE GUY THAT HAS NO CONNECTIONS OTHER TO YUJI.

Actual dog shit writing.

I'm dropping jjk. Message me when one of three things happen

1) uraume gets to be the villian

2) merger happens

3) Zoro one piece comes in to kill Sukuna

Edit:

Okay so Choso was actually killed for shock value. Cool to know. Because if Todo can fucking swap multiple targets why TF did he do everyone EXCEPT Choso. And I don't wanna hear no "He didn't make it in time". This is fucking Todo. Legit Choso was killed for shock value and everyone is fine. And guess what? Choso is going to give up his life for nothing because Gojo is going to steal the spot light and he will be a worthless death. This is just fucking ridiculous. What dog shit. Writing was good at the start and I honestly liked the culling game but these later chapters are dog dookie.

[packsvlog]

HI BABES <3 hruuuu

I've been on ur page for a while and was curious about the jjk matchup and wanted to try 😭

btw feel free to ignore this if u don't wanna do it 🫶🏻

-appearance wise- short? Not athletic at all, casual goth/alt kinda style hijabi/curly ASF short hair, (kinda really conventionally attractive according to shit ton of people ig😭?)

- schizophrenic? Borderline personality disorder and adhd 💀

-Quite smart actually but js lazy asf so usually no efforts

- procrastinates ALOT like that's a huge part of my life atp😭in literally everything

- not really the type to care for own health or anything

-Got a really bad rbf in public +not talkative AT ALL outside of home💀

a huge girls girl

-Really weird mood swings so either talk wayyy while making zero sense or fully mute

-Overall quite confident esp in own body and all so it's pretty hard for other person to win any argument/insult type of things

-Kinda narcissist? Like 1st priority is me so pretty hard to settle for anyone

-childish in relationships cuz ykk trauma🥰🫶🏻

- not taking ANYONES shi esp from partner soo.....

ANYWAYS THAT'S IT ILYYY BYEEE MWAH

my first sukuna!!!! i’ve been waiting for you mwah. this is true form!sukuna and heian!sukuna. also you’re so badass i got inspired to write a one shot, yay.

•⁀➷ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . ﹫ 𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢 ៹ ༉‧₊˚

sukuna does not give a fuck about anyone that isn’t him or uraume, so when you came on this temple he took for himself with a lot of blood as a payment, he was left wondering.

you arrived as an offering from your village, they couldn’t deal with your personality and ways. never putting your head down or allowing anyone to talk shit. and you, a cursed user, had no restrains on using your technique to defend yourself or prove a point. somehow, they still managed to get you unconscious.

throw at sukuna’s feet, you woke in a daze and you were mad at everyone. seeing this fragile looking little person raising chaos and destruction intrigued him. he killed all of those you didn’t, and you hated him for it.

“hey, you big asshole!” you stormed all the way to his seat. “they were mine.”

“and you are mine now, go with uraume to receive your tasks.”

. . . what?

you start to work under sukuna after that day, he says he doesn’t give a fuck, but it’s an easy lie to spot. sukuna wants to know about your powers, your anger, your everything. and since asking you would be inconsistent to his nonchalant personality, he makes uraume be near you at all times.

uraume hates you. not for jealousy, they just hate how lazy you are with the work. the three of you have an intimidating aura, the closed off faces of you and uraume and the devilish smirk of sukuna is a common last view for anyone who dares face you all.

sukuna begins to view you as something other than a soldier when you keep back talking him more and more. he gets offensive, you defend yourself and nearly gets you face burned or body slashed, that makes you even angrier. he finds amusing your scowling and screeches, so he keeps “missing” his assassination attempts.

sukuna does not court you or asks you on a date, sorry! he will just make clear one day that you are his, like in your first encounter, except this time anyone that comes into his room will be met with a not friendly sight of you on his lap.

now, uraume hates the two of you.

──── 𓇼 ° ⋆ FUN FACTS ᵎᵎ

۫ ּ ﹗it’s all a lie, uraume actually likes you both. and if you ever get sick, sukuna will not help you, but the cooker will make you soup and that’s it. don’t ask the ingredients, though.

۫ ּ ﹗sukuna has a short temper, and you have the light to ignite his anger. you both are very explosive, and yet he stopped getting angry a long time ago, he rather see you worked up. you know where this ends.

۫ ּ ﹗he sees you with a gothic dress, his many eyes won’t leave you alone, never.

۫ ּ ﹗when the culling games start, you come back thanks to kenjaku. it’s like the day you first met, you come his way in a confused state and angry. he missed you a lot.

[runabout-river]

So now that the Jujutsu Factions plot point is wrapped up (albeit unceremoniously), the only thing left to worry about is Tengen and her Barriers. It will be interesting to see what happens given that we still don't have a clear assessment of what happened to good ol' Granny.

There are several things that can happen:

1. Tengen is alive. She'll probably end the Culling Games, which would free all the sorcerers from continuing this Death Match. However, her barriers will stay up continuing the optimization of CE in Japan.

This will lead to several countries trying to invade Japan as they see it as a cursed energy gold mine. Powerful curses, sorcerers, and curse users like the Disaster Curses, Kenjaku, and Gojo will keep popping up. This could, unfortunately, lead to new cycles of curses starting and further chaos in the future.

2. Tengen is dead. Her Barriers will come down, which would cause Cursed Energy to dissipate. Depending on how Gege views cursed energy as an element. There are several options:

All the bottled up CE will spread across the world, leading to more sorcerers and curses appearing. However, the strength of the curses and sorcerers will be lower in comparison to past sorcerers fostered in Japan.

OR, the level of CE hits such a low that curses and sorcerers rarely appear in the world anymore. Japan becomes like every other country in the world. This is probably the closet we could get to Yuki's dream being fulfilled without it feeling like an asspull.

3. There's also the third option of Tengen being alive and having a change of heart. She ends the culling games and somehow removes the excess cursed energy from Japan. But honestly, this is my least favorite option as it's too convenient and is too much of a perfect ending.

Good options but I have 2 interjections:

I don't think ending the Culling Games is as easy as Tengen going "Welp, time to finish this" (I need to read up on that whole thing though) but more importantly, I think Tengen is alive but in no state to act on her own at all.

Tengen was an old granny but then she was turned into a baby. (In a metaphorical way, she was turned from evolution through immense age into a devolution into a baby; maybe though the metaphor is meant to say that she evolved so much she turned into a completely new life form that is in its infancy.)

We saw already that she isn't freed from that trapped baby form even after Kenjaku lost his ability to control his CT and her. Instead she went over to Sukuna who had - in Megumi's body - undergone a ritual to house her. There was no indication that Yuji punched her out like he did Sukuna and unlike with Sukuna, Megumi isn't possessed by Tengen anyway.

So it's most likely that Megumi is the one who's pregnant with Tengen right now (Kenjaku even says that Sukuna/Megumi will parent the merger through the CG) and even if Yuji were able to do a c-section on him he might want to reconsider that because Sukuna died during his secession. And even with a proper cut from Megumi, Tengen might still be in that trapped form.

Then again, Tengen's name was heavily emphasised in the last chapter. In other words, next chapter will give us the long awaited answer to all of our questions.

But also, Tengen ending her barriers and suddenly the CE problems go away really is a bad ending. If it had been that simple then Tengen had always been the bad guy in the story and Yuki would've simply killed her to achieve her goal. Geto would've killed her, too.

[palestporn]

Gamzee: Get fucking rudenasty about it

Today's been a shitshow, and it's well past noon, and there's a ghost in your head and a terrible and ancient motherfucking destiny leaning on you...and there's fuck-all you can do about any of that, so instead you scoot over at the second-biggest deal in the empire and put a palm on the back of his neck to squeeze a little.

"Oh, uh," says the Second Coming.

