#but like. i describe the Smell of incineration a lot

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

the nature of writing blaseball or blaseball adjacent fic is that everything is at least a little inspired by someone else. this is half of the reason i need to figure out ao3 footnotes for this fic.

[slipstreamborne]

how'd you get into the locked tomb

Three of my best friends read it and insisted I read it also (although admittedly it took me a while to do so) and give them my professional insight into all the bones in the narrative.

Looking back over our group chat, this was my feedback halfway into Gideon the Ninth:

Not knowing what osteological background/research Muir did when writing the book, my first impression was that bones were described in very odd ways, but with a clear intent to be either poetic and/or allow less anatomy-adept readers to picture the scene.

I found it very weird that for a culture so entrenched in human skeletons, very little to no attention/acknowledgement was paid to specific identifying features of individual bones. No one ever remarks that a humerous has a particularly pronounced deltoid tuberosity, for example, and there's no incorporation of those identifying features into common speech in a way that reflects their importance/prevalence within society.

I noted an absense of other details about how different bones can feel and smell depending on their age, which would be understandable if Muir hadn't personally handled a lot of bone.

Overall good if not as detailed as I would crave, however the scene where ashen remains are found in a trash incinerator and are only recognizable as human/bones through magic was just flat-out wrong (even cremated bone doesn't look like a fine, unidentifiable powder until it's been processed/ground in a machine; severely burnt bone is fragmentary/heavily warped but still can be recognized AS bone and can retain identifiable features, especially larger/denser sections of bone).

[consistentsquash]

hp slash hump day hot rec: Connubium

humping! I mean hump day. Idk how to explain my excite :D drive by rec because life and i got no more time today :/

Connubium is one of the only Harrymort fics which actually convinced me. So I am going to break my NOTP rule and rec this. Also this fic is returning to AO3 after a long time. Got to encourage fics returning.

Link - Connubium

Pairing - Harry/Voldemort

Summary - Dumbledore marries Voldemort to save the world. This should have ended Harry's problems. Unfortunately, this is only the beginning as Harry begins to see a man where he once saw a monster.

Length - 38000 words. Complete. Rating - M

Author - eldritcher

Deets and hot rec below the cut <3

Rec blurb - The power dynamics and the emotional dynamics are like being lost in a maze. Harry, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Narcissa, Hermione. Everybody is so alive. Lots of hopes/suffering. You are emotionally exhausted by the end of it. Like they get a happy ending but it's bittersweet af and as a reader you are just totally exhausted like the characters. But it's a good exhaustion. Like after working out. Except like an emotional workout. Beautiful characterizations, beautiful storyline, really painful and emotional. Pining. Pining like whoa. I mean how much pining can you fit inside 38000 words? Apparently this much. This is probably the most pining fic I have read. I don't normally vibe with pining because I need the hot stuff earlier. But this one mixes pining with hot stuff so that's good. The fic is pretty explicit. Hot. Hot. Hot!

Rec note - Back when there used to be paragraphs in eldritcher's fics. Like real paragraphs! Describing things! OMG. Also real summaries! Gosh. This was a time. Fandom harassment apparently kills a lot of things. Like descriptions and summaries. Anyway. Super happy to see the fic back. One of my all time favs <3 Also it actually returned with the OG notes. Super nerdy. Eldritcher pretty much gave up on notes on new fics after folks called them pretentious. Really happy to see the notes also got posted with the fic.

Vibe excerpt

“How can one be warm alone?” Voldemort breathed over his neck, as he bent to read over Harry’s shoulder. He smelled of the moors, of his milled soap, and of a clean, sharp scent that Harry associated with his skin. “If two lie together, then they have heat,” Harry read aloud, smiling fondly at Voldemort’s habit of poking his head into whatever Harry was reading. “Oh, I had not expected that you would keep a Bible so close to your bed.” “Afraid that my sins will make Leviticus implode and incinerate me?” Voldemort asked, shifting around to lie beside Harry. “The Bible was a gift from my late, lamented spouse. He gave it to me on our wedding day. It came in ghastly fuchsia wrapping, with a sparkly bow, and was delivered by that showy fowl he called his pet.” Startled by that, Harry opened it at the beginning, and sure enough, saw Dumbledore’s beautiful loopy cursive. It brought tears unbidden to his eyes. He had never finished mourning the man. None of them had, Harry knew. The marriage that the Headmaster had undertaken to save their world was becoming the stuff of legends. There had been books written about it. There had been songs composed about it, both by the mainstream artists like Warbeck and by even alternative bands like The Freakensteins that Ron was fond of. And look, how Dumbledore had been kind and true to himself, even when undertaking that marriage that had given him no pleasure. He had given Voldemort a wedding gift.

[delimeful]

to taste your beating heart (4)

warnings: nightmares, flashbacks, mind control/thrall mention, mental breakdown, blood mention, impalement/staking, upsetting thoughts, panic, ptsd responses

-

A plastic-sounding click, like someone pressing a button.

Anx took a breath, staring intently at the person bustling around across from him.

Patton was making tea like someone vying for a professional butler position: setting saucers and cups in front of each of them, managing the teapot with a steady hand, motions smooth and automatic.

“Sorry, I’m just so used to setting up refreshments for guests,” he chuckled nervously. “My sister always insists on tea when she comes by, so—“

Logan shifted next to him, impatient and more than a little irritated after every one of his inquiries had been deflected or outright ignored. Patton had invited them in, though, and he was currently their best lead on one of the most vicious cases they’d ever dealt with.

Even if he seemed utterly incapable of answering any of their actual questions.

That wasn't saying he wasn't willing to talk at all. Roman was chattering with him, their most sociable member easily drawn into discussion and more than willing to natter on in the hopes that Patton would let some vital information slip.

Anx wasn’t the only one who noted the way their host set an extra saucer and cup out, but when he met Logan’s gaze, the hunter only rolled his eyes, more than content to dismiss it as another element of the stranger’s apparent airheaded personality.

Patton was still speaking, discussing the many alleged merits of ignoring allergies for the sake of fulfilling experiences. Roman, who was lactose intolerant, was nodding along wholeheartedly. Logan, who was the one to deal with Roman’s post-dairy consumption whining, looked a lot less agreeable.

His own attention remained pinned on Patton’s movements rather than his words. There was a pattern there, a careful turn of the cup so the handle was facing the right side, lift the teapot from the warmer, and pour. One by one, he went around the table.

Anx was the only one watching when the man finally fumbled. After pouring each of their cups with surprising grace, he reached that final, fifth teacup. He twisted the handle so it was right-aligned, lifted the teapot, poured— and then reached for what looked like a cream pitcher.

A beat late, Patton’s hands suddenly swerved to the side, and he pulled them back as though he’d been burned. His voice didn’t even falter.

Anx reached across the table lightning-quick and seized the pitcher, knocking a few of the porcelain jars over and effectively cutting through the conversion as he did. Roman was asking something, but Patton only stared at him, something both fearful and grateful in his gaze.

Anx pulled the lid off, and the thick smell of blood hit him, like iron and rust.

“Your sister, you said?” Logan asked, and Patton bit his lip hard enough to bleed.

Click.

He was in a different room of the same tiny apartment, though it took him a moment to recognize the interior.

Put bluntly, it looked as though a miniature hurricane had torn through it.

The wallpaper was shredded and splattered. The cute decorative furniture had been thrown askew at best, smashed to bits at worst. Everything was in disarray, the valuable and mundane targeted indiscriminately. An entire life torn to pieces.

In the eye of the storm, Patton stood, hands fisted in his hair and eyes bloodshot.

They’d known the backlash of the bond breaking would be hard on Patton, but they hadn’t been prepared for this. It was entirely possible that they had never run into a thrall this strong, one maintained for so long, in their entire hunting career.

Most aggressive thralls would attack relentlessly to defend their master from harm. Seeing as they’d been the ones to kill his “sister”, if Patton was going to vent his ire on anyone, it would be them. Roman stepped forwards carefully regardless, knowing that they owed it to him to at least try to help him recover. “Patton?”

“I should have helped her,” he replied tonelessly, voice half-ruined from screaming. He picked up a broken chunk of a table leg, and they all went tense, but all he did was slam it against the wall.

“I should have saved her!” he cried, punctuating every word with a swing. “Where is she, where is she, what did I do to her?”

“A better question would be: what did she do to you?” Logan asked, ignoring the sharp look Anx sent his way. They’d all been unsettled at the way the vamp had talked about Patton, like someone possessive over a favored plaything, but that didn’t mean they should be bringing it up now.

They’d finally gotten Patton’s full attention, as he turned to them with angry tears in his eyes. “She did everything for me! And I— I gave her away, I betrayed her…”

“She was hurting people,” Anx cut in, voice firm but not unkind. For all that he’d been through, Patton didn’t deserve unkind.

“I could have fixed it, I thought I was— I was getting through to her,” he pleaded, his voice unsteady and unconvincing even to himself. He dropped the wood, pressing bleeding knuckles against his face to stem the tears.

“It’s not your fault, Patton, okay?” Roman tried, stepping closer until he could reach out and set his hand on a trembling shoulder. Patton only seemed to bow further with the weight of his grief.

“Giving her up was supposed to kill me,” he said softly, the frenzy gone from him. “How am I supposed to live without her?”

“The same way everyone else does,” Roman pulled him in for a hug, his own eyes wetter than they’d been before. “One day at a time.”

Click.

The living room of the house— their house.

Perhaps more importantly, the smell of something burning.

Anx had always been twitchy about things like this-- a thousand potential disasters in mind for every little inconvenience-- so he bolted off the arm of the couch the moment the scent registered.

When he got to the kitchen, he heard the rattle of an active microwave, saw Patton standing and staring blankly at the display as the inside of the microwave clouded up with smoke.

Cringing at the thought of the smoke alarm going off, he turned on the overhead fan and pulled the window up before finally yanking the microwave door open.

A plastic takeout container was halfway to a melted puddle, mixing with whatever leftovers had formerly resided there. He slid on a pair of duck-themed oven mitts and grabbed the most solid-looking parts, quickly lifting and carrying the mess to the balcony where it could cool down without making their house smell like burnt plastic.

When he returned, Patton was still in that same spot, frowning slightly as though just realizing that something might be a little off. Like someone had pressed pause while the world fast-forwarded around him, Patton had described it once.

Anx flitted about for a moment, putting the mitts back and cleaning the leftover residue, and then finally faced his friend with a wry half-smile. Patton’s eyes snapped to him, as though just realizing he was there.

“Hey, Pat.” He reached out and set his hand against Patton’s back, watching as the touch helped ground him slightly. “Can you go sit at the table? I’ll bring us both something to eat.”

Without a word, Patton turned and walked to their little dining table.

Cooking was admittedly harder when he ducked away to check on the other room every few moments, but he managed alright, only singeing the eggs slightly where Roman would have incinerated them.

He set the table for them both, and sat across from Patton, who was motionless and quiet in his chair.

“Can we eat together?” Anx asked, offering Patton a fork so there was a physical prompt as well as a verbal one.

It took a moment, but Patton gripped the fork easily and started to work through the motions of eating, mirroring Anx. Whenever he faltered or seemed to forget what he was in the middle of, Anx would nudge his attention back on track.

Once they were finished, he gathered up his dishes and asked Patton to grab his, carrying them back to the kitchen together.

Patton paused for a moment at the sink, mouth twitching into a frown as he stared at his glass and the lingering layer of orange juice at the bottom.

“Does anyone want tea?” he asked suddenly, a well-practiced line in a cheery tone. “I’m very good at tea service, you know.”

Anx swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m good, Pat,” he declined instead of pointing out that they didn’t have any tea in the house.

Patton seemed to get a little hazier, his face going sad and then quickly lax again. Anx took the glass from him and offered him a hand to hold instead, squeezing his palm comfortingly when he accepted.

“I need help out in the garden today. Do you think you could lend a hand or two?”

He dipped his head in a nod, and as they made their way to the back door, Anx shot a text off to the group chat.

> nightmare on edge street: out in the garden with pat. bad day protocol, stat

When they came back in hours later, dirt under their nail beds and probably a little sunburned, Roman and Logan had already combined their talents to set up an elaborately decorated but still structurally sound blanket fort spanning the entirety of the living room.

Patton’s face twitched into a tremulous little smile as the others waved them over, and Anx felt him squeeze their joined hands gratefully.

Click.

The sequence rewound, restarted. Ran him through it over and over, the same scenes-- the same memories. Patton pouring tea with a determined, terrified glint to his eye. Patton’s mind struggling under the stress of the snapped bond. Patton working through a difficult day with the help of friends.

The scenery grew brighter and brighter with every repetition, like saturation turned all the way up on a screen, until they were as painful as sunlight on his bare skin. He tried to close his eyes, to move away, to change something, anything, but his body wasn’t his own.

Look at him, it seemed to demand, keeping him frozen in a sensory hell. Pay attention. Look what you did. Understand how you hurt him.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Clunk.

Silence. The memories vanished, leaving him floating in an impossible, endless black space. Between one blink and the next, he was eye-to-eye with a mirror image, something about it just slightly off.

He didn’t notice the stake in its hand until it was too late.

---

Anx jerked upright, hands jumping to his chest as the phantom sensation of wood between his ribs faded. His breath stuttered painfully, as though he expected to feel ichor welling up in his mouth any minute.

Staking a vampire was an archaic hunter method. It was difficult to manage, it was messy, and it was the slowest and most painful way possible to kill a vampire. He knew this, though he wasn’t sure which life was providing the facts.

Regardless of memories, he couldn’t know how it felt to actually be staked. He’d been injured before, with a coven as temperamental as his, but nothing like that. Nothing even close to that. It was just a bad dream, an imagined pain.

There was a subtle shifting nearby, and his head snapped up, eyes bright and teeth bared. If those assholes thought he was in the mood to have his space invaded--

“Easy, Count Chocula.” Across the room, the sword-wielder-- Roman, that was his name-- settled back into the armchair by the door, watching him with narrowed eyes. “I was simply noticing your… abrupt awakening?”

Right. Because he wasn’t settled into one of the tiny, dark rooms reserved for the newly-turned and those who couldn’t shake off the urge to sleep. He was captured by weird hunters, who trapped him in their weird house, and asked weird invasive leading questions about his weird night terrors.

He was also tucked into a bed, for some reason.

The comforter had already slipped down halfway due to his sudden jolt into wakefulness, and he wasted no time in kicking free of the sheets. The room was surprisingly dark in both theme and lighting, with deep purple walls and heavy spiderweb-patterned curtains blocking out any potential sunlight.

There was also a warding circle of ash carefully smudged in a perimeter around the bed, the burning containment runes strong enough to make him want to sneeze even from this distance. The diameter of the circle was wide enough that he could theoretically keep away from any stabbings if he pissed Roman off enough, but add even one more hunter to the mix and it would take virtually no effort to pincer him.

Nothing he could do about the new cage for now, with the hunter staring at him expectantly from his sentry position. He sent a poisonous glare back and hissed, still crouched on the bed like an exceptionally angry gargoyle.

Roman pressed an offended hand to his chest, but was cut off by an inordinately cheerful knock at the door. His expression flickered to a sort of bitter resignation, and he shot Anx a much more serious warning look before unlocking and cracking the door open.

“Hey, Pat! I thought you were taking a nap?” he asked with impressively feigned lightness to his voice.

“I was, I just— Is he awake?” Another too-familiar voice replied, sounded distracted. “I felt…”

“Yeah, Padre,” Roman admitted after a strained pause. “He’s up. You remember your key?”

“Of course!” Patton said, and neither of them elaborated on what the hell that was supposed to mean. Roman stepped aside, and Patton beelined to the bed like a compass needle to true north.

He stopped just short of the circle, like a determined enough— or cornered enough— vamp couldn’t reach out and drag him in. “Anx! I’ve been so worried about you! You took quite a tumble, are you feeling alright?”

Anx stared at him. The words were bright, but there was a thread of something fervent and barely-controlled in them, something frenetic in the way he shifted from foot to foot. It sent a pervasive feeling of wrongness down his spine, like looking at an old photograph and realizing that something you remembered from it was entirely absent.

Anx didn’t— couldn’t know enough about Patton to recognize when he was acting off, but every piece slotted neatly into place anyways, dragging him to a conclusion he didn’t intend to realize; Patton was pretending, ignoring the parts of him that felt bad to reassure the rest of them. After everything he'd already gone through, he was bearing the stress of being thralled without a word.