"Think you could do to sleep before sunrise," you say down close by his ear, and give his neck a squeeze, to see if he pops you one. He goes all red again instead, so that seems good. When you get your other hand on his hot cheek he won't let you turn him to look at you, but he doesn't slap you away either, working his claws on nothing. "...You got a back full of knots and an ache in your horns, and I got hands and nothing but time, motherfucker. Put the two together we might just make some miracles happen."

"Ha!" says Karkat, high and harsh, which would make you feel like the dumbest and clumsiest motherfucker if there wasn't half a eager chirp on the noise. When you take your hand back away again, he leans after it fast and then pretends like he was stretching, and then shivers when you put it back on him. Glances over at where his ancestor's still scolding at nothing, and quiets down to half whispering. "You don't have to kiss my ass about stuff. It's great when you're, fucking, six sweeps old and you think you're gonna save the universe, but. If that's what you're doing, you can stop. But..if that's not what you're doing, then, I guess--"

He looks up past you and breaks off, raises up his voice to growl. "...What? Fuck off."

The emperor is looking at the both of you when you look up, and you recall all at once where you're at and what's up and who you're talking to, and what the rest of the conciliatrium would scold at you if they heard you getting fresh with the Second Coming after all their lessons on keeping your salty mouth sweet and sober. You sit straight and put your fronds back in your own business again.

"Shit, KK," says Sollux, who started pretty far down your list of people you were chill with, and is getting his jump on up it. "Get some."

The emperor says, "You do understand that the consortium was just...the most well-insulated place I could hive you?" Like he thinks you're doing some wack shit out of nowhere or something. "You're not obligated to act like one of the consorts."

For once this heretic motherfucker speaks some damned sense, growls your ancestor in your ear. If you won't cull these mutant aberrations at least restrain yourself from playing pile-pet to some loud-mouth stripling rabble-rouser.

"...I mean, nah, bro," you say, and see the emperor cock a brow at you and say "I mean, motherfucker--uh. I mean. Sir? Only it's like. I'm only not a conciliatrix on account I got no moirail because some crusty old motherfucker I guess I share face with had negative fuckin' game--"

Don't you speak on my motherfucking GAME, says your ancestor, insulted at you. I pulled like you wouldn't fucking believe, you mouthy little shit.

"--But I got the training and everything," you say, and look at Karkat, hoping. "If some motherfucker might like me better."

The emperor looks still like he has more to say about all that, but Karkat squares up his shoulders and lowers his horns again, that way he stands sometimes that means let's get this motherfucker done. "Good," he says, "Great. Well, so, let's just--go fucking figure some shit out!" He stands up, brushes himself down, straightens up his little hanging gold-and-jewels crown. "Your place, or mine?" he says, bossy, and only goes a little bit red about it.

Gamzee: His place, or yours?

==> The Imperial Hive-Suite ==> The Imperial Conciliatrium

[START OVER]

[fuckyeahtransformersfanfic]

IDW 1 FICS

These are all fanfics that are set in IDW 1 universe AUs, Canon Compliant, and Post-Canon. Enjoy!

These are some of my favorite fics ever so I really recommend them.

💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠

The Delphi Dilemma by Lycaste (@catesly)

Dodging the DJD. Avoiding overtures of friendship from coworkers. Navigating a lust/hate relationship with his gorgeous jerk of a boss. For Ambulon, life at Delphi is still about running. But when a strange event hits the clinic, does he have what it takes to pull it together and help save the day?

Ambulon/Pharma | IDW 1 | E | Completed | 20k+ | 6/6

Send us a Blindfold, Send us a Blade by Trinary (@trinarysuns)

Post-Unicron, Thundercracker heads to New Cybertron to schmooze with the rich and famous. Movies need funding, after all. What he expects are boring parties and a lot of paperwork. What he finds is an impossible version of his dead trinemate, kept like a prize in a towers estate. They need to get off-planet as quickly as possible, but with the enforcers hot on their trail, the only one who can help is a certain Megatron-obsessed empuratee… And Damus of Tarn has his own plans.

Starscream/Thundercracker, Elite Trine Triad | IDW 1 | M | Completed | 64k | 15/15

Twenty-Five To Life by neveralarch (@neveralarch)

Or, When Primus Put Your Hand in Mine, There Weren't Supposed to Be Handcuffs.

Starscream's on a short road to prison when he meets his sparkmate. Things can only get better from there.

Minimus Ambus/Starscream, Minor Dominus Ambus/Rewind | IDW 1 | T | Completed | 20k+ | 1/1

Your Own Hands by SatelliteSoundwave (@satellitesoundwave)

A half-finished invention saves Tarantulas’ life. Unfortunately, it also starts unravelling the universe, and Prowl has to reluctantly team up with him to save the world. Having to work together repairs severed connections, but it also reopens old wounds.

TaraProwl | IDW 1 | M | Completed | 15k | 1/1

The Children's Crusade & Once More by AsYouCommand

Story One: Imagine a future where children would never be culled.

In which the young leaders of a future revolution escape their education and Pharma encounters a choice.

Story Two: I asked him to sign his work, so I'd always keep what he did in mind.

In which Pharma grieves for a lost chance all his life, and then—

IDW 1 | G & T | Completed | 7k & 6k | 1/1

I had to rec these together. Choices just really stuck with me.

Kinstugi by DesdemonaKaylose (@desdemonafictional)

Pharma's new conjunx was not what he'd been expecting, when he asked the matchmaker for someone cultured, and agreeable, and obedient. For one thing, the mech doesn't even have a face.

Or: The Art of Letting Go is Easy to Master

Tarnma, Damus/Pharma | IDW 1 | E | Completed | 9k | 1/1

TW: Graphic Depiction of Violence

[anxiouslyfred]

Contemplating Death

Summary: Virgil starts wondering what will happen to his demonic soulmates when he dies.

/\/\

He'd avoided thinking about it. Maybe it had been because of the change in his relationships as well as necessity to reevaluate what's real, but Virgil was six months into being soulmates with Janus and Remus and had avoided thinking about his own mortality and the possible consequences of it until now.

Now when he was working and one of the tasks brought him face to face with a customer who'd lost their soulmate and will to live along with them.

“Logan, that class you learnt about demons in, did it include anything about demons with soulmates?” He asked, wincing at how emotionless his voice sounded. He definitely just made it clear he's close to freaking out.

Logan barely glanced at him before focusing on his screen. “Send me that so I can take it over for you. And no, so far as I'm aware your partners are the first known case of demons having soulmates.”

It had been enough in the moment, forcing Virgil to refocus on their work.

/\/\

“You're going to be okay when I die, right? You've got each other and are demons so you'll be okay right? Cause humans aren't always, when they lose their soulmates.” The words burst out of Virgil in a ramble. Janus had just been laughing over how breakable humans are, and how they'd need to keep Virgil safe from it all when his worries bubbled over.

Silence fell as Janus and Remus looked from him to each other, stunned and clearly trying to think of how to reply.

Just too long after Virgil spoke to be smooth, Janus eventually said, “We'll make you immortal long before that can happen, of course. We've just be waiting for you to be ready for us to suggest it.”

“Unlimited time to fuck everything up? Yeah, no thanks, answer my actual question!” Virgil snapped, getting a delighted laugh from Remus almost on reflex as he sobered up a moment later.

“But you could have magic, just a few rituals, no deals required and we get forever together! You could come with me on thefts and climbing places people think are impossible! Could do anything you imagined.” Remus jumped up, body switching shapes as he did. “No one would ever need to recognise you if you didn't want to be.”

Virgil watched them, beginning to scowl, “Do I have to agree to that or you'll destroy each other in grief, tear everything apart? Cause making me live forever is not an offer that makes me less worried.”