He could feel the thrall tether pulled taut between them, already mentally frayed from both the time passed since feeding and the pain that had ricocheted through him at his last order. Looking at Patton like this, it was bizarrely easy to loosen his grip and let that last thread connecting them fall apart.

Patton’s shoulders eased, all of him sagging slightly like a puppet with strings cut. And wasn’t that just an uncomfortably accurate metaphor.

In the next moment, the hunter was stepping neatly over the line of ash and into the circle, arms lifted. Roman shouted something, but his alarmed words were meaningless noise against the roar of anticipatory fear that overcame Anx.

Get away, his instincts screamed, but his body remained stuck, stalled by a resentful whisper in the back of his mind: Doesn’t he deserve to get a few hits in though? Look at what you did to him.

A sudden touch made him curl in on himself, but the arms that folded around him were careful, even gentle. His head jerked up, and sure enough, Patton was hugging him. He froze, struck dumb.

Over Patton’s shoulder, Roman was stopped a few feet away, hand outstretched as though he’d planned to yank Patton back out of the danger zone. Anx met his stare, eyes round as quarters.

“I did not tell him to do this,” he blurted, and Patton’s chest vibrated with a little sniffly chuckle. The human was so warm.

At the door, Logan appeared, glasses slightly askew. “Patton? I heard—“

He paused, taking in the room. His expression grew more and more unimpressed. “... I see. Exactly what happened while I was away?”

[drowseoftaylor]

Like Thoughts Inside a Dream (brian may x reader)

Summary // You’re marrying the love of your life Brian May tomorrow...or so you think.

Warnings // swearing, “cheating”, and (lots and lots of) crying :) oop and fluff

A/N // Oh hello my lovelies. I guess I have no excuse to not write fan fiction now, right? Well, with the quarantine and all. As always, I hope you are all feeling and doing very well. It will get better, okay? This is not the first time the human race has had to cope and adapt to catastrophe, and we have made it through before. We shall do it again. But enough of that. For now, let’s pretend a little. 

All my love xxx

(pretend this gif is of ‘77 Bri)

//

The date was May 20th, 1977. Brian and you had been together since the summer of 1974, and now it was the day before your wedding. Oh, how time had flown by. In the start of your relationship, you had had stolen moments in broom closets and bathrooms in bars. Now, you had a diamond ring on your left finger and you were putting on your white silk robe with the word, “Bride” embroidered on the upper back.

You and Brian had decided to get married on the countryside in England. Simply because that is where most of your friends and family were. You both had rented out an amazing old castle for the event, and you were to be married tomorrow at noon just outside in the castle garden.

Between all the families, children, touring roadies and their families, etc. there was about 200 guests that would be surrounding you and Brian for the bonding of your eternal love the next day. But, at this moment, you were brushing your hair and taking off your makeup from the day in your own suite. Brian was not with you, as you both decided to have separate rooms for the night before the wedding, so the next time you guys would sleep and well, sleep together would be as a married couple. The idea was suggested to you by Veronica, John’s wife, and you both thought that the idea was great.

The clock now read 11:58pm, and you were in your lavish nightgown, tossing and turning in the bed. Not having Brian next to you was surely very odd, as you have not slept away from him for any reason, not even when he was on tour because you worked for Queen. You quite literally were the seamstress for the band. It wasn't just an Elton John lyric. You loved every second of your job, and that is how you met Brian all those years ago.

But in all honesty, you missed him and wanted him by your side, and you thought that having him hold you tonight would take some of the jitters away about tomorrow. You knew being away from him was just for one night. But, would it really hurt if you snuck into bed with him? He was just four rooms down the hallway after all. After a moment or two of contemplating, you decided “fuck it”, and threw your robe on and some slippers, then started to pad down the hall.

As you approached closer and closer to his door, you started to hear a thumping sound come from inside one of the rooms. But, as you were still two doors down at this point, you thought the sound was just coming from Roger’s room. “Wonder who the lucky girl is tonight”, you chuckled in thought. When you finally reached his door, your heart instantly fell to the floor.

“Oh, oh, oh fuck. Please baby faster. Fuck, you're so good.”

Who in the hell was that? Was Brian really cheating on you the NIGHT before your wedding day? Was this really, actually happening? He treated you with nothing but the upmost love and respect for the last three years. This wasn't Brian, it just couldn't be. But, it was. This was him room. He had some girl in there with him, taking your place, the night before he was going to promise himself to you.

With all of these thoughts racing through your head, you had no idea what to do. All you knew was that your body started to feel hot and you felt your hands and whole body start to shake with rage. Your eyes filled up with tears, followed up with ringing in your ears. You wanted to bang on the door and tear Brian to shreds as soon as he answered, but, you just couldn't. You were too heartbroken. How, in the fuck, could this be happening?

So, instead of causing a scene, you decided to run back down the hall and into your room. You opened the door and slammed it shut before running to your bed and throwing yourself on it. You promptly cried yourself to sleep. This was worse than being left at the fucking alter. Being cheated on? Your heart was literally incinerated.

//

An hour, maybe two, you didn't know, passed. You were in the limbo between asleep and awake, and still felt tears streaming down your face.

“Y/N? Honey, you awake?” 

You didn't know if that voice was coming from a dream or real life. Frankly, you did not want to know, because that voice was undoubtedly Brian’s. You did not know whether the voice was real or not until you smelled his scent and felt his arm wrapping around your waist, and pulling you in.

“Brian...”

“Yes, baby?” You felt him smile against the skin on your shoulder as he planted a kiss there.

“Get the fuck out of my room.”

He chuckled. “Come on, Y/N. I know that we said we wouldn't sleep together the night before the wedding but I missed-”

“No, no. I said to get the fuck out!”

You pushed him off of you and jumped out of bed. You turned on the bedside lamp and crossed your arms, watching him get out of bed too and look at you with a very shocked expression. 

“D-did I do something? What’s wrong?” His curls shook as he spoke, his eyes looking worried and full of concern.

A deadly silence fell upon you two.

“Who was the girl?”

“What? What girl?”

“The girl, Brian. The fucking GIRL!” You started to shake with anger again as you screamed. 

“What fucking girl?? I have no idea what you are talking a-about!” 

He was clearly slurring and stumbling over his words.

“Wait, are you fucking drunk?” You walked around to his side of the bed, and when you did, you could start to smell the booze on him.

“Uh, I think so?” He started to chuckle and reach out for you, but you pulled away.

“Who even are you right now?! You get drunk, fuck some girl, then waltz into my room the night before our wedding expecting to have a quickie?” 

As you speak, the anger seething through you is reaping through your veins. The man that you love more than anyone in this world is a man that you truly don't know at all, and to make matters worse, he was trying to deny it all.

“Y/N, please s-low down. I-I am a little drunk, I think. I don't know who this girl is. Rog and I-”

“No, stop. Stop fucking talking. Brian, I love you so much. But, I don't know who you are right now. Do I deserve to be hurt? Do I deserve to be played like a fucking instrument? Why did you even propose if you want to cheat on me? What did I do to deserve this??” 

At this point, there are tears streaming down your face again. Brian is not even following your words. He’s lightly swaying and shaking his head to try and listen to your words.

“Y/N...please, I don't even know what you’re saying, just please slow down.”

“Fuck you, Brian. You weren't telling that groupie to slow down. So, you can marry her tomorrow instead of me. She sounds like fun.”

Brian’s hands flew to his hair and he turned away from you and banged his fists against the door. Then, he turned around to face you again, leaning his head against the door. 

“Y/N, what in the fuck are you talking about?? Roger and I-”

“NO! Get out! I fucking mean it Brian, get out. It’s done. Go sleep off your hangover and affair. You’re gonna be marrying your mistress tomorrow.”

“You’re acting fucking insane. Come here and let’s t-talk...” He waltz towards you chuckling softly, but you just pushed him off you so hard he literally flew into the door and the lamp on the nightstand fell and shattered on the floor. He started at you wide-eyed and shocked as all hell.

“Goodbye, Brian.”

He left without another word, audibly crying.

//

It is hard to describe at this point why you were standing on the podium in front of the grand mirror in your wedding dress. Your hair and makeup done as well. The only two things left to do is to don your veil and beautiful custom made high-heels.

You were just staring at yourself in the mirror. Staring at Brian’s bride-to-be in the most lavish gown the world has ever seen. Courtesy to yours and Freddie’s impeccable taste. But soon, your thoughts were interrupted by a voice coming from your left.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?’

“Yeah, sorry John. Lost in thought I guess.”

“That’s ‘kay, love. So was I on my wedding day. God, I was just so excited to marry Ronnie that I couldn't keep my head straight. You feel like that?”

John started to put on and adjust your veil as he spoke, smiling at you as you watched him in the mirror. As you watched, Freddie and Roger you saw too, to your right, and they were admiring your shoes.

“Shouldn't you guys be with Brian? I mean, I’m so grateful for you all to be here, but I-”

“Darling, Brian is as steady as a rock on marrying you. You need to be monitored at the moment. Been acting so mopey all day. Probably just cold feet. Even John got cold feet on his wedding day, right?” Freddie said turning to look at you.

“That’s right. But, it was the best decision I’ve ever made, marrying her. You and Brian were made for each other, okay?” John said this as he wrapped his arms around you from behind and placed a soft and quick kiss on your cheek. This made you eyes flutter shut, and tears start to stream down your face.

“I- I cant breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. Oh my god, I cant do this.”

Tears were ruining your makeup and your heads flew to your chest as the boys came up to you and tried to calm you down over the loud sounds of you gasping for air.

“Y/N, please tell us what’s wrong, love. Here, come sit.” Freddie took your arm and led you to the couch that sat underneath the window and wrapped his arm around you.

A long silence. Only your tears and gasps could be heard all around. The boys’ hearts breaking at the sight.

“Brian...he...” your voice cracked as you choked on the words.

“He what?” Roger and John crouched down in front of you, as Roger inquired.

“...he cheated. Last night. I went to go sneak into his room and I heard him shagging some bird. Then, he came into my room drunk and pretended to have no idea what had happened and-”

A long and loud chuckle came from Roger as he stood up in front of you and ran his hands through his hair. The rest of your faces fell as you stood and yelled at Roger.

“Something funny, Rog?” Now, you were filled again with anger.

“Y/N, that wasn't Brian you heard last night. It was me and some bird I picked up at a pub down the street. Brian was asking what you could’ve been so mad about last night. That was it. That wasn't Brian you heard, it was me.”

“What? I don't understand..” Your mind started to race. This had to be some kind of joke.

“Yeah! I took her back to the castle and left Brian at the pub we went to last night. John was with us, too. Brian’s room was closer than mine, so that’s why you thought it was him shagging someone. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“So, why the fuck didn't you tell me first thing this morning after Brian spoke to you about it?”

“Love, I’m still really hungover from last night. Wasn't thinkin’ ‘bout these things.”

You could not believe what you were hearing. How could you be so blind? So stupid? Now, you were sobbing again. This day was supposed to be the best day of your life. How could this happen? You didn't even give Brian a chance to explain.

You broke from Freddie’s grasp as you stood up suddenly and ran out of the room in your wedding gown and veil. You then burst into Brian’s dressing room down the hall. There, you found him head down at the vanity crying, in his gorgeous black tuxedo. You closed the door behind you and lent against it. The sight of him broke your heart more than when you thought he had cheated.

He lifted his head quickly at the sound of you closing the door and he turned his body to gaze at you. Through tears and a broken voice he said,

“Well, this is two traditions now broken. Not ‘spossed to see the bride in her gown before the ceremony.”

Your tears fell around the small smile that broke onto your face. Your body slid to the floor and your gown pooled around you. You looked up to the ceiling in defeat. Where do you even start? You had no clue, so you said nothing instead, waiting for him to cast the first stone.

“You look fucking...amazing. I-”

He started to cry again, so you looked at him through your heavy, tear-filled eyelashes.

“Yeah?” you sniffed while chuckling lightly. “I looked a lot better when I wasn't sobbing over almost ruining our marriage before it had even started.

“How dare you say that you ruined it? Y/N, the guys took me out drinking last night. I had too much. I remember you yelling at me for thinking I cheated on you? So, I asked the guys about it this morning and Rog posed the thought that it was him you might have heard, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know you were out in the hall. Not to mention, I should have never been drunk and-”

“B,” you started. “can you just, come here?”

You gave him a lop-sided smile and could tell you looked like you had just beaten up and broken down. Now just realizing the silliness of it all.

He got up from his chair and gently moved your dress out of the way before sitting behind you, putting you between his legs as you lent against his chest, both of you still against the door. You both just sat there wrapped up in each other for a while, when all of a sudden you both burst  out into laughter. It wasn't a chuckle either, it was a whole-hearted laughter radiating out from both of you.

“Why are we laughing, again?” you ask still crying a little, but this time from laughing so hard.

“Well, for one, you thought I cheated on you when really it was just Rog being stupid, and two, we are currently in wedding costumes sitting on the floor, making all of our guests wait as we cry over nothing to cry about.” He laughed again and kissed your temple. You didn't respond right away, instead you held his arms that were wrapped around your chest closer to you.

“Can I say something?” Brian almost whispered.

“Of course.”

“If you thought I had cheated on you, why did you still plan on marrying me?”

“Probably the same reason you were in here sobbing all by yourself”.

Another silence. But, a one filled with love and devotion this time.

“And what reason would that be?” He cooed in your ear, then leaning his forehead against the back of your head.

“Because no mistake or fuck up is enough to overpower what we have. I mean... do you remember that time on Ridge Farm when I tripped on that stupid fake rock and split my knee open? You literally cancelled all recording that whole day to ‘nurse me back to health’. Or, that time that I had the flu and you delayed the whole entire Day at the Races tour just to stay home with me? I would never leave you for a mistake. I know it wasn't you now, but at the time, when I did, I knew you weren't having some elaborate affair, you just fucked up once. I didn't mean what I said. I would never leave you. For better or for worse. I know I haven’t said that officially yet but, that doesn't mean I don’t mean it now.”

By now, your body was turned around in his arms and you were facing him. He was lightly crying (still) and so were you. 

“You know that I would never leave you either, right? I would also never cheat on you. Also never forget that I will always delay tours and recordings to tend to your bloody knees and runny nose. Please know that, love.”

You looked at him, like truly looked at him for the first time in 24 hours. Brian, your Brian, was no cheating wanker. He loved you. He put you first and last every time, for everything. It was storybook love. This whole situation made you realize that love did indeed exist. It also made you realize that love is stronger than catastrophe. If you two could get through this, and you both wanted to stay even when there was something (seemingly) going terribly wrong, you were both there to stick it out. No matter what.

Brian smiled so sweetly at you. “My beautiful, perfect, princess bride.”

He kissed you with intensity and passion. Both of your eyes closed immediately, and your heart felt full.

When he pulled away, he glanced at the clock and it read five minutes to noon.

“So, wanna get married now? If we’re done with all the drama that is.”

You swatted his chest and laughed before wiping your eyes.

“I need Freddie to help fix my makeup first I look-”

“-so...fucking...beautiful.” 

Brian finished your sentence and then helped you to your feet. Before you knew it, you were standing at the alter marrying the man you love. Sometimes tragedy is not what it seems...

//

taglist (i am just tagging everyone that showed interest in addition to my regular taglist) // @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @what-wicked-delights​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @drivenbybri​ @cool--cats​ @iwilltrytobereasonable​ @deacyblues​ @anagramsam​ @candelataylor​ @b-e-a-u-t-y-of-being-n-u-m-b​ @i-have-a-wonky-eye-too​ @bookandband​ @bohemiansweede​ @oujiacallme​ @geek-and-proud​ @theoldestofsouls​ @rogerina-deacon​ @11mb0​

[mystiika]

re; shin’s powers

   please note all of these are canon. i may be going into more detail than was provided in the show, but i haven’t added anything he didn’t do or can’t do canonically. & pretty much all of this can be found on his wiki page as well ( albeit sometimes with different wording ). he’s just this op

   i also want to say that i did my best to make this with some kind of flow between abilities since there’s a lot to get through. i’m also rewatching the series so hopefully i’ll be able to add direct examples for some of the more outlandish concepts

nigh-omnipotence  — he’s unimaginably powerful compared to most existing beings & is next to indestructible. it’s implied that he can easily defeat even the mightiest beings & creatures. the only being in canon we know to be above him is the being that turned him into the goblin, which he & others refer to as ‘the Almighty’

immortality — he can only die if his bride pulls the sword out of his chest. he is immune to everything else ( ie age, diseases, viruses, infections, sicknesses etc. ) he also cannot die of suffocation, drowning, or poisoning

regenerative healing — the ability to heal & regenerate all physical & mental harm to himself instantly. any damaged area or lost anatomy will be completely restored with no lingering side effects, even forcing objects embedded out to heal properly. it allows him to rapidly regenerate any damaged or destroyed bodily molecules, cells, tissues, bones, limbs, organs, etc instantaneously

biokinesis — the ability to manipulate the biological aspects of other creatures & beings. he normally uses this ability to inflict harm on his victims as punishment  & can be used through a gesture or snap of fingers. this also leads into the next power

healing — the ability to heal injuries of other beings as well as himself. he can even cure diseases, viruses, infections, sicknesses, poisoning, etc. as long as he’s in proximity to them he can even heal other beings without touching them. i’ll also include reconstitution in this which is the ability to reform the body of something or someone if it is completely or partially destroyed ( though this can be applied to non-living item restoration as well )

resurrection — the ability to either bring himself or others back to life from death of any means. he can even accomplished it through spells or rituals ( according to his wiki though i don’t remember this particular part being mentioned in the show ). he can resurrect all forms of life back to any state he'd like, such as living or undead states

banishing — the ability to forcibly exile someone & forbid their return. we see him do this with supernatural creatures but one would assume he can do it with humans as well if he chose to

intangibility — the ability to alter one's molecular structure to move through physical matter. he can also dodge attacks from enemies through this ability

sedation — the ability to render other beings unconscious with a touch or gesture

power negation — the ability to prevent other supernatural beings from using their powers

absorption — the ability to absorb any form of energy at will. for example, we see him do this to absorb the shock of an attack that sent eun tak flying

life divination — the ability to see someone’s life path ( past, present, & future ) when they come into contact with him ( or if he’s meant to be their guardian ) but this sight is easiest when he looks in their eyes

regular divination  — the ability to know or see aspects of the future ( several times through the series he’s asked about the answers for things, one example was him telling someone the alleged winning lottery numbers which was later proven to be correct. i’m not sure how else to describe it, he can just see the future in general but it isn’t all encompassing. another example was he said he knew all the correct answers to an exam but still had to ask what day the exam was taking place )

teleportation/apportation — the ability to teleport himself ( to other beings, objects, or places ) across small distances freely, but can also teleport long distances through the use of doors. however, only eun tak can follow him through the long-distance doors. he can also be teleported unwillingly to eun tak’s location if she deliberately blows out a flame. he can also summon someone into his vicinity

weaponry refinement — the ability supernaturally enhance his sword to destroy anything & fight off other supernatural entities & can summon the sword at will

expert swordsman/combatant — he’s highly skilled in unarmed & melee combat. he is master in weaponry which includes ancient as well as modern weapons & can easily defeat other beings in combat

enhanced strength — he has supernatural strength & is able to lift seemingly anything with extreme ease including a person/entity with one hand

enhanced speed — more than just super speed, he is able to appear & disappear with a blink of an eye, & are able to move across a room within a second. he can move, run, jump, climb, & fly at the speed of light

enhanced senses — acute senses that are above superhuman level. he can see, hear, smell, taste, & feel ( physical sensation ) more accurately than other beings

enhanced physical prowess — his durability, stamina, vitality, virility & endurance have been enhanced to superhuman levels. he also has a higher tolerance to pain. additionally, his agility, dexterity, balance, & body coordination are enhanced to levels that are beyond the natural physical limits of any human

telekinesis/psychokinesis — his telekinesis is limitless. for example, he is able to levitate small objects simultaneously & float above the ground as well as send other people flying should he choose to. naturally, he can also control small movements. this ability can be channelled through both his eyes & hands

telepathy — the ability to transfer information from one mind to another, & to read mind & thoughts of humans, animals & other beings without the aid of physical or audio communication. this means he’s also able to he’s able to speak in & read the mind of an intended target

elementalist — the ability to create & control all elements at will, such as energy, light etc. he can create gusts of wind, & throw spheres of energy similar to electrical discharges as well as fire balls. he also has the ability to unleash a blast of energy that can knock beings back with great force. we’re led to believe he can also control planets to some degree as we see him create a red supermoon.

fire manipulation ( specifically ) — he can manipulate a blue flame with his hands or engulf his entire body in a shimmering blue flame as well as throw fireballs of any size. he can also incinerate a being with a stare or gesture

( unintentional ) weather/nature manipulation — less of a power & more of a side effect of being a goblin, whenever he’s feeling an emotion intensely, it affects the weather & nature in the general region he is in. for example, when he feels incredibly happy the cherry blossoms bloom, even if it is not the season for them to do so or torrential downpour rain when he’s depressed. natural disasters like typhoons, however, are not him, that’s just the planet

other elemental manipulations — the ability to generate protective invisible force fields, thermokinesis ( the ability to control & manipulate heat ), photokinesis ( the ability to control & manipulate light), electrokinesis ( the ability to control & manipulate electricity & bolts of lightning )

visual manipulation/illusion casting — the ability to create small or large illusions such as sprouting fireflies from his hand or something on a more massive scale

invisibility — the ability to make himself or others unable to be seen by other beings

monetary manipulation — the ability to manipulate money, wealth, & anything related to them & thus is infinitely wealthy

physical manipulation — not sure how to phrase this one. he can essentially control small movements? think of like a puppeteer & a marionette but make it bigger. he someone trip, have someone’s ear buds catch on someone’s bag in passing etc

mental manipulation/mind control — the ability to manipulate the minds of others beings into thinking or believing certain things

emotional manipulation — going along with the one above, he can also make people fall in love, kinda like a cupid

time manipulation — he can freeze time at will & for however long he wants. He can also speed up or slow down time. the only human who is immune to this is eun tak, who can continue to move & speak freely even while time is frozen. he can also continue moving if some other being ( ie. a grim reaper ) stops time

astral perception — the ability to perceive true form of beings invisible to human's eye as well as being able to see supernatural incidents. for example, was able to recognise the grim reaper when he saw him

location tracking — the ability to track & locate beings. it’s not 100% effective/accurate though as we see him unable to find euntak at various points in the series

conjuring — the ability to create objects & beings into existence out of nothing

wish granting — the ability to grant wishes

& then here’s a list of abilities listed on the wiki but i have yet to confirm in my rewatch or in traditional lore. this information will be added to the list above or be removed depending:

smiting — the ability to kill other beings with a touch, gesture or snap of fingers at will. this ability will burn the victim from inside & can burn the victim's eyes specifically if desired

molecular combustion — the ability to kill other beings by rendering them down to their molecules, causing them to explode with snap of his fingers

reality warping — the ability to warp reality itself

dream walking — the ability to communicate to someone through their dreams. he can also visit alternate realities through dreams

portal creation — the ability to open portals to parallel worlds, dimensions, or planes, etc

duplication — the ability to create duplicates of himself or others

shape shifting —  the ability to alter his physical shape to assume the appearance of another

transformation — the ability to alter the physical shape of another being or object

transmogrification — the ability that allows the user to alter their form into inanimate objects

power granting — the ability to grant powers to another being

technopathy — the ability to control & manipulate all forms of technology ( this doesn’t mean he necessarily understands all technology, just that he can control it if he wanted/tried to )

additionally, goblins can perform larger feats such as bring good harvests, big catches & great fortunes to humans as seen in traditional folklore. they are also known to be defenders against evil spirits despite their mischievous habits & i’ve seen nothing in canon to indicate otherwise

[alexanderlightweight]

pleasure before business

warnings: alcohol, magically binding contracts 

@fictober-event day 4: ‘I know you didn’t ask for this’

shadowhunters: magnus bane/alec lightwood

ao3 link

“You come here without an appointment, demand my services and are unable to offer any form of payment?”  Magnus asked the Shadowhunters before him, his tone dangerously low and magic sparking from his fingers as he stared at the Shadowhunters before him.  

“You stole Clary’s memories!”  The brash, blond Shadowhunter said and the redhead next to him gave a firm nod and glared. “You owe her them back!”

“Clarissa Fray’s memories were taken from her at the request of her mother.”  At this rate, Magnus felt like an old record stuck in a loop, it was not a flattering experience whatsoever.  

“But they’re my memories.”  Clarissa interrupted and Magnus sighed and took a languid sip of his drink.  Shadowhunters, bratty demanding children the entire lot of them.

“And yet, at the time your mother was your legal guardian and I rendered a service as she was within her legal rights, albeit perhaps not moral ones, to make that choice.”

That stumped them both and finally the blond one stepped forward, “what do you want? In return for the memories, we brought the necklace.”

“As that necklace was mine to begin with, I'll consider it’s rightful return to me a significant enough gesture that I’ll overlook you barging into my club without permission and wasting my time.  It will not however, count as payment for the arduous task of returning memories, here Magnus gave a little smirk. “That will cost you something else.”

“We want Clary’s memories back, I’ll pay any price for it.” 

Magnus raised a brow and smirked, these young reckless Shadowhunters never did learn.  “I have a few spells I’m interested in perfecting, I’ve always wanted to trial run them but never had a willing subject.”

“What kind of spells?”  

“Mostly healing, some glamour and tracking to name a few.  Nothing overtly dangerous.”

“And you need someone to test them on?”

“A winged nephilim specifically,” Magnus let that settle, saw the slight panic cross the blond’s face and the confusion on Clarissa’s. “They’d have to stay with me a bit.”  And that made him smirk because a nephilim, especially one of their precious winged soldiers staying with a warlock was more than blasphemous.  

“Done.”  The blond said and nodded as if his agreement were enough.

“I will not be invaded by nephilim,” Magnus added mildly, “so expect to say your goodbyes to miss Fray for a short time.  I’ll take a blood oath as well.”

“I can’t leave Clary! I have to protect her.”

“The choice is yours, you know what I want.”  Magnus was also more than willing to negotiate down to some historical texts that he’d been itching to get his hands on.  Bartering was a lengthy game and while his demanded price was unusually outrageous he wanted to see this arrogant Shadowhunter panic a bit. Wanted him to understand how futile his demands were, that Magnus wasn’t cowed by his self-importance.

He offered a contract with a flourish of his hand and waited for the counter offer.  Depending on how decent it was, he might not even leave them in too much suspense before suggesting the books as payment.

Instead of arguing, the blond took a look at the contract, barely reading the first few lines and then with a pained but brashly determined look, nicked his finger on one of his angelic blades and before Magnus could overcome his disbelief and stop him, let his blood drip down on the paper.

Magnus blinked, glamour flickering and then scowled.  There was absolutely no way he was putting up with this Shadowhunter in his home. 

“Just like that?”  He asked dryly while considering how to incinerate the contract, “what happened to being the only one who could protect Miss Fairchild.”

“I have a parabatai,” it was spoken with pride and also an edge of guilt.  Although Magnus supposed that if the blond would trust anyone to look after Clarissa it would be his parabatai.  “He’ll go with you.”  

Magnus blinked, and noted that Clarissa looked relieved.  “You didn’t ask his consent.”

“He’s my parabatai.”

“Than I truly pity him,” Magnus muttered and deliberately refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Fine. 

He would consider this a reminder that Shadowhunters were just as idiotic as ever and use it as a dramatic way to teach them a short, but important lesson.  He’d meet this parabatai, intimidate him a bit and impart the importance of not making decisions - like bonding ones soul with another - while still an adolescent.  Then he would renegotiate, destroy the contract and send them all on their merry way, memories intact and with the books firmly in his possession.

-

A knock sounded on Magnus’ door and he stopped in front of the mirror, pausing to check that his outfit was sufficiently dramatic enough.  Between his makeup, the silver strands through his hair, the jewelry and his shirt open to his naval, he had a feeling that whatever nephilim had been sent to him would be properly scandalized.  With a snap of his fingers the lights dimmed ominously, candles flickering in the breeze from the open balcony doors and the cauldron of shampoo in his apothecary bubbling over, filling the room with the slightest of scented mists.  

There.  Surely that would do.

Magnus let his glamour drop as he opened the door and stopped, staring in shock at the man in front of him.  Angelic was too simply a word to describe him and suddenly, Magnus felt like he’d severely miscalculated how this was going to go.

-

Alec had been all set to immediately stand his ground, make his stance clear and set the boundaries that Jace had failed to.  At first, Alec had been furious at whatever warlock had trapped Jace into such a contract. Until Clary had accidentally let it slip that not only had Jace promised anything, he hadn’t even tried to negotiate and then had offered Alec up like some sort of bartered good.

That had changed Alec’s perspective and his tone.  Technically, despite Jace’s proclamations otherwise, he couldn’t actually exchange Alec in return for services rendered.  Since that didn’t seem to be clear to him, Alec was going to make it clear.  To both the warlock and his parabatai.  

He’d decided that for once, Jace was going to actually face the consequences of his actions.  Alec wasn’t going to bail Jace out of this mess and take the brunt of it on himself and he was going to make that very clear to everyone involved in this fiasco.  

Such a declaration was on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said as he knocked on the penthouse door. At least it was, until the door opened and he got his first look of the warlock that Clary claimed had tricked them and oh, what a stunning look it was.  Alec had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life and he was fairly certain that he never would again, he swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m Magnus,” the man said after a moment of shared silence and his lips curled into a delightful smile, his voice smoother than honey and Alec was suddenly hungry to hear it again.  “As we haven’t been formally introduced, in fact. I don’t even know your name.” He offered his hand and Alec took it unthinkingly, let himself be pulled into the room and he couldn’t help how his own lips echoed that sweet smile.

“Alec,” he said and then turned to take in the warlock’s lair and his heart stuttered.  

The lights were dim and comforting, a stark relief from the harsh lights of the Operational rooms that Alec suffered through daily.  Instead of smelling harsh and clean and sterile, there was a seductive scent in the air and he inhaled a little deeper, drinking more of it in.  A breeze blew through the room, ruffling his hair and cooling his heated cheeks and Alec was filled with the sudden and overwhelmingly wish that this was a date. 

“Something to drink?”  Magnus said and with a flourish of magic he held two glasses and offered one, flickering with blue fire to Alec.  “I think we should discuss this, just the two of us. After all, I know you didn’t ask for this and I have opinions about that.”

“Right, the contract.”  Alec mumbled and he took a sip of his drink to distract himself, unable to help how his face scrunched in distaste at the sudden burn.  

“I tell you what.  I destroy this,” Magnus twirled his fingers and summoned the contract to his hand, “you stay for dinner and a few drinks and we can discuss proper terms and payment for returning memories, as reasonable people do.”

Alec almost said yes and then paused, taking another sip of his drink.  His hope that Magnus hadn't witnessed his distaste at the drink was burst as this second sip filled his mouth with a new flavor, fresh and sweet and less harsh.  He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed however and then he shook his head.

“No,” he said and when Magnus frowned he hurried to correct himself, “I mean yes.  But don’t destroy the contract. What Jace did was stupid and irresponsible and I need him to understand that.  We should talk, have dinner,” his voice stuttered over the word, “but what he signed can’t actually bind me. That’s not how parabatai bonds work, he should have known that.”  

“Oh, well then.”  Magnus let the contract fade and Alec watched the graceful turn of his hands and the blue wisps that accompanied the movement, “so you’re here of your own free will?  No pesky magical bindings or fears of consequences?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I do hate to talk business on an empty stomach,” Magnus said and once again Alec took his offered hand, sparks shooting through him at the touch.  “After all, pleasure before business ensures everyone has a good time.”  

Alec couldn’t help letting out a small, relieved chuckle and he felt that maybe this wouldn’t end in disaster after all.  

[olboypacman]

10. Fathers (Trigon the Benevolent)

A/N: I don’t own Teen Titans.

The excitement in the life of Slade Wilson had begun die down recently.

He’d had been dead up until just a few month ago.

He’d been recruited into the army of the demon, Augustus, to take earth as his own.

Augustus had promised Slade a few things, including being fully restored to life if the attack had been successful.

Despite that the earth would’ve likely become a vacant lot had Augustus had his way, Slade didn’t hesitate to make a literal deal with the devil.