“You don't like the idea of rituals then?” Janus asked, ignoring again what Virgil was actually asking, “That's fine. There are potions you could take, or perhaps we could have you bitten by an immortal being.”

“Vampires are fun but we have to destroy them occasionally. Weres are exciting except they tend to get culled if humans pick up on their existence. I guess you'd say zombies still involve you dying.” Remus this time moved between the creatures they could get Virgil turned into and the green rotting skin he picked for the zombie had multiple blankets getting thrown over him.

“Just tell me what will happen to the two of you when I die!” Virgil snarled, forcing both demons to sit down on his bed and thankfully revealing a clear purple skinned Remus as he pulled the blankets off.

Janus shifted to match the colour, a need to emphasise their difference they didn't often feel the need for. “We don't know.” He admitted.

Virgil narrowed his eyes, “Don't know?”

“Demons all have soulmates but I'm the only one to actually try to find mine. I wanted all the dirty messy things humans do with their soulmates but with extra fun cause have you seen what I can do?” Remus bounced up, revealing his legs were no longer human but something that could be described as tentacles if the end was different. “Built in toys to help with the messy times.”

Janus cleared their throat then, getting Virgil to look over at them. “Which means of course that we have no clue how a demon losing their soulmate could be impacted. It's never happened before and as you've said in humans the reaction can be extreme but it can also not be.” They explained.

“great.” Virgil stated, folding him arms and pouting even as his soulmates wrapped themselves around him.

[fazedlight]

20 Questions More

A deeper and more detailed version of the 20 questions for AO3 fanfic writers. Thanks @eqt-95 and @inkedroplets for the tag!!

1) How do you keep getting ideas for your ship/fandom?

Daydreaming. Writing fanfic is secondary to that. It was only in the past couple of years that it occurred to me that I could write some of it down and see what happens.

2) Which authors inspire you in your fandom, and why are they so freakishly good?

@searidings is my absolute favorite, the way she unravels the characters' emotions and angst is absolutely superb.

3) Aside from the characters of your main ship, who are the characters you love to write?

Ohhh I really love this question:

Cat in Inauthentic, as well as this ficlet and this one. I love her sense of humor.

Lillian in Darkness in All Things. For the same reason as Cat, I just love her snark.

Zor-El in Even Though You're Kryptonian. He kind of surprised me when I started writing him, and to this day I don't know if some of his lines are driven by genuine confusion or if he's just trolling.

4) Are there pairings or tropes you know for sure you'd never write about? Which ones?

I'm a never-say-never kind of person. There's a lot that I don't think I would ever write, but I've been surprised on where stories have taken me before, and may be surprised again.

5) What is your writing process and why is it cursed?

"Process" might be an overstatement...

I have a "scribbles" doc where I keep my ideas. I cull ideas often (though ideas often make their way back anyway). As I write more into the doc, a certain idea may get too big for it, so I spin it out into its own doc.

From there, I kind of go back and forward between outlining and writing. I write completely out of order. Which is why, so often, my multichaps are almost fully drafted by the time I publish chapter 1. I've usually already made it to the resolution point of the plot (meaning, no one's in danger anymore, the bad guy is gone, etc), though the final chapter often doesn't get written until later.

6) What is your favorite part of your writing process?

I love when I've finished the first pass of a chapter/one-shot, and I'm in the editing stage. The story really feels like it's coming together at that point, and it's before all the self-doubt starts bubbling up (that hits hard just before posting).

7) What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to research for a fic?

A friend of mine is a professor in astroparticle physics, so I spent a couple of hours asking him about quantum mechanics stuff. But only a small portion of that ended up being relevant to the fic and the rest was just for fun.

8) Is there a particular writing rule you struggle with (grammar, spelling, tense, reality in general)?

When I'm first sketching out a scene, about half the time I write in present tense (it feels more like I'm writing a play at that point sometimes), but I publish in past tense. So I end up needing to do a bunch of revisions 😭

Also TYPOS.

9) What was your hardest scene to write so far and why?

Fight scenes are ROUGH, man.

This is probably one of those answers I'll change every time depending what's at the top of my mind. But writing out a fight scene - like in Even Though You're Kryptonian, Darkness in All Things, or It's a Metallo Life - gets surprisingly difficult if there are more than 2 people.

I know exactly how I'd shoot those scenes if I had a camera crew, special effects, etc. But it's hard making sure the audience is aware of where everyone is positioned, why they can/can't act in the moment, etc.

10) Have your characters ever done something you didn’t expect, changing your plot completely?

All the fucking time, man. From the very beginning, even. I was trying to have Lena still be angry by the DEO scene in So I Kept Pretending, but that didn't make sense anymore.

I actually recently had a fic idea dissolve because it wasn't vibing with the characters. Which is fine, it became a ficlet instead!

11) If you could converse with any of the characters, who would it be and why?

Absolutely Kara. I have so many questions about kryptonian culture and how it drives her character.

12) What are some of the tropes or themes that you find yourself returning to in your writing?

Trope-wise, I definitely return to the Rift again and again. I find themes around forgiveness and understanding to be really interesting. Can two good-hearted people with conflicting needs hurt each other while still loving each other? How? What does that mean for the aftermath?

I think that's part of what draws me to supercorp - the complexity of their relationship. How they can both be right, and both be wrong, and love each other enough to rebuild from the ashes.

13) What's your most important resource as a writer?

Coffeeshops and libraries. Getting into slightly busy, cozy environments, out of the house, really helps shake loose the stuff in my head.

14) Can you share some of your strategies for editing and revising your work?

Especially for longer works, I tend to put the work down (and circle to other works, or go outside, or whatever) before coming back to it. It helps to step away for a bit - it's easier to pick up on repetitiveness or unclear passages when coming back.

Though I always find mistakes in my stories much later, so I'm not sure I'm one to give advice on this anyway 🤣

15) Which is worse: making the summary, picking the tags, or the anxiety when you post your fic?

Posting anxiety is the absolute worst. If I leave myself in front of my computer I'll end up refreshing constantly waiting for the first kudos (if it's a one-shot or first chapter) or the first comment (if it's a later chapter) to figure out if I've accidentally pissed off everyone in the fandom somehow.

Luckily, my partner will usually pull me away to go on a walk or grab lunch or do something else to take my mind off it 💗

16) How do you define success for your fanfic - hits? Kudos? Comments? Bookmarks? Or just if you like it?

I only publish what I like. Sometimes I'm nervous that other people won't like it, but I will always like it. Stories that aren't going a way I like - even if I think the idea is cool! - will dissolve. Just recently I dissolved one that felt like it was a cool idea, but it didn't make enough sense for the characters.

Kudos and comments always make me feel appreciated as an author!! Sometimes I'll get a user subscriber out of it, too, and it feels like an honor that someone would want to hear from me more than once.

The thing that feels most precious, though, is when someone comments on how something made them feel (I love making people laugh at my dumb jokes, or cry when a story is supposed to hit emotionally), or when they pick up on something that I wasn't sure would get picked up on.

I tend to lean towards understatement in my stories. For me, the biggest success is knowing that someone recognized what I was going for, without me being overt.

17) Do you have a playlist for your favorite character/ship?

Alas, I don't. But given that Kara is canonically a Britney Spears fan and musicals nerd, I feel like my default playlist works 🤣

18) If fan art was going to be made from your work, which fic would you pick and which fan artist would you like to create it?

Oh gosh, I don't want to pick someone and create pressure, or not pick someone and make them feel bad. This fandom has so many great artists!

That said, some of my favorites do commissions, you can see everything I've commission here.

19) How many WIPs do you currently have?

1 supercorp & 1 rojarias (for @supergirlmayhem)

For me, 2-3 is my happy number, so I'm relieved to be down to this after being so high (I think up to 11?) for so long.

20) What's your advice to new fanfic writers?