Partly making good on his promise, Slade was given a makeshift body (bones and not much else) in order to do his new master’s bidding. He was also given pyro-kinetic abilities and command of a squadron of fire-familiars.

Learning more of his new master, he found that Augustus was the younger brother of the legendarily cruel demon-god, Trigon the Terrible. He was aware  of Trigon through his various skirmishes with the superhero community through the years (namely Zatanna and Batman).

He’d also learned of his master’s tactics.

Augustus had planned on fighting a battle on three fronts.

First, the earth. Second, a realm called Azarath. And finally, Augustus would goad Trigon himself to battle with himself using means he chose not to reveal to Slade.

Slade himself was to appropriate an old advisory, Raven of the Teen Titans (niece to Augustus and the only daughter of Trigon to his utter surprise!), willingly or otherwise; for she would be the key to jump starting The End.

Personally, Slade was convinced that Augustus was underestimating his opposition (namely Raven and her friends) and was spreading himself much too thin.

A sentiment he had kept to himself.

A sentiment that put a plot Slade’s into mind.

Death has a weird way of putting things into perspective.

Slade didn’t have a lot of regrets in his life, but he did regret how his relationships with his own children turned out.

Grant had been gunned down trying to emulate his father, their tribulations to remain forever unresolved.

Joey’s vocal cords had been severed by an enemy of his father’s while he was taken hostage. As a result: Adeline, the boy’s mother, had divorced Slade and later rendered the assassin blind in one eye while attempting to kill him. In a cruel twist of irony, Joey had become the young hero Jericho, decrying his father’s choices all the while.

Rose hadn’t learned of who her birth father was until she already in her teens. She had sought him out, as her birth mother had passed away and he was the only family she had that she was aware of. He’d rebuffed her, as Slade was doggedly fixated on taking over Jump City.

Come to think of it, Slade doesn’t even remember why he was so determined to have Jump City under his thumb.

Oh, well…

If one bothered to ask, it surmised that he had little practical use for her; as he’d already failed with making Robin his apprentice and was already in the process of making Terra fill the void left by the boy wonder.

Fortunately for Rose, she was taken by Slade’s mentor and former butler, William Wintergreen.

Rose had always asked him about her father, much to Wintergreen’s chagrin and despite Slade’s apparent disinterest in her.

Though, if one were to ask Wintergreen, ‘disinterest’ wasn’t quite the way to describe Slade’s feelings towards his daughter.

Perhaps Wintergreen new his former charge better than he knew himself.

Seeing through his apprentice. He’d figured out Slade had in fact wanted to get to know Rose. When Wintergreen pressed Slade about the constant rejection of the young Rose and had told the older man (in confidence) he was hesitant of what his daughter would think of him (given his history with Joey) and very much desired Rose avoid similar fates of that of he and Grant.

Fates that Slade was convinced can be avoided by not associating with him.

Despite pushing her away, she still pushed for a relationship with her father.

Fate was cruel indeed.

And as fate would have it, Slade’s own wasn’t exactly pretty.

He’d almost succeeded in fully taking over Jump City. Until he overplayed his hand with his last apprentice, the geo-kinetically powered Terra.

She ultimately decided to return to her friends, The Teen Titans, when victory was so close at hand.

Apparently returning to one’s friends that you’ve once betrayed meant me being sent into a lava pit. But I guess I should thank her. Her actions that helped to lead me to where I am now.

As he fell to red hot pit of molted rock there was only one thought that plagued him:

What about what remains of my family? Wintergreen? Joey? Rose? What if it could be salvaged? What if-

Slade didn’t have a chance to complete that final thought as he was literally was burned out of existence by the lava.

I can make it back to them, that last thought coming back him as he began to doubt Augustus’ chances of success. I will make back, to her.

And he did. Through fighting the Titans after being partly resurrected, collecting Raven to jumpstart The End, being betrayed once more (this time by Augustus), and forging a shaky alliance with Robin to get Raven back; he managed to make himself hole again.

He was fortunately able to regain his body at the same time The Titans undid The End.

-Sniff-

He was also to make good on the promise to himself, making it back to Rose and formerly assuming custody of her.

-Sniff-

Slade wipes his nose with the back of his hand as his train of thought is interrupted by the pungent aroma of onions over taking his senses (and his kitchen).

Trying to be the dutiful father, the former assassin is chopping the strong scented vegetable for an evening meal.

Rose, bless her, had managed to convince Joey and Slade to have a sit-down this evening. She thinks they can have-out their differences over a nice home cooked meal. Not that Slade’s opposed to reconciling with his son, it’s not that. Slade’s worry is that the sentiment isn’t reciprocated.

Slade continues to chop vegetables until something reaches his senses.

See, Slade's most recent resurrection left him a little more than hole.

The ‘more’ supplementing an already formidable skillset, making engaging the man much more dangerous for any adversary.

Unfortunately, that adversary he’s about to confront isn't like most.

Continuing to act oblivious to that something, he continues to go about his business, preparing dinner for he and his children. The growing impatience of his guest is beginning to assault his senses.

Until…

“You know in my younger years I would’ve incinerated anyone who would just ignore me. Fortunately for you, I’m much more benevolent then I used to be.”

“Perhaps benevolence isn’t what this situation calls for. I know why you’re here,” responds Slade, turning around to properly greet his guest, “do what you feel, Trigon.” If Slade is to die once more today, he’d prefer to go quickly.

Trigon’s dressed in all black with a matching black cloak, his red arms crossed over his chest revealed by the short sleeves of his shirt. His snow-white hair appears to be pulled into a pony-tail. Trigon’s expression doesn’t fit one who’s pleased to see the former assassin. His two sets of eyes are set on Slade, glowing an ominous red glow. Trigon lips are slightly open as he’s grimacing, showing Slade his pure white fangs. What appears to be the tips of horns or antlers are beginning to protrude out of Trigon’s forehead.

“What I feel?” Says Trigon, as he chuckles incredulously. “What I’m feeling is that you should suffer as Raven suffered. Do you have any idea what you made her go through? To have the sum of what makes her forcibly stripped from her being, and to have that power to destroy the world that she’s come love; to endanger her friends and family.” Trigon’s voice begins to become distorted as if possessed, sounding as many voices are speaking at the same time. The red of his four eyes begin to glow brighter. His horns then push through his forehead, completing the ghoulish visage of the wrathful demon-god standing before him.

Thousands upon thousands of distorted voices are calling out from within the demon. Demanding the man’s blood be spilled in the most horrific of ways.

“You’ve truly no idea what I feel, mortal.”

Taking the hint, Slade throws the knife at the demon.

It stops uselessly before the face of Trigon.

Chuckling at the former assassin’s attempt to harm him, Trigon draws his cloak around himself. His white hair begins to float as black tendrils of his soul-self begins to emerge from the shadows underneath his cloak. “Interesting,” mutters Trigon, “You wish for me make this quick, yet you make it a fight by throw a paltry kitchen knife at me.” The knife that’s still floating before him turn so that the blade’s now facing Slade. At an incomprehensible speed, the knife flies back toward Slade imbedding itself in his chest.

Slade hisses in obvious pain, “Call it the last breaths of a dying man. By not making it quick, its you who’s making it into a fight. I’d never stand a chance against you. I recognize that I’m very much an ant staring into the face of the sun.”

A tendril of Trigon’s soul-self hauntingly makes its way to Slade. The black colored energy begins to envelope his left leg up to the knee, an ice sensation taking hold of the limb. “An apt description of your predicament, mortal.” A chilling smile creeps it’s way on to Trigon’s face as pressure and heat begins to spread over Slade’s leg.

The former assassin can’t help but double over in pain as his leg is slowly crushed and  roasted. Slade, not wanting to give Trigon the satisfaction, is biting his lip to avoid yowling out in pain. It gets to a point where Slade can smell the skin and muscle cooking and the agony is so intense that he’s broken the skin he’s bitting down so hard.

“You’re certainly a live one,” says Trigon.

No longer able to bare the agony of his leg being crushed and cooked, Slade finally yells out in pain. The sound of the man’s screams is music to the ears of Trigon.

The pressure on Slade’s leg increases until a fleshy pop is heard. The pain is more than the man has ever endured in his life. He freely screams as he grips where his leg used to be, bits of bone and cooked flesh at the stump.

The same tendril of his soul-self then envelopes another limb of Slade, this time a hand.

“Tell me, mortal. Do you regret going after my daughter?”

Slade, catching his breath from screaming and having his leg blown off, struggles to answer, “No,” -pant- “not one bit. All roads traveled, all hardships endured,” Slade smiles up at the demon as struggles through his answer, “all the blood on my hands led me back to my family."

A familiar pressure and heat begins to creep its way on to Slade’s hand.

And before it can be comprehended, the limb meets the fate of Slade’s leg.

“AHHHH!!”

As Slade’s screams once again die down, Trigon takes in the visage of the man in front of him. Pain and determination obvious his eye. A man that recognizes his end is very much at hand, yet his determination to live is very apparent.

-Click-

The tale-tale thumbing back of a hammer catches Trigon’s attention.

Slade’s own expression takes on an anxiousness that cannot be placed as his eye moves to whatever is behind Trigon.

“Get the hell away from him you son of a bitch!”

Turning around, he eyes two figures. First a platinum blonde-haired young woman stands before Trigon. She’s dressed in short sleeved shirt with a black tie and a navy-blue skirt and white and black striped socks that reach just below her knees, likely some school uniform. Her blue eyes trained on the demon, as determined as Slade’s. She got a handgun trained directly on the demon.

Her companion, a curly blonde young man with green eyes stands to the side of young woman. He’s wearing a white shirt with gold accents at the end of the sleeves under a purple tunic. A gold belt is holding up black tights which are tucked into purple boots, which are accented by gold like his belt and sleeves. There’s a grim, familiar determination in his eyes as well.

There’s something else with this young man as well. It seems as if he trying to will something to happen by staring down Trigon.

The boy becomes transparent for a split second.

“Ah, ah, ah, my boy.” Says Trigon, smart to what the young was attempting.

Becoming solid once more, he opens his mouth in silent agony, gripping his head and lowering to his knees.

“Joey!” Screams the young woman, dropping the gun and tending to her companion.

Slade not wanting his children to become victims to the demon before him speaks up, “Trigon,” he says through heavy breaths, “let them go. You’re here for me, right? Leave them out this!”

“Curious…” mutters Trigon, “Deathstroke the Terminator, begging for the lives of children.” He then makes his way over to the tortured former assassin, lifting Slade by his neck. “What are these children to you?” He asked. “What are they to you as you would throw away your own pride to beg for them?” He adds.

Slade simply stares down Trigon, his mouth in a grim line.

“Don’t be shy now, mortal.”

Trigon does have a sneaking suspicion of what these two are to the man in his clutches but is starting to lose his patience.

Slade continues his silence, out of fear of what the creature before him would do to those kids if he revealed what they are to him.

“Alright,” says Trigon. The demon turns his attention to the two behind him, lifting his other hand at Rose and Joseph as if to…

“No…”

A large portion of black energy then comes from the ceiling between Trigon and the pair of teens. It then expands outward into the shape of a bird and a blue cloaked, purple haired young woman emerges from it as it’s absorbed into her.

And said young lady doesn’t look happy.

“They’re his kids.” Says that familiar monotone voice, answering Trigon’s unanswered question.

At the sight of his daughter, the voices within Trigon begin to die down. The tendrils of his soul-self sink back under his cloak, presumably to be absorbed back into him. His horns then retract into his forehead. His eyes then lose their ominous red, the glow which is receding to his iris’ returning his sclera to its usual pitch black.

“Ah, Raven,” croaks Slade, “welcome to the party.”

“Slade, can you not?” She responds bluntly.

“Dearest…”

“No, no.” Raven interrupts Trigon. “Heal him. Now!”

“You don’t expect…” Begins Trigon.

“Yes.” Said Raven leaving no room for argument. “And you,” she said referring to Slade, “you could’ve told him we’ve come to an understanding.”

“It’s not like he would’ve believed me, Birthday Girl.” Responded Slade.

Raven breathes an exasperated sign. Then the half-demoness turns her back to the pair of fathers, then makes her toward Joseph and Rose.

“You guys ok?”

“I’m fine, but Joey may not be.” Replies Rose.

I’m fine, I just have a splitting headache. Signs Joey. I think trying to possess the demon over there was a bad idea.

“Rave, can you tell me what the hell is going on here? Why is, who I assume is the devil, attacking my dad.”

Trigon reluctantly releases Slade and begins the process of healing his lost limbs. “An understanding? I…”

Trigon is interrupted for a third time by Raven, “He’s my dad.”

“Your dad?” Responded Rose, incredulously.

Raven nods her head. “I presume he’s here for payback,” Rose shakes her head in confusion, “your dad pushed me toward jumpstarting the end of the world. But he wasn’t aware that your father and I had come to an understanding. As you know, Rose, he retired from supervillainy.” She then turns to the pair of dads behind her, Trigon having just finished re-growing Slade’s leg. A glow engulfs the stump of what used to be Slade’s hand as Trigon starts to work on bringing it back whole as he grumbles to himself. Slade’s smirking at the demon surely testing his fate as the demon works to heal him. “Part of it was my behest, but he later told me he planned to retire anyway. While he had been part of why I surrendered to what I was convinced was my fate, he’s also part of the reason I was able to overcome it. He pointed and guided Robin in the right direction in order to save me in my diminished state. When I confronted him after it was all resolved, he told me why he did what he did. It was you two. A second chance at being a father. I told him if he ever came after Robin, myself any of my friends or family or caught a whiff of some plot, conspiracy or even petty theft, I would’ve found the deepest, darkest pit in all of existence and throw his ass into it.” She finishes, smiling darkly.

“It wouldn’t have been enough of his ass left to throw. He promised to be here for me, and I plan to hold him to that promise.”

I say the jury’s still out. Signs Joey. The two young women impatiently. The blonde shrugs his shoulders dismissively. As if to say, what?

“But wait, how’d you know your Dad was here?” Asked Rose

“Two things really. Joseph hit the distress beacon on his communicator, and my dad’s demonic aura is like the Bat-Signal to those who can sense it, especially when he’s…agitated.”

At that moment, Trigon had finished re-growing Slade’s lost limbs. The former assassin stands on two legs once more, testing the stability of the newly regrown leg and flexing the new hand. “I think I like the old ones better.” He said.

Enraged the demon gets into his face barring his fangs, “I can send them the way of the last two, if you continue.”

Raven and Rose gets in between the two fathers. “Dad, stop.” They said simultaneously.  

“Fine,” grumbled Trigon. His eyes then glow, then The Mark of Scath appears on Slade’s forehead, accompanying burn spreading throughout his body. “Your deal with my brother forever has forever you to my thrall, as he used magics of my own creation to facilitate it. Should you ever make any move against my family again, those girls won’t ever get chance to enact their respective punishments once I get my hands on you. Are we clear, Slade?”

“Crystal.” He said, through gritted teeth.

The mark disappears, along with its burn. Slade continues to flex his regrown hand, staring at it as if contemplating something. “I know we’ll never be friends Trigon, but I’d like to make a peace offering, and a thank you for not killing me. Wait here.”

Not even a minute later Slade makes his way back into the room, with a long sword in his grasp within its scabbard. He pulls it a few inches out of the sheath, revealing its double fuller cross section.

“What use do I have for a sword? Wait? That aura… Is that the God Killer? How did you even get a that sword?”

"Fear not, this weapon is forged only with a fragment of the legendary sword. The full ability of the blade isn't within a single shard thankfully, though is capable of wounding beings like yourself." He said as he places the blade back in its sheath. “It was gifted to me by someone trying to recruit me to a cause. The New Church of Blood. I think they're amassing munitions to specifically kill demons. I took care of Abel myself who delivered it to me, so I don’t know who’s leading them. I caution you and yours to be weary Trigon."

“Hmm...” Trigon takes the sword from him. “You’ve my thanks, Slade.” Says Trigon offering a hand to the man.

Slade takes out the stretched limb, solidifying the peace between the former demon lord and former assassin.