If you're wondering why you can't find that story you want, it might mean that you're the one to write it 💗

- - - - -

Tagging (respectfully and without pressure) @rustingcat @luthordamnvers @sssammich @tinyvariations @thatonebirdwrites @theredcapeofk @sideguitars @luthordamnvers @mycatismyeditor @inkedroplets @nottawriter @snowydragonscave @jetgirl1832 if you want some rapid-fire q's thrown your way. But also anyone who'd like to do this!

[themalhambird]

There’s a complex simplicity to marking first year homework- it’s engaging without requiring any particular effort, and Doctor Nero is making steady progress down the pile. Ivan appears every so often to refill the china cup on his desk with tea. Just at the moment Nero pauses to stretch out his spine, flex his fingers, crack the joints threatening to stiffen up in ankles- just at the moment that he’s starting to flag, in other words, a mug and a pot of coffee touch down on his left. “Thank you, Ivan,” Nero says, picking up the pot and pouring himself the welcome dose of steaming, bitter caffeine. 

“It is seven thirty,” Ivan announces, his gruff St. Petersburg accent colouring the English words. “At eight p.m, you will have sandwiches.”

A brief, but genuine smile touches Nero’s lips. “Thank you, Ivan. I should be done by nine.”

“Be done at nine thirty; take half an hour to properly eat.” Ivan moves off as Nero laughs silently and picks up his coffee, draining the lot in continuous gulps before pouring himself a second mug, setting it to the side, and  returning to the task at hand. The rhythm of it is  just coming back nicely when his study door slides open, and since there are only  three people in the world who have  the clearance to make that door open without his granting access- Ivan, who is already within the suite of rooms that make up Nero’s personal quarters; Dr. Scott, who never appears without calling ahead first and is polite enough to knock unless there’s reason to assume that Nero is unconscious or otherwise incapacitated; and finally- “Professor,” Doctor Nero says, without looking up from his work. “What have you blown up this time? And can you find a way to blame Diabolus so that the doubtless very expensive replacement gets taken out of his bottom line, and not mine?”

“It’s not- Max, I’m trying to work up the aliases for Raven and I…”

There’s an uncharacteristic uncertainty in the old man’s voice. Nero caps his pen and straightens up in his chair, scanning the Professor’s face. He seems nervous; Nero frowns slightly. “It’s not like you to have difficulty curating false IDs.”

“Well, it’s not a difficulty exactly, its-” the Professor turns, and presses the button to seal the door, watching it shut before turning back. Nero’s frown deepens. “She’s fourteen, roundabout; if she’s going to be out and about with you, then the most logical- the most believable identities for her would be- well, they’d be linked to several of your existing sets as. Well. as your daughter.” He falls silent, looking rather like he does when he’s waiting to see if a prototype he’d really rather didn’t explode was about to blow up in his face. Nero’s face clears, and he leans back, reaching for his coffee. 

“Yes, I’d assumed as much,” he says, “What’s the problem?”

“It’s- well. There’d need to be a mother in the picture, somewhere, obviously- facts of life- and the existing identities that we have for you, the ones best suited for that- not that I couldn’t set some up from scratch but you know, the most secure ones have had time to be embedded properly, and are soldered close to the truth as possible where personal details are concerned- easier to remember and all that, and so-”

“You want to slot Raven into the aliases that were built to link up with corresponding identities for Elena.” Nero finishes quietly 

“Only with your permission,” the Professor says, his gaze a little too penetrating for Nero’s comfort. “You’ve not been using them, but you never ordered  any of them destroyed either, and you know how my system works. The identity is removed entirely, and the appropriate real-world office finds itself with a  death certificate, or else they keep living- chugging along  quietly in the background, another face in the millions. Taxes, career records…”

“Cull some of Elena’s- backdate six to eight months, if you can, and make the corresponding records show a fairly recent widower. Divorce a few of the ones where Elena had Russian ties but I didn’t- Raven is still working on accents, spending large parts of the year in Russia with her mother would account for hers…set a couple up where it seems Raven’s the product of a one night stand or an affair, and you had best tie some to Darkdoom as well. Let him know that some of his alter-egos are about to acquire a god-daughter, step daughter, or a niece by marriage.” 

“Max.”

“Theodore. It was fourteen years ago.” Nero picks up his pen. “It was unfortunate. I grieved. It no longer matters. Robust covers for Natalya are a priority; for now, that requires making me her father, though I suggest an uncle or two is thrown in the mix as well- again, her accent. In the meantime, start laying groundwork for identities independent of mine that she can grow into. Fast-track-to-CEO, secretary, European aristocracy, cleaner- the usual gamut for our line of work.” He pops the lid off the pen with the tip of his thumb. It clatters down on to the desk. 

“Alright,” the Professor says. “It’s ironic, just need to un-bury some pre-natal medical records, and Raven slots right in. She even looks like you, a little bit- well, your hair is the same colour-”

“You can go, Professor,” Nero says, a little more sharply than he intended. He doesn’t need to be told that Raven is the same age his child would have been, if the child had survived. When he had reaffirmed his intention to keep the young assassin close to him, Number One had spent a good ten minutes probing at the fact, trying to trip Nero up into admitting- what had the man called it? Displaced Paternal Emotion. Nero feels no such thing. He is fond of the girl, in the same way he had been fond of several other young people he's mentored across the years. He feels viciously, nastily triumphant that he’s taken the weapon his mortal enemy had designed to kill him, and worked out how best to wield it himself. He foresees, in Raven’s skill set, a rising star in G.L.O.V.E’s exacting sky- just as he had seen it in a young Diabolus Darkdoom- and he anticipates, when Raven sets out on her own, reaping that same reward, experiencing that same quiet satisfaction of having been right that he gets whenever Darkdoom excels. Displaced Parental Emotion. No. He’s a master craftsman, and he knows how to spot a top of the line tool that some clueless idiot cleaning out their dead grandmother’s shed was selling for £2.50 from the boot of their car. Take care of the rust spots (or, in Natalya’s case, a tendency to stab people who made her angry) and you get the steal of a lifetime. 

He’s very good at his job.

[aeron-aeranthyen]

WIP LIST

⚔ Bloodstained Blue

Genre: Epic fantasy / Political fantasy

Summary: Estranged members of the most powerful family in the world reunite for the funeral of their dowager king, inadvertently giving rise to a series of events that will culminate in a war that will destroy both them and the empire they rule.

Themes: Eat the rich, power corrupts, love, revolution

Status: Final draft quarter done

POV: Third person multi-pov

Type: Original Work

Proposed word count: 200,000 words

Excerpt

“The gods had played a cruel jape, but I suppose even then I was a fool to believe it. To believe that something so pure, something so beautiful would deserve such fate as to be mine. She made me realise that I was a monster, and I thought that even that was kind of her. You see, love is a lens by which we view the world, one of many, and it is by far the most malicious. It makes even the most monstrous of things appear beauteous, it deceives …” Oron’s gaze was absent now, like he was staring at a memory. “I don’t remember pushing her. I just remember the lens cracking, and the illusion fading. I remember the hate. Then her face. She was not so beautiful as I had thought.”

⚔ Culling and the Storm

Genre: Epic fantasy / steampunk

Summary: When a group of bounty hunters take on a job to find the kidnapped daughter of a wealthy chief, they are quickly thrust into a world of murder, myth and ancient prophecy.

Themes: Parental abuse, recovering from trauma, self discovery

Status: Completed, being published

POV: 3rd person multi-pov

Type: Original Work

Word count: 120,000 words

Excerpt

You ask children what they fear, they will tell you monsters. You ask men, they will tell you other men. You ask me, I will tell you it's the inability to distinguish one from the other.

More info

Culling and the Storm and Bloodstained Blue both take place in the same world, 330 years apart. Culling and the Storm takes place in 1905, where we have airships, communication devices, cars (called motors), billboards and some other modern-ish technology, while Bloodstained Blue takes place centuries prior in 1575, the tail end of the 'medieval' era.

While Culling and the Storm is a book more focused on adventure and found-family (and for now has a smaller scale), Bloodstained Blue focuses on dynasties, complex politics and starts off with a huge scope and a cast of characters in the hundreds (believe me, I checked.)

C.A.T.S is the first in a seven book series, while Bloodstained Blue is the first in a planned tetralogy. The darkerverse is the shared universe they both inhabit, a sandbox with dozens of different countries and cultures and magic systems and characters to explore, a world I've been building for over five years now.

Map of the Darkerverse. Or at least, one planet in it. My passion is to fill out every corner of this world with stories. Right now I'm telling the story of C.A.T.S and Bloodstained Blue, but someday I'd love to introduce you all to the Iron Hawks, to Apathy & Kline, to Dame Doom, to the Spindelwitch and to all of the 3,271 (yes, I checked) characters I've created for this world.

My first two darkerverse books shows you the Geyortian Union and the Camarite Empire, but one day I hope to thrust readers into the dense jungles of Valynkar, to the white-clad saints of Nagos, to the desolate wastelands of the Cold Road and the glacial depths of the siren-infested Frozen Sea. Perhaps one day you'll see the triplet volcanoes of Vulcaris, the city within the skull of a dragon, the bones of long-gone giants strewn across the earth, the trees of the Skaa Lands tall enough to scrape the clouds, the thousand-and-one clans of Medinar . . . . perhaps one day I'll finally have shown it all.

[bonfire-at-the-crossroads]

Alrighty then….

This is one of the cornucopia of wacky-ass ads that crawl across my FB universe every day.

I am a woman from New York, I’m closer to 70 than I am to 60. I’m an artist who spent many years illustrating children’s books, and who moved into the picture frame industry in the late ‘90’s. I handled masterpieces, managed a couple of factories of marvelous craftspeople, and was the person who arrived at the clients penthouse with my tools and white gloves. Bill and Hillary Clinton were clients of mine. (Bill can tell a great story, but don’t let him back you into a corner….LONG story)

The Koch Brothers were clients.

I spent a year and a half in the Fifth Ave home of Baron and Baroness deRothschild - conserving their collection of priceless artwork.

Maryanne Trump was one of my favorite clients - a hilarious, smart, tough old gal with big hair - who can tell a dirty joke with a poke in the ribs a big laugh. (She hates her brother, and it took two years before she would admit what her last name actually is.)

My husband and I sold everything we owned and moved to northwestern ireland eight years ago.

And so - this is an advertisement which is served to me based upon all of my digital information as culled from the Zuckerberg algorithm

Anything from selling me plastic surgery in Turkey, to a shed made from an old shipping container - this is part of the Zuckerberg landscape. Computer algorithms which are targeted at unsuspecting persons who are just trying to get through their day with some shreds of their sanity intact.

I’m supposed to be beguiled into throwing down £34.97 for the chance to win a digger. I’m not sure that the algorithm fully appreciates the absurdity.

But I do.

Something the algorithm does not know - is that I have a bit of ugly history with Zuckerberg’s mom and dad. His Papa is/was a dentist in Dobbs Ferry NY, and his horror-bitch of a mom ran the front desk.

We used to have him as the family dentist - 3 little kids and myself. There was some sort of dental emergency with my son, and I got him into the chair to have it dealt with. (We always lived in the limnal space between a rock and a hard place. Illustration was in its death-throes, my job in picture framing had just gotten started - and Brian had been pushed into freelance work as an advertising copywriter. We were scrambling to cling on to the floating wreckage…)

Daddy Zuckerberg the dentist repaired the issue, my son was fixed, and he bounced back into the waiting room. The chairs were filled with patients waiting to be seen - and it’s safe to say that they were all neighbors from Dobbs Ferry.

I walked to the front desk to discuss payment with Mama Zuckerberg. “I will need to back-date this check to next Friday when I get paid. There’s not enough in the account to cover this now, but it will be fine in three days.” - I was speaking softly, in an attempt to not alert the entire room of my precarious financial condition.

She went NUTTS. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! NO! We don’t work this way! How can you think this would be acceptable?!” and she banged on the sign that declared “Work to be paid for at time of appointment”

Everyone in the waiting room was now riveted. I tried to claw back some of my dignity, and continued to explain my predicament. “The emergency had happened that afternoon, we have been your patients for years now, it’s only three days from now….”

“Then give me a credit card.” Says she.

“I cant. I don’t have one right now”

And she actually came out from behind the desk - hollering and waving her arms around. I was shouted at in front of my kids (my youngest started to cry) everyone in town got to see just how shabby my wallet was, and in the end - I left the check on the edge of the counter, gathered up the kids - and left.

The check cleared on payday. We never went back.

And if you wonder why Mark Zuckerberg is so damn weird? This may go some way toward explaining it.

His parents are hideous people.

And so….

I spend my remaining years being served up ridiculous advertising based upon what the weird kid from Dobbs Ferry stole from his clever college roommates.

AI is the product of a batshit kid whose parents were awful.

We’re all in trouble.

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Aleksander Moroza x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Summary: Alyra Koshkova has always lived in the shadows, concealing her true nature to survive. But when tragedy forces her into the heart of Ravka's Second Army, she finds herself under the watchful eye of General Kirigan, the Darkling—a man as enigmatic as he is powerful. Struggling to come to terms with her newfound role, Alyra must navigate a world of hidden threats and dangerous alliances. As secrets unravel and the Darkling’s intentions grow ever more unclear, Alyra’s choices could reshape the fate of a nation—or lead to her own undoing.

Series Masterlist

Read on A03

Warnings: Violence, Language

Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, Language, Depictions of Violence, War, Political Intrigue, Horror Elements, The Darkling has a Heart, Grisha!OC, Grisha Sympathetic, Alcohol, The Darkling was right about a lot of things

Chapter 4: The Rock and the Hard Place

As with all their most intimate of conversations, it was deep into the darkest part of the evening when Alyra strained against her bonds to settle beside him. It was then that he learned her story.

“The Druskelle took me in Ryevost,” her soft voice cut through the night, barely more than a whisper. “But the village I grew up in was in central Ravka.”

Ivan squinted at her, eyes narrowed against the dark as he tried to figure out where she was going. “I don’t understand—“

“You told me Petra’s story—the story of the General’s Grisha,” she cut him off. “Now I will tell you mine, the story of the Grisha beyond the Little Palace.”

He shuffled close so that he might hear her properly, stopping when only an inch of space remained between their shoulders. Settling in, he waited patiently for her to continue.

“My father died when I was young; I barely remember him. But my mother raised me outside the village. I never received a formal education, but I never suffered for it. She taught me my letters, how to chart the months by the position of the stars, and which plants would cull a fever or soothe a toothache. She always had a way with plants. I think the Second Army would call her an Alkemi, though she was only ever ‘Mama’ to me.” A soft smile played at her lips, some of the strain of their captivity peeling away in her sudden unguardedness. “I spent my days running through the woods and playing in the streams. They were the happiest days of my life.”

Ivan tensed, waiting for the inevitable turn in her tale. “But then she was taken by witch-hunters and I never saw her again.”

“You must have been very young to be on your own.”

“I was ten and wandering the woods when an apothecary and his wife found me. I think he knew what I was from the start, but he didn’t care. All Pavel saw was a little girl alone in the world that needed his help. They took me with them back to Ryevost, and that was that.” 

Ivan nudged her with his shoulder. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t enough to save him.” 