A/N: I was initially going to have the end as Slade manipulating Trigon into letting him go by effectively using Rose as an emotional hostage/emotional leverage; Slade saying something along the lines of, "so you'd kill me Trigon? In front of my ONLY daughter?" With Slade cracking a knowing smile in scene that plays out similarly to what it ended up being. But I thought the whole premise of these one-shots is to establish an alternative to Trigon like we see in other media; what if Trigon wasn't an asshole (or benevolent if you will lol). Why can't I do the same with Slade? I mean I remember a long time ago in the comics (pre-New 52) there was a storyline where the Titans (Rose and Jericho included) had to fight off Slade and a few other villains. At the end of that story after Slade's been defeated, he lamented that he HAD to push Rose and Joe toward the titans by actively fighting them. His reasoning being that the Titans can provide a family structure that he cannot. If Slade can show that kind of benevolence in the comics, why not in Fanfiction?

Read this and more @https://www.fanfiction.net/~olboypacman

[puppygrunt]

(Over on Ariana’s blog I have an AU verse in which Ariana is the current interim Boss of a remnant of Team Rocket. This thread, between Ava and @fansirvice ‘s Silver, takes place in that verse. The first few replies are under a readmore, due to length, and then continued to be replied to as normal.)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When Ava signed up for Team Rocket she fully expected to stay cozy inside offices, doing menial computer work that people saw as beneath them. That was the safe job, but that job wasn’t as much of a priority these days. With smaller numbers, everyone that remained in Team Rocket had to take on more tasks to make up for the lack of manpower. That included office grunts like herself.

Now Ava also served as a scout. She was sent out on the field to help coordinate and keep an eye out for danger and act as a line of communication for her fellow Rockets. It was totally out of her comfort zone and very stressful. Thankfully overtime she had grown used to it. So here she was, up on a rooftop keeping watch as a group down on the ground was facing off against a rival gang. Beside her, her Lucario and Houndoom stood watch as well to guard her back.

These scuffles were a lot more common these days. Ever since Team Rocket failed to bring back Giovanni in Johto it emboldened the local gangs into fighting back. They wanted to reclaim their old territories that Rocket took from them. Rocket used to keep them under control, but now in their weakened state it was a free for all. The outskirts of cities, like this usually quiet dock in a shady area of Vermilion, was highly contested.

The fight down below looked pretty even so far. Both sides were jockeying for position. It was a fight between human and pokemon alike. With the humans as main targets to keep them from sending out more pokemon, and the pokemon as defenders to keep their trainer safe.

A flash of red in Ava’s peripheral vision caught her attention. She pulled up her binoculars and spotted a young man with red hair heading in their direction. He wasn’t dressed like a gang member. Probably some punk trainer thinking he can swoop in and save the day by breaking up a fight. Ava pulled up a walkie-talkie to her mouth to send a message into the earpieces of the Rockets on the ground.

“I have eyes on a bogie flying in from the north. Red hair. No gang colors. Over.

Another scuffle between vermin, that would be how Silver would describe the current fight between gang members happening in his sights.  Harsh as a tundra, icy silver eyes sized up each gang member as he adjusted his gloves and called out four pokemon: Weavile, Crobat, Alakzam and Magnezone. He held a hunting knife that had wires around it. He had his mouth covered by his jacket, but all his pokemon nodded and began to act on their own, did he give them orders? It would appear so as his Crobat would fly off to roost on the side on a building of the northeast area near the fight. The Weavile would move toward the southwest, while the Magnezone and Alakzam took cover in an alleyway along with their trainer, a sudden flash of light occurring before they all-vanished?

At first, it would appear nothing happened, but that would soon change as an electromagnetic pulse mixed with alpha-waves would be washed around a one 0.5 mile radius from the alleyway they had all vanished in. Next would be one of the rival gang grunts screaming in terror as something appeared to be swallowing them into their own-shadow? Then a low pitch-supersonic wave would be heard, which while most managed to seem unaffected, same humans and pokemon in the mixed started to act irrationally confused.

"Croagunk use Faint Attack!" "Scrafty use Incinerate!" "Venonat use Sleep Power!" The rival gang called out attacks in a  confused panic as they tried and failed to reach their comrade in time. The last thing they see of him would be the fear in his eyes as he screamed for help.

Then came the screaming that seemed magnified to the point it have this distorted echo around the area they were fighting. The rival gang members and there pokemon all began swearing and asking what was going on, while the pokemon became so jumpy and anxious that they'd attack anything that move or made a sound that wasn't their ally at this point. Trash cans, random pieces of wood that tilted slightly and hit said garbage can, anything was getting with fire and poison type attacks.

The kidnapped gang grunt would then appear curled up tightly in the beetle position along the edge of the fighting grounds. A comrade of their's rushing over to see if they were alright, kneeling down to check out their body to see what happened to them.  Onlookers could see the curled up grunt jolt up and cling to the other one, appearing as if he was terrified and clinging to this comrade for protection and comfort- but in the next moment, they's hear the clung to comrade made a gurgling noise as his body spasmed about as if he got hit with a stun gun.

To the few pokemon that could had a good sense of smell, the scent of blood could now be smelt in the air from where those two rival grunts were.

This only marked the beginning.

Ava saw the trainer call out his pokemon, and she expected him to rush into the fight. What he did instead was entirely different. It all happened so fast, making her unable to warn her team mates.

She covered her eyes when there was the flash of light. Then she heard a buzz from her ear piece and the radio for a second before it was cut out into silence. An EMP wave to cut their communications. What was harder to identify was the buzzing inside her head that gave her a headache.

[Psychic waves.] A voice in her mind answered. The voice of her Lucario, Argos. [Hold on.]

The Lucario held up a paw to the side of her head. His own psychic training was just enough to help her. The pain of the headache lessened, not gone but enough for her to regain her focus and turn her attention back to what was going on below. She didn’t need her ear piece to hear the yells of pain, confusion, and panic.

Beside her, Basker growled when he caught the scent of blood on the battle field. Ava reached back to touch his horn, a signal to stay until she gave him a command.

The situation that was now before them brought to Ava’s mind reports she heard from other Rockets. That there was a vigilante going around attacking Rocket and rival gangs alike without mercy. The description of those attacks matched this one. That red headed trainer was him.

Her priority now was to protect her team mates and get them out. They were lucky that the red-headed vigilante attacked the other gang first. Ava was going to have to think and act fast if she was going to try to counter him. Two pokeballs were pulled from her belt.

“King, Roar. Thor, draw in that electricity.” She said her commands before unleashing them.

An indigo blue glow formed around her arms, temporarily imbuing them with strength enhancing Aura to allow her to throw those pokeballs far enough to get close to the battle field. Arcanine was out first with a deafening roar of a howl that pierced through the cacophony, forcing the pokemon around him back into their pokeballs. That would reduce the risk of a stray attack hitting him or one of the other Rockets. After him Electrike was on the field as a precaution. His Lightning Rod drew in the electrical currents causing his fur to spark as it charged him up with its energy. Ready to attack if their new enemy showed itself.

Her team mates, though dazed and confused as to what was happening, knew that the appearance of the Arcanine meant it was time to get out. The large dog was just big enough to carry three people, and they scrambled towards it. They needed to get away before their attacker turned his attention to him.

[vorthosjay]

Let’s Talk About Chronicle of Bolas: Whispers of Treachery

Today’s episode of Magic Story is here, and it’s a good one. We see a climactic event unfold in Magic’s past, but maybe not the one you’re thinking of. Let’s get to it, as last time there’s not a ton of lore depth here, but instead a lot of character work. I don’t have a lot to say other than it was fun!

Nicol Bolas, the Ravager by Svetlin Velinov

"My mother was a scribe who served Shu Yun before the fall. She survived Ojutai's purge and dedicated herself to saving what she could of the history and knowledge of the Jeskai Way. A few wanderers and scouts managed to escape and hide in the mountains. These people carry all that remains of the old way. My mother sent me into the wilderness to study with the man who became my master. He is the one who sent me to you. He taught me the way of the ghostfire blade so it would not be lost."

This story has been taking pains to remind us of the rebel factions within the Dragon Clans.

"This is a rare chance for Fec and I to take the liver and hearts from the broodling now that it's belly is already cut open. Atarka need never know."

What is the value of their liver and hearts, I wonder?

"Is it worth it?" Naiva asked, unable to keep a trace of bitterness from her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Losing our mothers. Or anyone, really, just for the sake of keeping old traditions alive. The dragons rule us now. Maybe it's better to discard what they've forbidden."

"Better for whom? Better for the dragonlords, certainly. What about the respect and duty we owe to our ancestors?"

"Maybe it's best to let the dead go and concentrate on this day's hunt and this day's survival."

This is great because it highlights the attitude of the people of Tarkir.

"Do what?" asked the biped, who appeared outwardly as a pregnant human except for the way his eyes shone like sapphires, refulgent with a dragon's power.

"Change yourself into a human so convincingly." Nicol sniffed the air with a grimace. "You even smell like one. Rancid and credulous."

Chromium transforms! He’ll use the ability again in the Elder Dragons comic, to become Ham the Tickery Man.

"I hear what you are doing, Nicol Bolas. You twist words to whatever shape you wish them to make, then twist them again to suit your wishes. You are the least of us, last fallen, not even a whole dragon but only half of one, bound as you are to Ugin. Do not ever again attempt to challenge me or you will regret it."

That has got to rankle Bolas. He’s not one to take something like this in stride, and I can start to see what happened in the Elder Dragon War.

You, my Jeskai students, have not heard of the dragon-killers' war. It happened a long time ago and in a place unknown to you. No one wrote its history because writing did not yet exist, and those who survived told a different tale than the one I am telling you now. So the truth of those events was lost, even to their descendants.

Dragon-Killer’s War! That’s a new one.

"They have made the proper sacrifice," said the voice. It was Nicol, rising from the roof beam, his horns gleaming and his eyes shining with a glamor that dizzied me. "For now, you understand the truth of dragon's blood. I rule you now. I am your true leader. Bow before me."

A vast and fearful sigh passed through the assembly. People sank to their knees, pressing hands against faces.

"What are you doing?" I cried. "This isn't what you learned from Arcades!"

"Of course it's what I learned from Arcades," he said, turning to look at me.

This is so great! Ugin realizing he was never on the same page as his brother is beautiful and brutal.

Also, the indication is that this is EXACTLY what Bolas was trying to learn from Arcades. Not what Arcades was teaching, but how to use humans to his own end.

No, it was worse even than that.

He wanted to use me for his own ends, because he had never truly cared for me at all.

The bond we shared. The trust we held in each other. It was empty, broken, false.

A harsh, hot spark burst in my heart and in my head. My flesh burned as if incinerated and charred.

Ugin’s spark ignition! Over this grand betrayal!

A scouring wind whirled down from inside and outside the heavens and dragged me into a terrifying storm of darkness where I could not even draw breath and felt my lungs being crushed by a weight of dread. A force twisted my body as if trying to turn me inside out. For an instant, my mind went blank, unseeing, unfeeling, and then with a wrench, I came back to myself.

To my astonishment, I found myself floating above a featureless sea, so flat and still I could see my own reflection in the water: my horns, my scales, my eyes like twin sparks burning bright. I drifted in bewilderment, rended by the grief of losing the brother I had trusted and stupefied by the sheer jarring astonishment of being torn from the only place I had never known and flung into the space between the planes.

For I understood then that Te Ju Ki had taught me the truth, that she had seen this place in a vision. She was physically frail, tied to the soil of her home, but her mind could range where her body and magic could not go.

She thought no one could cross between worlds, but now I was there, walking between the planes she had told me about.

So it sounds like he’s describing the blind eternities. 

What’s interesting about it is the description sounds a lot like the Meditation Realm, a place accessible from Dominaria through (you guessed it) meditation. A wise old mystic like Te Ju Ki could have reached it, at least in astral form. Or maybe it’s just how Ugin see’s the Blind Eternities.

Pools of Becoming by Jason Chan

With that thought like an anchor, I fell as a shooting star falls: helplessly, burning up, obliterated by its passage.

When I woke again in my body, I stood here, awake, afresh, alive, on Tarkir. And I felt the land welcome me, as if I had finally come home.

Nicol had been right after all: I had witnessed the end, and this was my new beginning.

Okay, so Tarkir has been Ugin’s home from nearly the beginning. It’s interesting to hear that the lend ‘welcomed’ him - I wonder if the Worldsoul of Tarkir was glad for his coming?

Regardless, he’s now departed the story of the other Elders. I wonder if he’s going to go back?

"Eighteen years ago, I witnessed a battle in the sky that ended with the death of Ugin. That battle ended the Tarkir I knew. That battle set all the clans on a new path, a new beginning. There was another dragon in the storm that day."

So that puts the frame story at 18 years after Fate Reforged, not Khanfall. Fun Fact: Around the time the frame story takes place, Jhoira is just joining the Tolarian Academy.

Tae Jin echoed, "Against what, Yasova Dragonclaw? The worst already happened when the dragonlords outlawed our clans and our khans and our knowledge of the ancestors."

"Maybe that is not the worst that can happen," said Grandmother.

What is the worst that can happen, then? Nicol Bolas victorious, perhaps?

I’m wondering if they end up forming a secret resistance or something, that will one day communicate to Sarkhan Vol or Ugin once awoken.

Thunder crashed again, and this time muffled howls and roars echoed back. A shudder rolled through the ground as if a huge weight had just dropped onto the earth. Fec opened his eyes and sat up. He shook awake Rakhan and Sorya, and they all grabbed their weapons.

A scuff sounded from the tunnel. Naiva grabbed her spear and settled into a crouch by the opening. The click of a ptarmigan's call announced the presence of one of their own. She stepped back as Mattak emerged into the chamber with a knife in hand.

"First Mother, you'd best come see."

What fell? A dragon seems obvious.

[lunar-lattice]

The Place Between Places

The Devil and a Jesus figure walk into a bar…

….or how Ryo woke in the place between places and met Kaworu, someone who knew more than a little about time loops, true love and failing your purpose.

AO3 Mirror / Fanfic.net Mirror

The last things Satan remembered were beautifully terrible and terribly beautiful things. First came the crescendo song, a song of praise and wail of suffering sung in a world-ending harmony. Then came a white fire that felt cold and hot at the same time as it incinerated the Earth, the universe and finally, Satan himself. And of course, the bitter smell of burning feathers.

But it was fading fast like a bad dream. All he could remember now was being uncomfortably warm but here, wherever here was, was pleasantly cool. Satan almost wanted to curl up with his wings around him and sleep. He was so tired and vaguely sad, for a reason he could not recall.

But something, or someone was watching him.

He stood, reflexively flaring his wings. His watcher sat a few feet away in a bench, hands clasped and giving him an inquisitive look. Seeing Ryo stand, he smiled and greeted him, "Hello,"

"Hello…." Satan trailed off, honestly the slightest bit unnerved by the boy. In such an empty place, he was out of place merely being there. But there's was something…off about him. He looked young, certainly younger than how Satan appeared. Whatever off about him was something more than his silvery hair, too pale skin and eyes the color of spilled blood. The boy hummed, "How curious…a visitor."

Satan ignored him for the time being, opting to investigate his surroundings. They were in a train station that stretched as far as he could see in both ways, silver fog obscuring whatever might be at the end. The walls and ceiling were glass, showing the outside was an endless expanse of space. There were too many stars in the sky. Satan would know, he was there when they were put there. An orbiting ring of what appeared to be blood moved slowly above, accompanied by the moon, which was cut in two and blood-streaked. If he looked below it, an asteroid belt was below them. Somehow though, the area was lit by an ethereal light, casting everything in an eerily normal glow.

"I haven't had a visitor in…" the boy paused, "…well, forever!"

"Where am I," Satan cut to the chase, his voice low and dangerous.

The boy seemed a little off-guard but it lasted for only a moment before he said, "This is the place between places, specifically time loops."

A ghost of recognition flashed through Satan, "Time loops?" he echoed.

Now the boy was caught off-guard. He blinked in confusion, "You don't remember? You're here and you don't?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have been confused," Satan snapped back.

The boy sat up, his elbows set on his knees and his hands pressed together as if he was praying. He mused, "Either this is your first loop or you've specifically been made to not remember."

Satan knew exactly who would do this. He couldn't sense Him here but that wouldn't stop him from giving Him a piece of his mind. He turned to the window, a snarl on his tongue.

"Wait!" the boy called, standing to his feet.

"I might be able to help! Granted, I'll be forcing you to remember and the other times someone like me has tried this it wasn't…" he grimaced, "…pleasant for the one being affected."

Satan walked up to him, his arms folded. "It can't be that bad," he demanded.

"I beg to differ—"

"Do it."