She shifted her cloak around her shoulders, pulling it up around her neck to block out the wind that had begun to pick up. “He had this way of making you feel like the most important in a room, and everyone who knew him respected his opinions. But he always had a hard time sitting by when he didn’t like something. So when Druskelle began to steal away Grisha in the night, and children with powers they never asked for were sold to brothels or pawned off to Shu Han to be experimented on, he decided that if the king would not do something, then he would.”

“I think I was thirteen when I first realized that he was smuggling Grisha into the country. He tried to shield me from the worst of his back-alley dealings, but life in a port city is rough and I would have been wrapped up in it one way or the other.” 

Ivan drew a breath, the pieces starting to come together. “So that is how the Druskelle found you.”

She nodded, eyes drifting to some undetermined point on the horizon. “I told him it was too risky, but it didn’t matter. Not when there were lives at stake. It would have been fine, but somebody tipped them off.” A puff of laughter escaped her lips, bitter and hollow. “Pavel always said I couldn’t hide forever. That eventually the world outside would find me. And then one day, it did.”

He brushed his shoulder against hers, an uncertain show of comfort. And although he dreaded the answer, he asked, “What became of him?”

“They tore the shop to pieces before dragging Pavel and his sick wife from their beds. I tried to run, but a second troop caught up to me too. I don’t know what happened to them.” Her eyes glassed over in remembered pain, tilted her head up to meet his stare. “He committed his life to helping the Grisha when it would have been easier to bury his head in the sand. And look where it got him.”

“He did not deserve his fate,” Ivan murmured.

“No. He didn’t, and yet the world still turns.”

Ivan said nothing. There were no words for grief such as theirs. Instead, he nudged her towards him, settling her head against his shoulder, the ghosts of their pasts watching on.

The pieces of their pasts laid bare between them, and a tentative bond began to form between the captive Grisha. Each day, they endured the grim reality of their existence, and each night, when their jailors had fallen asleep, they would share stories of their childhoods, of memories from better times. Most were happy, some sad, but none as harrowing as the tragedies shared in those first tense nights.

One chilly autumn evening, with the stars scattered like diamonds across the sky, Alyra broke the silence, her voice barely louder than the rustling of leaves. “You know, you’ve never told me where you’re from, Ivan.”

The nights grew colder with each passing day, and in the mornings, the ground was covered in a lacy blanket of frost. The crisp air was a constant reminder that winter was fast approaching. Ivan watched as she tucked her legs beneath her, her movements slow, almost mechanical. She was thinner now than when they’d first met, a hodgepodge of sharp angle and ragged fabric. He wondered what he must look like to her—did she see gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes when she looked at him?

“You never asked,” he quipped, shaking the thought away with a slight tilt of his head, then rested back on his aching wrists.“I was raised on a farm outside Os Alta.”

Alyra hummed in amusement. “A farm boy. I should have known.”

He arched a brow at her, the shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing,” she teased, her smile evident even in the dark. “you just seem the strapping, hardworking sort. I bet you were quite popular with the girls in your village.”

There was a beat. He turned toward her, his expression loaded with meaning. The silence between them deepened, charged with an unspoken truth.

She caught on quickly, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ of surprise before she flashed him an understanding smile. “I see.”

He grunted in response, content to leave it at that. But Alyra seemed more keyed up than usual tonight, eager to engage in conversation. 

“Did anyone ever catch your eye then?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach to watch him, mischief dancing in her eyes.  “A handsome apprentice from a neighboring village, maybe?”

Ivan sighed, a long-suffering sort of sound. “Not during my time in the village, no. But there was someone waiting for me when I left the Little Palace.”

The strings of his heart tugged painfully at the thought of Fedyor, with his easy smiles and gentle hands. He wondered how he was faring if he was out there somewhere searching for him. Ivan swallowed hard, scooping a handful of loose dirt between his hands, letting it slip through the cracks between his fingers.

“And you?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than before.

Alyra snorted, a comforting sound in the quiet. “I fancied myself in love once. Andrei was a sailor. Scandalous, I know,” she said with a soft chuckle, the white of her teeth catching the faint light. “A few times a year, when the whether was good, his company would dock in Ryevost. Sometimes they’d only stay a few hours, sometimes weeks. But each time, he’d  seek me out with some trinket he’d brought back from his travels in exchange for a kiss.” She paused, her expression clouding,” Pavel hated him.”

Ivan huffed in agreement, the sound low and thoughtful.

“I thought you might say that,” she said, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard ground. “I used to fantasize about the day he would take me away from the stink of the canals for adventures on the True Sea.” She scoffed, the bitterness in her voice cutting through the stillness. “I was a foolish girl. I let him take my virtue in a back alley. After that, the visits became less and less. That was a hard lesson.”

They fell silent, the weight of her words lingering in the cool night air. Ivan watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders as she shifted to lie on her side. Then, surprising even himself, he whispered, “I think he was the fool.”

He knew that she heard him because he heard her breath catch. But there was no reply—none was needed.

Ivan shifted onto his back, stuffing as much of his cloak beneath his head as he could spare without freezing. Sleep was within reach when he heard he whimper once, then again as little shivers dissolved in a body-wracking tremble. She had been unwell since they’d met, but her state had taken an abrupt turn for the worse alongside the changing seasons. With a harsh Ravkan winter approaching and mired down weeks away from the capital, Ivan doubted she would survive to see spring. 

His chest tightened at the notion, an overwhelming fear seeping in around the edges of his thoughts. If something should happen to her, he would be well and truly alone. With a sigh, he slipped the worn cloak from his shoulders, tucking it around her frail frame, and exhaled in relief when the shivering subsided.

As he turned to pull away and search for sleep once more, her hand shot out and wound around his wrist. They lay there in the dark, face to face, both wrapped up in the silent terror of the unknown.

“Ivan,” she whispered finally, her breath ghosting over his face as she squeezed his hand.

“Yes?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and in the moonlight, he saw a tear catch on her eyelash before escaping down her cheek. “I’m afraid I’m going to die out here.”

Ivan closed his eyes as if the darkness behind them might shield him from the raw sting of vulnerability. “So am I.”

---

It was a frigid morning in late autumn when everything changed. The sun, hidden behind oppressive dark clouds, left the world wrapped in a shroud of thick fog. Alyra was jolted awake by the usual scramble of movement and the sharp steel of the Commander’s voice barking orders. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stretched her aching muscles and immediately sensed that something was wrong. The camp was in disarray—men sprinted from one tent to the next, rousing their dozing comrades. And when they emerged into the misty morning, fear was etched in their eyes. The air crackled with frenetic energy as the Druskelle shouted back and forth in clipped, panicked tones, rifles hastily slung over their shoulders. Alyra knew the source of their fear immediately. Three nights ago, scouts had spotted a large unit of Ravkan soldiers—Grisha in colorful keftas. Since then, it had been a game of cat and mouse, the Druskelle skittering through the shadows in a desperate dash to the border, hoping to avoid confrontation with the Second Army. But each time they seemed to gain the upper hand, Ravka was always a step ahead. Tension grew, the feeling of being hunted warping into a wretched, tangible weight, intensified by the sudden and overwhelming press of fog. It had crescendoed into a fever pitch. Her eyes strained against the mist, searching for the telltale colors of red, blue, and purple among the trees. Then, startled, she cried out as a rough hand yanked her to her feet. The man’s green eyes were tight with unease as he snapped at her in a tone that needed no translation, pushing her forward. They were going to make a run for it. Alyra balked, her heels digging into the dirt, eyes desperately roving the camp for any sign of Ivan. Her resistance earned her a backhand across the face. She hit the ground hard, the taste of blood trickling into her mouth from a split lip, but she paid it no mind. Forcing herself back onto her feet, she caught sight of the man who struck her—his eyes wide with terror—before he dropped like a sack of potatoes into the mud. His body jerked once, then went still, blood oozing from his nose. Her head whipped around, searching for the source as dread coiled in her gut. The fog had thickened, blurring everything beyond a few paces ahead, swallowing up the familiar landmarks of the Druskelle camp. A muffled cry echoed somewhere to her right, though she couldn’t say how far. Anything beyond arm’s reach might as well have been on the other side of the woods for all she could see. The Commander’s frantic voice cut through the fog, but his words were garbled, lost in the chaos. Then came the staccato bursts of gunfire, and she watched silhouettes retreating back toward her, dropping one by one as they fired blindly into the mist. All at once, the camp was lit up as if the sun had burst through the clouds. Alyra caught a glimpse of collapsed tent poles, the crumpled bodies of the dead, as a fireball arched through the clearing, heading straight for her. Heat licked at her skin, and she barely managed to throw herself clear before it exploded against a tent a few feet away.

She craned her head to assess the damage, only to find herself rooted to the spot as a powerful gust of wind ripped like a scythe overhead, cutting back the mist and carrying the flames from tent to tent. Within seconds, the world around her was a whirling inferno, the air filled with the cries of men burning as they tried to jump free of the flames, only to be forced back by the wind. “Ivan!” she cried out, coughing into her cloak, her eyes stinging from the plumes of smoke.

The remnants of the camp were in absolute chaos as the core of the Second Army battalion swarmed into the field, spreading out rapidly in blurs of bright color against the black uniforms.

A hand gripped her shoulder, tugging her back as another fireball whizzed by, close enough to singe her cloak.

“What are you doing, you little idiot?” Ivan growled, wrenching her around to face him. Metal glinted in his miraculously unbound hands, the dagger coated in blood as he cut her free. Her wrists screamed in gratitude, but she only had a moment to rub at the chafed flesh before he was tugging her away from the heart of the burning encampment.

The smoke was thinner at the edges of the clearing, but the fighting was just as fierce. She watched a man in blue and gray curl his hands into claws, sending a Druskelle soaring into a tree where he collided with a sickening crack. A burst of rifle fire exploded to her left, and she jumped back just in time to see a bullet graze the neck of an unfortunate woman, extinguishing the spark between her fingers. With a cry of pain, the woman staggered, clutching at her bleeding wound as a man in red rushed to her side.

Alyra didn’t have time to see what happened next. A flash of movement in her peripheral made her react on instinct, but she wasn’t quick enough. The Ginger-bearded Druskelle slammed into her, tackling her to the ground and out of Ivan’s grasp as they were parted by a wave of soldiers. She hit the ground hard, the air wrested from her lungs as she blinked up into a familiar, hateful stare.

He bore down on her, icy eyes murderous in the fiery glow. His knee held her legs in place, and when she tried to raise her arms, he pinned them uselessly above her head. Panic erupted in her then, and she thrashed against him with all her might, kicking and gnashing in desperation. But he was stronger, nearly double her size. He might as well have been carved from stone.

Fear pooled around her, cold and paralyzing, as he shifted her wrists into one sweaty palm so the other could wrap around her throat. The pressure was unyielding, the effect immediate. She kicked out blindly, hoping to make contact with some soft part of him, but found only empty air as the edges of her vision darkened.

“Witch,” he spat, squeezing hard enough that she feared he might break her neck. She struggled to make out the rest of his words over her screaming lungs and the chaos around them. Heat thrummed in her veins, eager to lash out, to protect, but rendered utterly impotent by the space between her hands.

“We should have killed you when we had the chance,” he hissed, breath hot against her face. “But I will make it right.”

It was a vow, a promise that chilled her to her bones as her chest heaved in agony and black spots seeped into her vision. The pressure increased tenfold, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a fountain of red.

The blood was hot where it splattered against her skin, her ribs aching as he collapsed against her with a gurgle. Then he was silent.

Alyra gasped for air, her lungs greedy and desperate, as she tried to wriggle out from under the dead weight. All at once, the pressure lifted, and she found herself staring up into two sets of dark eyes—one familiar, one unknown. She caught Ivan’s hand, allowing him to haul her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” the man beside him asked, his brow knit with concern on a face both soft and angular.

Alyra rubbed at her neck, her throat burning. She opted for a nod in response.

“Good,” he said, flashing her a weak smile, and she caught a glimpse of a dimple. “I’m Fedyor.”

“Alyra,” she rasped. He squeezed her shoulder before Ivan stepped between them.

“There will be time for introductions later. We’re sitting ducks here,” Ivan shouted over the roar of fire and shouting. He charged forward, his broad frame cutting a path through the carnage, making it easy for her to follow. Fedyor fell into pace behind him with Alyra at his heels, stepping sidelong out of the way as a Druskelle hit the ground beside her. It was only a moment, but just enough time for three men in black to slip between them, effectively cutting them off from one another. One of them whistled with a sharp hand gesture, directing his comrades toward the trees.

That’s when she saw them—six men with rifles, positioned between the thin trunks, all poised to fire, their barrels trained on Ivan and Fedyor.

Alyra’s heart pounded in her chest as she cried out for them, but her voice was carried away by the fog and the fighting. She needed to warn them, but they were already too far ahead, nearing the treeline, and she knew she would never make it in time. The soldiers’ guns raised in unison, and there was no more time to think. Alyra reacted, jaw clenched as she felt the power bubble up like an uncontrollable geyser. It surged forward. The grass around her withered and died, energy diverted in a deadly rush toward the gunmen.

It was over in seconds. Bodies dropped like flies, their skin withered and gray, eyes wide with horror. Alyra’s vision swam, her body drained from the effort. But Ivan But Ivan and Fedyor were unharmed, gathered near the fallen gunmen. Alyra stepped over the fresh corpses, her gaze drifting down to their lifeless faces, their empty eyes staring back at her. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she realized what she had done. She forced herself to meet Ivan’s gaze, his expression stricken with a mix of shock and something else—something she couldn’t quite place.

Suddenly, it felt as if the world had narrowed to just the three of them, the burning encampment, the dead men, and the raging battle all fading into the background. Alyra’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath quickening as she took in the horrified looks on their faces. She knew those looks, knew the disaster that always followed them. Panic coiled in her gut, and her muscles tensed, fingers twitching in anticipation.

Ivan must have noticed her shift because he took a step forward, his hand outstretched. “Alyra, wait—”

But she was already running, her legs pumping as fast as they could carry her toward the dark stand of trees beyond. Her body was weak, unaccustomed to the sudden burst of activity, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. The treeline was close, tantalizingly so. If she could just make it to the safety of the shadows, she might be free.

Two soldiers in blue keftas stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She pivoted, boots sliding in the muck, but they mirrored her movements, cutting off any escape. The gap between them was small, but she was fast, and surprise was on her side. She shifted to the balls of her feet, ready to dart through any opening, but these were trained soldiers, seasoned by combat.

Salvation came in the form of a gunshot somewhere to her left. It was too close for comfort, but Alyra didn’t have the luxury to be alarmed. The soldiers’ eyes drifted toward the sound, just for a second, but it was all the time she needed. Alyra seized her chance with both hands, darting between them and bolting for the trees at a dead sprint. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Ivan’s voice calling for her, but she didn’t stop. She had a head start and the cover of the forest on her side. Ivan would be safe among his kind, but Alyra had no such guarantees.

Breathless, she pressed forward, unsure how much distance she had covered. Her lungs burned with every ragged breath, each step becoming more laborious as her legs turned to lead. The mud clung to her boots, making every movement a struggle. She finally pulled her foot free, only to lose a boot in the process. There was no time to retrieve it. She pushed on, her blood thick and sluggish in her veins.

Her chest ached with a vengeance now. She willed herself to keep going, but her body had reached its limit. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she crashed to the ground, her cry of frustration escaping as no more than an exhausted whimper.