The boy grimaced but didn't argue. He raised his hand, it glowing faintly. He pressed just the finger tips to Ryo's forehead before the world exploded into an overwhelming white light, a chorus singing in triumph in the background…

…he was Satan, God's favored, Lucifer the Light bringer!

Or was he God's punished son, the Devil, thrown from Heaven for his transgressions?

The leader of the demons? A school boy? A professor? A snake? A friend, a foe? An enemy, a lover? Angel, demon, human?

Was he Satan or was he Ryo Asuka? Both, neither, something else? Who was he?

"My friend Ryo!"

He was alone, in a house that didn't feel like his own, demons prowling around the corner. He hefted his shotgun, ignoring the fear in his bones-

No, he was in the jungle. It was a hot night, not because the humidity but because a raging fire. He thought he knew this person but humans didn't look like that.

No, Hell was colder than he thought. This wasn't his ultimate punishment but it was one, nonetheless.

"Why are you crying…? I'm not crying."

"Yes, you are! You're crying too!"

His eyes burned, his cheeks were wet.

"No, I'm not…why? Why am I crying? There's no love or sorrow so why?

Why am I so sad?"

The neon lights were like a false sun, shining upon a display of debauchery that would fit more into the nine circles of Hell. The air was heavy with smoke and sweat and other things more unmentionable. His hands were sticky and warm, crimson red. Was this his blood or someone else's? Before he could ask, pain exploded in his side and then there was pain everywhere.

"I did this for you!

I made you into this so you'd survive!"

Everything hurt. Somewhere above him there was the tearing of flesh, the gnashing of teeth, the flapping of wings. The air was heavy with the iron scent of human blood and the sulfur scent of demonic blood. No…

Neither a man, nor Amon. Neither human or devil yet both. A violent union made to protect and protect it did but—

The world was panicking. The streets were full of violence and blood and pain. Were the true devils those of mismatched parts, stolen facts, bloodied feathers? Or were the true devils your fellow man? Perhaps, the true devil was cloaked in white.

He remembered who he was. Sometimes it was a flash, sometimes it was a stare. Sometimes it accompanied white light, sometimes it accompanied a rainbow of light. But every time, he came to the same conclusion. And he went though with it every time, over and over and over—

It's over.

"Why aren't you speaking?"

It's over.

"Don't leave me…"

Accept what you've done. Over and over and over—

"You're sleeping, huh?"

No, he's dead. Over and over and over—

Over and over—

Over—

"Akira!" Ryo shrieked, jolting away.

He stumbled only a few steps away before his knees gave out. He didn't bother moving from where he crumpled, wings wrapped around him as a shield away from the world. Sobs escaped him as his mind tried, and failed, to make sense of the visions. It was too much so it fixated on the final, most fresh memory.

Which was the corpse of Akira Fudo, killed by none other than Ryo himself.

How could he forget Akira, much less everything else? But yet, remembering hurt so much more.

When he finally recovered enough to move, he looked up. Where he had left him was the boy, fidgeting in place as if he wanted to do something but wasn't sure if he should. He babbled, "I'm sorry! I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't insisted! I should have known…"

Ryo stood, picking himself off the ground. "It's fine," he said, even though he didn't feel it.

Suddenly, he felt remarkably human and thus, exposed. He wished he had a coat. And as if a guardian of this place heard him, an outfit consisting of a white button-up, slacks and a white trench coat appeared on him. He chalked it up to the liminal magic of the place and offered his hand to the boy, "I'm…"

He paused, pondered, then made a decision, "I'm Ryo Asuka."

The boy's ethereal smile settled back onto his face and he took his hand, "I'm Kaworu Nagisa."

Ryo looked around the place and said, "Time loops, huh?"

He looked back at Kaworu, who smiled still and looked completely at ease with himself. He had done that weird thing to him. "What did you do to me?" he asked.

Kaworu turned his head to the side, "Remember?"

"No, I…" Ryo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I mean, how did you that?"

"Oh! I used my AT Field to reach into your mind and bring those memories to the forefront. They were still there, just behind a block of sorts," Kaworu explained, as if he expected Ryo to understand. He did for the most part but it was obvious that there truly was something off about the boy.

"Right. Next question. What in the hell did you do for God to punish you?!" he asked, throwing his arms up. The boy looked fresh into his teens, memory powers or not! Not to mention, he looked like he'd rather catch a fly than harm it.

"Oh well," Kaworu rocked on his heels, "Not so much God as myself. I had a purpose to fulfill and I failed it because there was something else so powerful it overrode my purpose."

He sighed, his eyes dreamy, "I fell in love."

Right. Still, it felt eerily familiar. Rejecting a purpose, punishment and falling in love. Sure, love didn't condemn him to this fate. It always came too late for that. Still, it felt too close. "Are you an angel?" Ryo asked.

"An Angel?"

The two stared at each other. Ryo narrowed his eyes. "Well, perhaps a different kind of angel," Kaworu chuckled, "What are your breed of angels like?"

Ryo flared his wings as he explained, "Angels are beautiful and terrible where I come from. They look a lot like you'd expect except with six wings. I, however, have ten."

"So how you'd find on the stained glass windows of a church?" Kaworu asked.

"Eh, basically," Ryo shrugged, slightly insulted with the comparison.

Kaworu chuckles, "My breed of Angels? They're something rather hard to comprehend and I cannot describe us as a whole since we're all different."

"You're pretty easy to comprehend," Ryo couldn't help but snark back.

Kaworu furrowed his eyebrows, "Well, I just happen to look like a Lilim. Anyways, we're not so much biblical messengers as otherworldly beings."

"Aliens, got it. So why call you Angels?" Ryo sat back on the bench, folding his wings to have some semblance of comfort.

"Well, that's just what the Lilim ended up calling us. Bit ironic, considering," Kaworu explained as he sat by him.

"You know, you're awfully cryptic. How about give me the whole story?" Ryo asked.

"A story for a story. I tell you why I'm here and you tell me why you're here," Kaworu suggested.

Ryo pondered it. On one hand, he wanted to hold it close to his chest, as if letting it go would see any happy ending fly out of his hands. On the other hand, he probably should say something. "Alright," he agreed.

Kaworu's story started in the cold expanse of space, nothingness where most creation tales began. Except instead of a God, there were two different Mothers who landed on a planet they shouldn't have. The Mother of the Angels, Adam, was struck with a fail safe that rendered her dormant. With no opposition, the Mother of Humanity, Lilith, created the first life with her blood.

Fast forward to the year 2000, where a group of humans made contact with Adam, seeking the beginning of godhood. Ryo thought it ridiculous, humans achieving godhood. Wasn't God terrible enough? Kaworu went on, how this contact began the terraforming of Earth, wiping it of Lilith-based life until it was stopped. On that day, he was born.

Fast forward 15 more years, and the Angels were awakening, looking for their Mother. Most didn't want to harm humanity, only to reunite with their parent and to fulfill a purpose that drove them forward. Humanity fought back with weapons made from the stolen flesh of an Angel, the "Evangelion" which was piloted by 14 year olds. 16 Angels came and died and then it was Kaworu's turn as the final Angel, the Angel of Free Will. And by this time, there was only one pilot left to fight, a one Shinji Ikari.

Shinji, Kaworu explained with a dreamy expression, was a shining example of humanity in all their fragility. Kaworu empathized with him and in turn, loved him. When the time came to Kaworu to reunite with Adam, he had been duped. He came to a decision: to allow humanity and Shinji to live, he would die, at his love's hands no less.

Then he woke up here.

Then, as if he hadn't just recounted how he died, he turned to Ryo and asked, "So what about you?"

Ryo felt uncomfortable, not because of Kaworu's apparent casualness towards his situation. No, his story was a flip side to Kaworu's. Instead of sacrificing himself for humanity, he wiped them out. Instead of dying by his love's hand, his love died by his. Did he want to admit this? Kaworu's patient expression urged him on and suddenly, he was opening up.

Ryo's tale was more biblical. In the beginning there was light and from this light came him, God's favored. Before humans, before anything else there were the demons, the rulers of the Earth. But for humans to exist, the demons were deemed unable to coexist and God prepared to strike them down. Satan pleaded otherwise. He saw a strength in the demon's single-minded violence, a strength he argued proved they should exist. He wouldn't bow to anything lesser.

The fact he was cast out showed God did not agree. But this wasn't the catalyst.

The catalyst was, upon awakening with the demons, he saw humanity and decided to wipe them out before he went onto Heaven. So he wiped out humanity and was wiped out in turn. And it continued to repeat until he woke up here.

Kaworu found his story…lacking. He glossed over the final genocide of humanity and it felt like…he wasn't telling the whole story. So he asked, "What's the rest?"

"The rest?" an expression of despair flickered over Ryo's face before he made it forcefully neutral.

"You broke down when you remembered. Granted, it was traumatic but if you killed humanity with no remorse, you wouldn't have felt as bad," Kaworu pointed out.

Ryo's wing feathers puffed up, like an angry cat, and in one fluid motion, he stood up and turned to tower about Kaworu, "That was it!"

Kaworu was unfazed, "You can't bury what hurts where you think it will no longer hurt you. It will fester and rot and hurt all the more."

Ryo wondered what would happen if he swung at Kaworu.

"Let me put it more bluntly. Who is 'Akira'?"

It felt like everything stopped and Ryo drooped, his quick burst of righteous fury fizzled out. "How did you hear that name?" he asked.

"When you 'awoke' from your chance, you screamed his name," Kaworu's voice was softer now.

"Akira was…one of the few good humans. He was always there, always loyal and cared so much. He followed me and trusted me and I hope, loved me. If I asked him to follow me through Hell, he wouldn't have done it, no matter how frightened he was. I wanted to protect him but you know what happened?"

Before Kaworu could ask, Ryo practically howled, "I killed him! At least, with the rest of humanity, it was impersonal! Either they were collateral damage or a demon killed them or even their peers! But no, Akira was the only one," he glanced at his hands, imagining them covered in crimson, "He was the only one to die by my hand."

He wrapped his wings around him, cutting off Kaworu and the entire world. "Ryo—" Kaworu began.

"No!" Ryo cried, "Go away!"

There was no way to tell time here. The sky moved but it wasn't consistent. The stars winked in and out sometimes, changing color or brightness or disappearing all together. The moon, the asteroids and the streak of blood did not change, as static as those who stayed there. It was always lit in a twilight light, never going any brighter or darker. Kaworu sat by the window, humming a familiar tone, lost in thought when Ryo returned and sat by him. The angel asked, "How long will I be here?"

"When you're ready to return," the Angel replied.

Ryo sighed, "Figured as much."

"Don't feel bad, I'm not ready either."

Ryo looked at Kaworu. He was more pensive than usual, one hand pressed to the glass. "What happened last time to you?" Ryo asked.

Kaworu grimaced. Even the mere thought brought him back to it—the crackling of the DSS Choker activating, the eerie howling of Eva 13 awakening, the realization that he had failed all over again. And there was Shinji, hands pressed to the glass as he pleaded for him not to go. "I felt like I was closer than ever before. This time, he'd be happy. But, what I thought was our salvation was a ruse, and the world began to fall apart," one of his hands ghosted over his neck, "And I had to die to stop it."

It was quiet again until Ryo spoke, "Last time was…odd. It was similar to the first ever time, I remember that. But there were key differences, one of which being I didn't feel…as much. So in the end, when I realized I loved Akira and what I had done to him and the world, it hurt all the more."

He looked out across the expanse of space, imagining an intact Earth out there, "I'm afraid of what God will throw at me next time."

"You have an advantage. If the end of the world is your fault, if you don't go through with it, wouldn't He be pleased?" Kaworu asked with a tilt of his head.

"I….don't know. I don't actually know if this is my eternal punishment or merely a way to get me to change. I don't know if He'll give me another chance. The humans say He's a loving God but…I don't know. He wasn't all that loving to me."

Ryo paused, then admitted, "I'd hope He loves the humans enough to not wipe them out Himself if I refuse to. If that's the case, I'm my own worst enemy."

Five minutes or five years might have passed before they struck up conversation again on anything but reminiscing. "I half-expected you to be gone," Kaworu remarked.

At Ryo's withering glare, he added, "Not that I don't enjoy your company, I just imagined you'd be ready to try again. I was."

"It's because you're an optimist," Ryo shot back and Kaworu went silent, a true feat. Ryo would be lying if he said he didn't feel smug.

Kaworu shrugged, "You're right, I suppose."

"Anyway, I know what I'm getting myself into. I need to go sometime," he sighed, "Waiting changes nothing."

"Well, a lifetime here is not even a moment there. You can afford to wait," Kaworu said.

Ryo's lips quirked up into an almost, barely there half-smile, "Well, I'd like to see Akira. My last memory of him…." his expression fell, "It's not pleasant."

He shook his head, "I don't want to fail anymore. Akira doesn't deserve it."

Kaworu frowned, knowing all too well how he felt, "I can't fault you for that."

"No more waiting! I've leaving today," Ryo declared, not much longer after.

"Alright, I'll go then too," Kaworu agreed, with his trademark ethereal smile.

Ryo paused then realized what he meant, "Hey! Were you waiting on your ass on my account?"

Kaworu smiled wider, "It would have been cruel of me to leave you alone."

Ryo turned away, his pride diminished ever so slightly. Any other reply he might have had was drowned out by a long wailing train horn. Down the track came a golden light and rattling echo. A gilded white train rolled into their station and stopped. With a sigh, its doors opened. "Well, I guess you are leaving today," Kaworu commented.

Ryo approached it, apprehensive. This was it. No going back. Even if he felt unprepared, his soul must have known the truth. "Good luck!" Kaworu called behind him, having come to his feet for his farewell.

Ryo made his final decision and braced himself against the door. He called back, "Good luck to you too. Maybe I, er, maybe we'll get it right this time."

He turned and smiled, "I better not catch you here again!"

Kaworu was taken aback then laughed, "Alright, I'll try my best not to come back! I better not see you here again too!"

Ryo entered, a true smile on his face and the doors closed behind him. As the train left the station, he felt himself falling asleep. He hoped he woke up in a world where he and Akira could be happy.

Kaworu sighed but the smile did not leave his face. Despite his fear of failure, he felt his own silvery train would arrive soon. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get it right this time as well.

[pomrania]

Ash, part 1

((Most of this written some time autumn 2017, finished 15 January 2018. I have no idea where I’m going from here.))

People get too caught up with appearances, and necromancers are no exception. They're enthralled with the images of flesh and bone, a reflection of living bodies. The more ambitiously aggressive of them believe in the power of spear and sword, gleaming armour to protect organs which have long since rotted away. They have a picture of "power" and "conquest" that comes from martial ability, and defeating the opposing force on the battlefield.

  Amateurs.

  It took me weeks to animate a rat, when the other students managed it in hours. By the time I succeeded, its flesh had mostly fallen away, and the bones were thin and delicate. I accidentally snapped one of its legs in my excitement at finally seeing movement; it stumbled, unable to walk properly on the damaged limb, until I mended the bone with some wire.

  I kept the rat. I call it Fitzie. It isn't particularly useful, not as others would describe it, but it's entertaining to watch, and serves as a badge of my craft should any have doubt.

  I struggled with my studies for years, always a couple steps behind the other students, and only getting that close through intense effort. I understood the theory, and could explain it well to the others -- at times that was the only thing that kept me from getting kicked out, my payment notwithstanding -- but I never seemed able to properly apply it. It was like I was trying to lift a heavy weight.

  Then one night, I had a realization. That's exactly what it was. It was too heavy.

  I've been worked hard on little sleep, we all had. Corpses didn't move themselves before they were animated, supplies needed to be transferred to their destination, and time-sensitive rituals didn't care how long you'd already been awake. I know what it's like to be mentally and physically exhausted, when simply raising an arm seems as unattainable as scaling the western mountains with just a blanket and a loaf of bread. I've felt it in myself, and I've seen it in others, and it looks a lot like how my corpses barely moved.

  Life and undeath both require the same three things: a spirit, a body, and a connection. With necromancy, we provide that connection. It was the first lesson we were taught. That connection is what allows a spirit to animate their body. The stronger the connection, the more that can be moved.

  Maybe I wasn't a very good necromancer in some aspects, but I excelled at others -- not just theory, but also the practical work of preparing a corpse, and the various levels of commands that make the undead ready to act instead of lying inert -- and once I can identify a problem, I'm intelligent enough to work around it.