Footsteps approached behind her. Slowly, she turned her heavy head to peer over her shoulder. Red fabric danced in her vision as the world tipped, and she collapsed into the mud.

[buildingthegrandtour]

the unicorns are holding us hostage pt 5

<<<PREV

ENEMY MINE

I cradled Azeara’s charred remains. It felt as though I had died with her, a piece of me missing once more. This time I knew what was missing. The empty spaces tugged at my synapses, not believing that they were finished being filled.

I heard footsteps coming towards me and looked up to see a crowd of guards headed in my direction. I flew into a fury and charged towards them. No one was safe from my blade falling on them. I threw weapons for ranged attacks and took weapons from their hands as they fell one by one by one. When the crowd cleared I teleported to a new corner and smashed everything breakable to call attention to myself. The next round went down under my wrath, and I teleported to a new location to start the cycle once more.

Were it not for that histrionic queen, none of this would have happened. Azeara would be caressed by my hand instead of dead by it. We would have never met Aricin, a trade I was willing to make to have never felt the pain of my loss.

The herd was thinning out with less guards to battle with each round. Blood covered every inch of my clothing and skin as I kept the battles going for as long as I could. The next guard I happened upon was already bloodied, keeping his weapon at his side as I approached.

I felt elated and apprehensive, confused at the odd connection I felt for the man in front of me. He removed his helmet to reveal that he was Aricin, a look of concern painting his face. He tried to speak to me, but I was gone before he could get the first word out.

I was in the elevator, mashing the buttons until it moved. The hex amulet only affected organic tissue, so the only damage to the elevator was cracks in the glass wall from the force of the bodies falling backwards in the blast. I examined Azeara as I moved up, seeing the bodies of the guards below me and Aricin mashing buttons in another elevator to catch up to me, leaving me wondering why he didn’t just teleport when he knew precisely where I was.

The elevator did not stop at the ceiling but continued on through solid wall until it ascended to a room with several machines and computers lighting up around me. I exited the elevator and studied the room alive with sights and sounds.. I walked around and watched the monitors working away. I made it through the maze to a central location that looked like a high tech version of the portal area where I had watched the execution so much time ago. Another computer displayed maps and codes to get to other earths.

I pressed the key sequence for earth 1317 and watched a portal open, the crack leading to a world of blue and violet. This explained why an abandoned jewelry store was so heavily guarded.I wondered if the soulmate bond would be severed if I went through the portal. If I could make it through without going crazy as I got closer.

I heard the sound of liquid laughter resonating behind me. I turned on my heel to be faced by the water elemental in his favored serpent form.

“You humans are so easy to corrupt,” he said and smiled. “You are quicker than the Unicorn Queen.’

“The… the uni… the que- the Unicorn Queen.”

“You are too easy. Not feeling so sassy now are you?”

“The guards work for you?”

That liquid laugh again.

“They all worked for me, against the unicorns. Pesky creatures. Do you know they are the only things out of our reach? They can even control us elementals if they are so inclined, as they did when they changed the weather. I’ve been working nearly a thousand years to cull those things.”

“Genocide?”

“You are quick in more ways than one my dear, sweet, Enid. Aren’t you? Yes well taking you on was risky, especially since it meant sacrificing my own men. But the unicorns stole your memories and your soulmate bond so you were rather easy to win over.”

“Why did you send me after your own guards?”

“I don’t really need them. And I had to convince you I was on your side because I needed you at the time. But since you have already opened a portal, I don’t need you anymore. So don’t go getting any brilliant ideas, Little Mortal. You are dying, and soon, the only choice to make is whether it will be fast and merciful or slow and painful.”

What would Aricin feel to lose three soulmates, two so close together. I had come to terms with the fact that I would be deceased within the hour, but I could not stand the idea of him hurting.

“What is your plan?” I demanded. “Are you going to run there and destroy the indigenous creatures of that earth as well?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“How do your fellow elementals feel about this?”

“Does it matter? I lead and they follow.”

“You’re sick.”

“And your death just slowed down.”

I stepped back, grabbing at a concealed throwing knife. Within a second it was flying at the serpent’s head between the eyes. The blade just sailed on through, then that liquid laugh echoed through the room once again.

“So cute how you actually thought you were going to get out of this.”

“Oh, hell.”

The serpent paused, a smile cracking across its hideous face to reveal its liquid fangs. 

“Great idea,” it said as it slithered around me. “You get to see the new world while you are drowning.”

The elemental surrounded me, seeping into every orifice and pore. I moved around at its whim as it fought the urge to lose control coming closer to the portal. I choked on the liquid and the panic enveloping me with every footstep, wondering how long I would last. If we would make it to the new world before I expired.

My heart hurt, then the beating slowed. I looked down to see myself impaled through the chest. Behind me Aricin’s wavering voice repeated “no no no” as I slumped down to the floor, the blade tearing into me more as I faltered.

Aricin cradled me in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he stroked my bloodied hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he insisted through tears. “I saw it possessing someone and took a risk. I had forgotten you were the only other one up here.”

“Aricin,” I whispered through aching breaths. “I am not angry. You saved the unicorns. Have them free us now and find you a new soulmate to forge a bond with.

He rubbed my sweating forehead with his thumb, stroking my cheek with his other fingers. Through my fading sight I could see him trying to speak only to change his mind before saying anything.

I could feel the warmth of his tears on the hole where my heart used to be. I faded away into blackness, followed by a light in a kaleidoscope of colors.

My skin was fluid, changing from one shape to the next as the water molecules that made my skin shift around. I felt connected to the universe externally and internally, feeling it in a whole new way as I formed into the new water elemental to lead the rest of my kind.

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (753): Tue 9th Apr 2024

I slept in until the unheard of time of 12:30 today which is fucking insane. Seriously, I consulted various time experts and they told me they had never even heard of 12:30 before. To be fair I have been getting up half an hour early for this last run of shifts since I've started using a pedal bike to get to work after I could take no more of the motorbike so maybe that explains why I've been hitting the sack considerably earlier and sleeping in a lot later. I sometimes wonder if I would prefer going back to doing a nine to five job five days a week as this would ensure a much better sleeping pattern but I can't deny having three days off a week is pretty fucking sweet as it gives me a lot more time to waste at home watching the same YouTube videos over and over again. Well today at least I didn't spend all day pissing around on Youtube, I started reading Philip K Dick's second novel Voices From The Street and I'm already loving it. A man named Stuart Hadley has a really good and some would say enviable life, a beautiful wife, a steady job and a nice house but there's something in him telling him that he hasn't found the missing piece of the puzzle that is his life but he can't for the life of him figure out what it may be. His is insanely jealous of those who have found religion, a political allegiance or guidance in the form of philosophy as they must feel as though they have found that missing piece. I certainly empathise with this character as for a while now I've been looking for that missing piece in my life but until Hadley I know what that missing piece is as I am desperate to return to Jiu Jitsu but can't at the moment because of this useless fucking neck of mine that just won't heal. This book, like Dick's previous novel Gather Yourselves Together feels very Kafkaesque but because DIck wouldn't start writing science fiction novels until a few books into his career Voice From The Street still feels like it could take place in the real world. I can't wait to see where it goes and thanks to my ambient music playlist I can now read for much longer without worrying about distractions. Later on I heard that Hollyoaks is going from five episode a week down to three! But if I don't have an outlet for all the bollocks in my head for the other two days a week then I'll have to go back to fucking therapy! I hate to say it but this cast cull & going down to 3 eps a week might be the beginning of the end. The show's seen a decline in popularity since they took focus off young people & putting episodes online before they go on TV has given people less reasons to tune in. I think the makers of the show got complacent a long time ago because they figured their core audience would watch no matter what but they couldn't have predicted how the world would change and give their audience so many reasons to do something else