  My first experiments with small animals, while I continued my other studies, were less than encouraging. Sure, their bodies weighed less, but their spirits were also weaker. I could reanimate them, Fitzie was proof of that, but it was hard. Skeletons were easier than mostly-intact bodies, but it took an accident for me to get from those points, to my solution.

  To train necromancers, a lot of corpses are required to practice on. Not all of them are successfully animated, and even if they were, there's neither reason nor room to keep every single one. We had an arrangement with the semi-local pyromancer and her students: we would provide labour for the upkeep of their grounds -- the undead don't fear getting caught in a conflagration, while most living labourers do -- and in return, they would incinerate our excess corpses. There wasn't any real schedule to the burning days; it all depended on when everyone was available, road conditions, and if any ritual-important times were coming up.

  The day that everything changed for me, I hadn't known it was a burning day. I'd been experimenting with partial reanimation, with only partial success. I took a chicken's head from the disposal pile, stripped as much of the flesh as I easily could, and set about trying to get it to move, without the rest of its body.

  Maybe the scent of burning should have warned me, but I've yet to meet a practicing necromancer with anything more than a rudimentary sense of smell; between decay and preservative chemicals and everything else, our noses tend to shut down in self-defense. While I prepared for my third attempt at animating the chicken skull, its body was nearby being reduced to ashes. Then, on that third try, I noticed it: a faint swirl of dust at first, which could easily just be my imagination, but that increased as a breeze stirred up the ashes, and allowed them to travel to where I'd called that weak chicken spirit.

  It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I gazed at it, entranced, as the ashes slowly formed the shape of the chicken's body, like pouring powder into an invisible mould.

  I reached out to touch it, then drew my hand back -- I didn't want to disturb it -- but it was too late. I had made contact, and the form dissolved under my touch, and my hopes dropped. But then -- but then! -- the ash danced back up again, regaining its former shape.

  My experiment had lapsed into a neutral state, with no directions, when I became distracted. Hesitantly, I set a simple command again: move.

  The beak might or might not have twitched. I didn't notice. But the body, that body composed of ash and dust, it moved. Directionless scrambling, and anchored by the weight of the skull on the ground. But it was the same motions I'd seen the other students get, and which up to then I had only managed with difficulty.

  I tried setting a more specific command. Maybe the level of control was different, with the unusual body. The wings should be able to move freely, unhindered by the weight, so I set them to flap.

  It complied immediately.

  Every command I set, it worked, within the physical constraints of the dust chicken being attached to a skull which it couldn't lift. It was so easy! I barely had to think it, and it happened.

  I picked up the skull, and the body came with it, suspended as if it had the normal weight of a chicken. No longer against the ground, it looked like a cloud, if a cloud could have coherent form. I touched it with my free hand, and it fell apart where I'd made contact; moved my hand away, and it sprang back into shape.

  I peered closer at it, examining how it moved and what it looked like and how the dust swirled at a touch. I wanted to carve it all into my memory, because I knew that this time, it had worked, and I didn't know if or when I would be able to get that again.

  While absorbed by my unexpected success, I had lost track of time. I noticed the positions of the shadows, and realized that I needed to leave soon.

  If my discovery was truly important and useful, I would be able to replicate it. There was no point in holding on to that one first experiment, or so I thought at the time.

  I unravelled the connection I had created, the one between the chicken spirit and its head and ashes. That part had always come easy to me. With nothing holding it in place, the body fell apart, and I was left with ash on my clothes, and an inanimate skull in my hand.

  I brushed the ash off, as much as I could, and tossed the skull into the much-reduced disposal pile.

  The rest of my day continued as normal, at least from an outside perspective. In my mind, I was full of energy, and busy planning my next experiments.

[newstfionline]

In San Diego, Lessons on Rebuilding From a Neighborhood Once Ravaged by Fire

By Jennifer Medina, NY Times, Dec. 10, 2017

SAN DIEGO--When the scent of smoke from wildfires in the nearby hills began wafting through the San Diego air once again last week, residents in Scripps Ranch immediately thought back to 2003, when hundreds of homes burned to the ground.

They remembered watching television from shelters or friends’ houses to try to figure out whether their own house had gone up in flames. They recalled returning home to nothing but a pile of roof shingles and a solitary tin box. If they were lucky enough to have a door to unlock, they opened it to find ash raining down from the ceilings.

As they have for years, local residents eye the towering Eucalyptus trees that shade their streets with dread over their explosively flammable branches. They grimace each time they see a wooden fence in the neighborhood, thinking of it as a Roman candle that could shoot flames onto a nearby home.

Nearly 15 years after a wildfire incinerated more than 300 homes in this suburban neighborhood north of downtown San Diego, the vivid and often bitter memories of destruction and rebuilding come flooding back every time they hear about a fire in California. Before then, they never considered the possibility that a wildfire could eviscerate their cul-de-sacs.

Now, every time a fire gets within 100 miles--as it did again this week--residents ready a box with important documents, bottles of medication and copies of treasured photographs. They once again found themselves glued to the news, watching with the knowing sorrow that only survivors have.

A few refuse to talk about the fire, saying they cannot relive those days. Everyone here describes a rebuilding that took years. They say there is no way to predict precisely what will be most challenging for the thousands of California residents whose lives have been upended by fires this year.

“You’re having to make a lot of very big decisions financially and otherwise at a time when your mind is kind of reeling,” said Paula Baker, whose home on Pinecastle Street was destroyed in 2003. To receive insurance money, she recalled, she had to figure out how many T-shirts were in her drawers and what canned goods had been in her cupboard. “It was exhausting.”

More than 8,500 firefighters were battling six blazes across Southern California on Sunday. The largest, the Thomas fire, remained out of control and made its way from Ventura into Santa Barbara County, burning more than 230,000 acres and 750 buildings. Officials ordered evacuations in parts of the wealthy coastal towns of Carpinteria and Montecito and warned that all residents should be prepared to flee.

The fire in northern San Diego County had been 60 percent contained by Sunday morning, but officials said that strong winds could easily rekindle the flames. After touring Ventura on Saturday, Gov. Jerry Brown blamed climate change for the growth and strength of wildfires.

“This could be something that happens every year or every few years,” he said. “We’re about ready to have firefighting at Christmas.”

It will not be the first holiday tinged by smoke at St. Gregory the Great, a Catholic church in Scripps Ranch. In 2003, an early Sunday Mass ended with cellphones buzzing as people realized their homes were in the path of the fast-moving fire. Many fled their homes assuming they would be back within hours, but instead were forced out for weeks. The church soon became a hub for victims, as volunteers set up dozens of tents in the parking lot to hand out clothes, food, baby bottles, anything that might be useful. One volunteer batted down the idea of giving out Christmas trees, since many people had no place to put them.

The 2003 fire eventually burned more than 280,000 acres, destroyed more than 2,200 houses and killed 15 people in San Diego County, one of the largest wildfires in state history. It hopscotched across and within neighborhoods, scorching some homes while leaving others untouched.

“We wanted a sense of normalcy as soon as possible,” said Cynthia Collins, who considers her family of seven blessed because their home suffered only smoke damage. “But we might have tried too quickly. It’s not the same normal.”

Ms. Collins said that she saw relationships of dozens of her neighbors destroyed in the aftermath of the fire, as they argued over what rebuilt homes would look like or whether residents with wood fences were to blame. Many couples divorced under the stress, she said, and she blames the lingering impact of the smoke for children and young adults suffering from cancer. She anxiously thought of it again this week, coughing on smoke just days after doctors said a lump in her daughter’s thyroid was benign.

Like others, Ms. Collins had thought of her home within city limits as completely safe. Her season of dread stretches longer and longer, as fires during the winter months become more common. She has vowed to never use wood on her property and urges other residents to do the same, but many have moved in since the fire and may not feel so vulnerable.

The rebuilding here took years; in 2005 an article in the local newspaper found that just a third of residents whose homes were destroyed had moved back. In Scripps Ranch, the reconstruction drastically altered the landscape, turning single-story ranch homes into mini-mansions with turrets and Italian-style stone décor.

After Jim Kuhlken, a landscape architect, learned that his recently renovated house had burned to the ground along with about 50 others on his block, he came up with a plan to hire one builder for as many homes in the neighborhood as possible. His pitch was simple: “If we can do this as a group, we can do it a lot cheaper.”

Today, his 3,200-square-foot craftsman-style house includes his favorite addition: a courtyard with a fountain, a trellis and two Adirondack chairs. His then 15-year-old daughter helped decorate and later became an interior designer.

Dan Luka remembers the relief he felt when he signed with the developer that Mr. Kuhlken had helped arrange. It meant he could build a larger home with the same amount of insurance money and make fewer decisions--the kind of advice he would offer anyone starting to recover now.

“And install internal sprinklers,” he added with a bit of a grim chuckle. “Before the threat of fire was kind of academic. Today, I see everything as a potential fuse.”

Now, he feels his blood pressure rise every time he sees flames on television, smells even a whiff of smoke or hears helicopters overhead--just as he has for the last week.

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

Hi! It's my birthday on March 24, I'd love some AgeGap! Smut. Thank you so much for doing this, each and every story is a gift!

Happiest of birthdays, @mysteriouslysizzlingthing!! Your birthday delight was crafted by the amazing and creative @peetabreadgirl (who also sent along the gif above!) We hope you enjoy!

When it’s Right, Part 2

(part one is here)

rated M

Since Peeta had thrown caution out the window and kissed Katniss that day in her classroom, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. He dreamt of it at night, thought about it during class time when he should have been focused on teaching. But only when he was alone did he allow his mind to be consumed by more than kissing. And it went wild.

What was the rule again for sex? It had been so long since he’d needed to know. Was it three dates or five, he wondered. Ten? God, he hoped not.

They’d taken things very slowly since then, and that was a big part of Peeta’s problem. He had a new vibrant, young, incredibly attractive girlfriend, but there hadn’t been time for more than a few stolen kisses on their breaks now that Peeta was coaching an outside soccer league with games on the weekends and Katniss was helping the music department get ready for the spring program after school. They rarely saw each other in private due to their crazy schedules and they were already several weeks into the relationship, but they only had a few dates under their belts.

For the first month there hadn’t been a lunch they hadn’t shared, or a night they hadn’t talked on the phone until the wee hours of morning. He hadn’t run on three hours of sleep since college, but being with Katniss made him feel like a teenager again.

Peeta had been thankful at first so that he could sort out his feelings about their age difference - fifteen years was a lot to get over. But now that he’d gotten used to it he found himself wanting more. The conversations they had during their respective conference periods were amazing and with every word he fell harder for Katniss. But if he had to go another hour without being able to touch someplace other than her arm or hold something besides her hand, he was going to physically explode. Which was why he was avoiding her today.

Her conference period came and went, and he didn’t call on his aid to take over. It felt like the longest forty minutes of his life. He was torn between wanting to sprint there every five minutes and stand his ground for his own sanity. It was those warring thoughts that kept him from realizing he hadn’t let her know he wasn’t coming until it was too late.

Instead of texting him, she showed up at his classroom during his own conference period.

Peeta looked up from his desk when he sensed someone in his doorway. His heart leaped at the sight of her, beautiful in a pale orange blouse and a dark blue pencil skirt, and then tumbled with the knowledge that he’d have to hide a hard on for his last two classes of the day.

“Hey,” she said timidly, and he felt horrible. He knew he’d hurt her, and it hadn’t been his intention at all but distance seemed to be the only thing that would keep him from ripping her clothes off.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come over or text. I’m just, um, struggling a little today.” A look of concern flashed across her face and she made her way over to him, stopping in front of his desk.

“What’s wrong?” When he didn’t answer right away she asked, “Can I help?”

It wasn’t the time or the place to tell her how she could help, and the longer he thought about what to say, the longer the silence dragged on between them because he had no appropriate workplace words to describe why he was avoiding her. His head snapped up as she stepped back, her eyes growing wider with each placement of her feet away from him. The look on her face could have crushed him.

“Are you… breaking up with me?”

“No!” Peeta flew out of his seat, sending his chair backwards hard enough to bang the wall. and rounded the desk to stand in front of her. He couldn’t break up with her even if he wanted to. Not after these last few weeks of finding out who Katniss Everdeen really was. The smart, sweet, funny, sexy girl he could see himself falling in love with, and he imagined if - when - they went any further physically he’d be a goner for sure.

“Of course I’m not breaking up with you,” he assured her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and smoothed them down the soft skin of her arms, and God help him, that gesture alone almost tented his pants. He dropped his hands and stepped back to get himself under control. “I’m just having a hard time being around you is all.”

Her expression turned to confusion.

“That’s not what I mean,” he clarified, wondering when he lost his way with words. He was never at a loss for something to say.

“Can you explain it then? Because it sounded like my boyfriend can’t stand to be around me.”

Peeta sighed deeply before saying, “It’s… you… look like that.” He put his arms out in front of him and gestured from her head to her feet. “And I’m… like this.” He put his fist in his mouth and bit down a little too hard on his knuckle. “And I just want to…” his hands motioned between them, “but we haven’t seen each other enough and I feel like this could go really fast and I don’t know if you’re ready but I wanna jump into the deep end and never come up for air.”

He hadn’t looked directly at her during his dumb speech, preferring instead to focus on a safe region like her fingernails, or the wall behind her but seeing her now, leaning back to rest against the edge of the desk behind her, her hands reaching back as a prop, was undoing him quickly. Her silver eyes were smoldering, helping to incinerate his resolve piece by piece. He watched her eyes flicker over him and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. She cocked her head to the side and Peeta’s eyes went to the smooth skin of her neck before being drawn away by her moving lips.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Whether she meant to be seductive or not, she was so damn sexy it took everything he had not to lay her back on the desk right there in his classroom. He made quick work of disposing the annoying gap between them, fast enough that the desk slid backwards on the smooth floor. Peeta chased her lips with his as the desk continued to slide, knocking other desks off kilter until there was no place left for it to go, finally hitting the wall, the force of it crushing their bodies together.

Katniss instinctively grabbed onto Peeta’s shoulders and arched into him. He mashed his lips against hers, all of his frustration from not being able to be with her surfacing in a growl as his hands moved from the edge of the desk to her waist. When she bit down on his bottom lip, he tugged her hips into his with a grunt. She pulled back, drawing in a sharp breath and when their eyes locked he knew she felt the effect she was having on him.

Peeta watched Katniss’s eyes scan the room quickly. “There,” she demanded, pointing over his shoulder. He turned his head to follow the direction, his eyes drifting across her smooth olive skin. He couldn’t wait to kiss every inch of her.

His gaze landed on the door to his small supply closet. There was no way he was going to have sex with her for the first time in there, but at least they’d be able to have some privacy for whatever it was they were about to do. And he sincerely hoped it ended sans him re-emerging with a raging hard on.

He released his hold on her, hating every hasty step they made toward the closet that he didn’t have her in his arms.

Katniss went in first, Peeta hot on her heels and as soon as the door was closed, she was on him, pushing him up against it, attacking his lips with her own. Her hands found the strands of hair he carefully styled every morning to look messy, her fingers weaving in and out. Ironically, he’d probably walk out of there with bed head even though there wasn’t a bed. How he wished they were in his room at home right now where he could lay her down and crawl over her body, worship her for the goddess she was.

He couldn’t keep his hands from wandering anymore, and he found the top button of her blouse, slipping the first, then the second and third discs through the material with ease. He slid his hand inside to cup her breast over her bra, but it wasn’t close enough. He wanted to feel her warm skin against his palm, so he tugged the material up and smoothed his hand over her mound. He groaned. It felt like heaven.

“Is this okay?” he asked, forgetting himself in the excitement.

“More than okay,” she panted against his mouth, neither one willing to break their heated kiss.

“I want you so badly. You have no idea.”

Katniss rocked her hips against Peeta’s, eliciting another groan, this one louder than the previous. “I think I do.”

When she slipped her hands from his hair and glided them down his chest, headed straight for the button of his pants, he realized how far she wanted to take this and he stopped her. “You first.” He reached down to the hem of her skirt and tugged the tight material up over her hips. “Holy fuck,” he breathed when he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. “Do you always teach like this?” If so, he was re-enrolling in ninth grade science.

“No panty lines,” she said as he turned her around, pulling her back against him. He held her with one arm pressed against her chest while the other snaked down her smooth thigh, then up between her legs, cupping her mound before slipping his finger through her folds. Her head fell back on his shoulder and she moaned into the dimly lit space. He could smell her arousal mixed with the scent of peaches and vanilla he’d come to associate with her and he knew he’d never eat a peach or take a lick of vanilla ice cream with any kind of innocent thoughts from then on.

He worked her quickly, with soft flicks of his finger against her clit until she was shaking in his arms with the force of her orgasm. He had to lift his hand from her breast and gently clasp it over her mouth to cover her loud moans. She bit down on his finger as her body writhed against his but he didn’t care. He just held her until it was over.

“I can’t wait to have my mouth on you,” he whispered into her ear as she leaned limply against him. Katniss whimpered her approval. “I think I might be too sick to coach soccer today.” He touched her forehead with his hand. “And you feel a little warm. I think you shouldn’t be around kids after school. You should go home and let me come take care of you.”

Peeta tipped her chin up and to the side so he could capture her lips in a kiss. She hummed her agreement against his mouth and turned in his arms, pressing her body into his and when she moved her hands to his pants it wasn’t him that stopped her, but the bell announcing the period was over and students would be flooding his classroom soon.

“Shit,” he hissed, looking down at the major bulge he was sporting. Dark pants and all, there was no hiding how much he liked Miss Everdeen. “You better go,” he said, even though he wanted nothing less in life. He might even take an amputated leg over Katniss leaving him right then.

They both knew she needed to be at least out of the closet before anyone came into the room, so she hastily smoothed down her skirt and rebuttoned her blouse. “I’ll see you tonight,” she told him before slipping out of the closet.

He had a little time before he had to be out there, but the smell of her still lingered in the tiny room. He needed to get to his desk quickly and sit down. Possibly for the entire class period.

He peeked out the door and, noting the coast was clear, high-tailed it to his chair just as the first few students trickled in.

“Hey, Mr. Mellark,” one of his students greeted him. “Are you okay? You look sick.”

No truer words. He was definitely sick and getting sicker by the minute. Love sick for Katniss Everdeen, and if there was a cure he didn’t want to know about it.

[shadow-wasser]

WIP Fic Whenever: Atlamorphs 9

WIP Fic Friday Whenever is a place where I will put a ‘quick and dirty’ first draft of either a short story or a chapter from a longer story. This will hopefully encourage me to improve my writing output. An Animorphs/Avatar: the Last Airbender Crossover. Yes it’s strange.

Hard Rock

Here’s how it probably happened:

The people of Kyoshi were walking around, just living their lives. The excitement of the Avatar’s visit was fading, even with the local fans. Oyaji was probably doing something governmental… or maybe seeing to the training of a new batch of warriors, seeing as Suki’s squad had left.

Anyway, a man knocked on the door, came in, and started asking lots of questions. Questions about the Avatar. Oyagi didn’t know the man, which was weird in such a small town, and grew suspicious. He told the man to leave. The man pulled the usual line, that he was working for great spirits, and the island could benefit from an alliance. Oyagi, remembering Aang’s warning, told him to leave again, this time more firmly. The man told him that the consequences of ignoring him would be severe. At this point, Oyagi may have reached for a weapon.

So, the man shot him with a Dracon beam.

While he was stunned, the man forced a Yeerk into the mayor’s ear. The Yeerk read his memories, and determined that the Avatar had recently been there, had taken great interest in a piece of metal that the Yeerk recognized as Andalite in origin, and then suddenly appeared in the company of a Water Tribe youth everyone described as ‘bizarre.’ They would also know that he was now heading to Gaoling.

Within the week, a Yeerk Pool would be set up in a hollowed-out hill. Within the month, every person on Kyoshi Island would be a controller.

Now, I’m not sure about this. I wasn’t there, and by the time the rumor mill told me that Kyoshi had opened its borders to refugees, we had almost reached Ba Sing Se.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

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

“So,” I said. “You were attacked by the Yeerks, in space, and dropped out of space and landed in the ocean? And you’re the only survivor?”

(Yes,) replied Aximili. (The others were in fighters or the main part of the ship.)

“You weren’t with them?”

(I… I am young. Too young for battle, by the laws of our people.)

“We’re young too,” said Aang. “We’re just kids. But we have to fight, however we can. We don’t have a choice.”

(That is brave of you.)

We hadn’t had much chance to just talk to Aximili, after rescuing him. We’d been around people, most of the time, and he had to act like a human. Our cousin Aksi, Katara and I had said. Our… mentally challenged cousin.

We left Kyoshi pretty quick after what he did to our dinner.

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

“Rice! Ri-suh! Fish ish ish issssssssshhhh. Nooooooodles!”

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

Yeah, that hadn’t been pretty. I’m pretty sure he still thinks soy sauce is a drink.

(This is a fascinating creature,) said Aximili, one stalk eye looking down at Appa from his place in the saddle. I can’t even tell you how weird it was to have him sitting in the saddle like that, as if he was a normal person, only blue and with four legs. (How does it fly without wings?)

“Oh, Appa can airbend,” said Aang cheerfully. “Sky bison were the original source of airbending, you know.”

(I do not understand.)

“Yeah, I don’t get it either,” I confessed. “Nothing about bending makes much sense. I mean, how much does Appa weigh?”

(What is ‘bending?’)

Aang stared. “You don’t know?”

(It is not a phrase I recognize.)

“Oh, well, I’m an airbender…”

“And I’m a waterbender,” spoke up Katara. She uncorked her waterskin and drew out stream of water that hovered in midair. ���See?”

Now, all four of Aximili’s eyes were focused on Katara. (Fegul,) he said. (I learned about these things in school, but I did not realize you were capable of it.)

“Does no one in your world bend?” asked Aang. “How do you survive?” He was staring at Aximili like he had no head (well, Aximili already looked pretty strange, but you get the point).

I frowned, insulted. Katara had been the only bender in the South Pole, and we’d been getting along fine (okay, sorta not, but we had lots of problems other than no benders). I mean, it wasn’t like bending was the only thing keeping civilization together! And to be honest, I sometimes felt that bending caused more problems than it was worth.

(Only very primitive sentient species have been known to use fegul,) explained the Andalite. (And even then not always. Andalites may have at one point, but we have long abandoned it.)

I bristled. Again with the ‘primitive’ thing! What was the matter with this guy? Just because we didn’t have ships that traveled in space didn’t mean we were primitive!

“Hey, we’re not-”

“Why would you abandon bending?” interrupted Katara, sounding disturbed.

(The use of feagul allows Ellimists to control you,) explained Aximili, like he was talking to a baby, or someone really slow. (It indebts you to them. It is better to be free from such beings.)

“Ellimists?” wondered Aang.

(Beings of great power.) For once, Aximili’s voice seemed to hold a bit of humility. (The laws of reality, of time and space, are as nothing to them. They often manipulate other species to their own ends.)

“Do you mean spirits?” asked Aang.

(You may call them that.)

Manipulate other species to their own ends. I was reminded, unpleasantly, of the story of Princess Yue’s birth, of how the Moon Spirit saved her life. Only to have her give it back.

The spirit’s gesture didn’t seem so altruistic anymore.

I rubbed my chin and thought. Bending, binding you to spirits? Or spirits to you… Hei Bai, terrorizing a town for something the Fire Nation did… The Ocean Spirit, destroying an entire fleet of ships… Aang’s description of Koh the Face-stealer…

What would life be like, without spirits? Aximili seemed to know.

“But you need spirits to keep the balance!” Aang was insisting. “They’re what keep the world the way it is!”

Aximili looked at him with huge green eyes. (Have you never wanted the world to change?)

Aang and Katara exchanged a glance. “Of course we want the world to change… for the better,” Katara said. “But interfering with spirits only brings pain.”

(A common primitive belief,) said Axmili dismissively.

Aang began to look angry. “Look, there was this admiral, Zhao, who thought that spirits were going to get in his way. So he tried to kill one. But that went really badly. For him and for everyone.”

“Anyway,” said Katara. “There’s Aang, too. He’s the bridge between the mortal and the spirit worlds. He’ll be able to help if the spirits try to control us.”

Aang looked nervous at that last. “Right,” he said. “Yeah.”

(You are a link?)

“Yeah, I’m the Avatar,” Aang replied. “It means I can learn all four elements, and I need to keep the balance.”

“It also means he has to end the war,” I spoke up.

(The war against the Yeerks?)

I blinked. “Uh, no. The war against the Fire Nation.”

(You humans are at war amongst yourselves?)

“Basically, yeah.”

(Andalites have not fought each other for millennia.)

“Well, whoop de do for you,” I muttered.

“Tell us more about your world, Aximili,” said Katara, leaning forward as she changed the subject. “Are there no humans there?”

(No, none. It is a different planet.)

“What does it look like?” asked Aang.

Aximili closed his front eyes for a moment. (It is beautiful. It is open and full of grass, with miles and miles of space to run. There are three moons and two suns in the sky, which is painted with great works of art.)

“Wow,” said Katara. “You must miss it.”

(The memory reminds me why I fight,) said Aximili. (To protect it from the Yeerks’ desecration.)

I nodded. That made sense. After all, what do we fight for, if not to protect our homes? But something bothered me.

“What do you mean, ‘desecration?’ ”

The Andalite looked over at me. (You don’t know? The Yeerks would destroy our home utterly, if they could. As they destroy other worlds.)

“They destroy worlds?” gasped Aang. “How… how can they destroy worlds?”

(It is the usual Yeerk pattern. They remake the worlds they conquer to be barren like their own. They eliminate most of the species that are unnecessary to the survival of their hosts, and remake the surface of the planet in their own foul image.)

Aang looked aghast, Katara looked disturbed, and I have to admit, the idea of destroying every other species in the world was pretty distasteful.

“That’s horrible,” said Aang. “You mean all the animals…”

(Yes. And most of the plant life as well. You truly did not know this?)

“No…” whispered Aang. “I had no idea.”

I swallowed. They destroy whole worlds… and we’d seen what they did to people. How could we even hope to fight them? How could we defeat the Yeerks, when at the end of summer a comet was coming that would give the Fire Nation victory? Which was worse- enslavement or incineration?

Heh. Maybe, the Yeerks would defeat the Fire Nation for us.

Yeah. As if that would help.

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

I can’t say exactly what it was about that bag. It was very spacious, and I liked the cloth and- oh screw it. I just plain liked it. It was very well crafted, and had a price to match.

Gaoling, we had been relieved to see, was a normal town, with normal Earth Kingdom people in it. We stopped to spend some of the money we’d gotten in Kyoshi on supplies, and the bag caught my eye.

As I hemmed and hawed over it, I was interrupted by Aximili, or rather, I should say our cousin ‘Aksi.’

“What is that smell? Smell-luh?”

“Oh, they’re street vendors!” said Aang enthusiastically. “They sell food. We could get some, if you’re hungry.”

Now, that was enough to distract me. “No food for Aksi, Aang. Remember what happened last time?”

“No food fuh ood?”

“No. Not for you.” I sighed. “You know, maybe I won’t get the bag. It’s really too expensive.”

“Then don’t,” said Katara, and turned to leave with Aang and ‘Aksi.’

I gave the bag one last look as we left, thinking of its yellow inlay and felt sides. Then, I ran back. These opportunities don’t come twice, after all!

I shouldn’t have left them alone.

“Mmmm! MM! What is this is isssssssss?”

“They’re candied ginkgo nuts, young man.”

“MMMMMM! It is the greatest taste!”

The vendor laughed. “Now, this boy has a healthy appetite!”

I ran up to the food stall, where Aximili was gorging himself on the nuts like it was going out of fashion. “Hey! Hey, uh, Aksi! Aksi, what did I tell you about food?” I grabbed the stupid Andalite’s shoulders and steered him away from the stall, his cheeks and fists full of nuts like he was a squirrel-lizard or something.

“Eh-hem?” said the vendor, holding out his hand.

Groaning in exasperation at the world, I sighed and plunked a few coppers into his palm. Why did I have to be stuck cleaning up after Aximili?

“Aksi, what happened to Aang and Katara?”

“’ey wet o’er ‘o shpee’ wit’ ‘ak ‘wahn,” garbled Aximili with his mouth full. He pointed.

I looked up. Aang and Katara were down at the end of the street, talking with a widely smiling man next to a big sign that said: ‘FIND YOUR PEACE, JOIN THE SHARING TODAY.’

“-teachers?” the man was saying as I walked over with Aximili. “Well, many prominent earthbenders are members. Have you perhaps heard of Master Yu? He is one of our chairmen. I’m sure he can help you with anything you need, bending-wise.”

“That would be great!” said Aang. “How can I speak with him?”

“Come to one of our meetings,” said the man with a wink. “He’s sure to be there. We’ll be meeting tomorrow night at the earthbending school for food and drinks. We might even get some local dizi and guqin players to come play some ballads. It’ll be a lot of fun. What do you say?”

Aang and Katara exchanged an excited look. “Sounds great,” said Aang.

The man handed them a few flyers, and they walked up to me, smiling. “So, what was all that about?” I asked.

“He’s in some kind of social group,” said Katara. “He said they bring people together to try and solve their problems. It’s apparently pretty widespread in this part of the Earth Kingdom.”

“And we thought it would be a great way to meet some earthbenders!” enthused Aang. “He said an earthbending master would be there.”

I shrugged, adjusting the strap on my new bag. “If you think it would be good, sure.”

“We’d better find an inn, if we’re going to be staying here for a while,” said Katara.

As we wandered around the town, looking for a good deal, we passed a tavern, a bunch of half-drunk young men milling around outside and blocking the road. “The Badgermole is totally gonna win!” one was saying. “I mean, he’s like, underground and stuff. No one can see where he is!”

“Psh, no. The Spider is where it’s at. Guy can climb.”

“Nah! Hippo can take ‘em all.”

We tried to weave our way through the sake-scented throng, which was becoming more boisterous by the second.

“Well, we’ll see tonight!”

“To the Boulder!”

“To Earth Rumble Five!”

“It’s Six.”

“What are they talking about?” wondered Aang.

Aximili sniffed the air. “What is that sme-lluh?”

“I don’t know, and NO, Aksi!”

Aang walked up to a red-faced man. “Excuse me, but what’s the Earth Rumble Six?”

The man blinked. “It’s only the greatest earthbending tournament in the Southern Earth Kingdom!”

Aang and I exchanged a glance. “So, a lot of really good earthbenders will be there?”

“Only the best!”

“Like the Leopard-Monkey! He ROCKS!” spoke up another man.

Aang smiled. “So… where is this Earth Rumble, exactly?”

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

“The way I see it,” Aang had said. “We can look for an earthbending master both at Earth Rumble and at the Sharing meeting.”

“We're really lucky that there's so many earthbenders here,” said Katara, and Aang nodded in agreement.

Me, I was pretty excited about this earthbending tournament. I’d never really seen earthbenders go at it before… or at least not in a not-deadly-to-life-and-limb way. I grinned. This would be so. Cool.

And it was. Really cool. I mean. The Boulder lost, which was seriously disappointing (that guy was awesome!), and I had to drag Aximili away from the vendors, but Aang thought he might have found an earthbending teacher, though she showed no interest in teaching him. And I got a belt to match my bag, which was sweet.

Oh, and we got rich, too. Can’t forget that.

So, overall a good evening.

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

“How is the cherry crop this year?”

“This pork is delicious.”

“This is so fun! Why didn’t you ever tell me about the Sharing before?”

“-so then I said, ‘Well, don’t go bending over backwards for me!’ Ha ha, get it?”

The chatter of the partygoers surrounded us, as the citizens of Gaoling socialized, danced, and ate dim sum. And that guy was right. The pork was delicious.

“Dim sum! Dim dim dim di-muh summmmmmmmmmm!”

I guess Aximili agreed.

“How do you think they afford all this?” wondered Katara, staring around the courtyard as she sipped some tea.

“I can answer that,” said a voice. We turned to see a man with long, dark hair, a thin mustache, and a narrow goatee. “The Sharing's events are run on funds generously donated by the Bei Fong estate.”

We stared, and the man laughed. “My apologies, I did not mean to interrupt or eavesdrop. But Han told me that some children were here looking for earthbending lessons.”

“Yeah, that’s me!” said Aang, adjusting his hat. “I really need an earthbending teacher.”

The man smiled. “My name is Master Yu. I would be happy to help you. New students are always appreciated in my dojo. And I’ll tell you what.” He leaned in, and I swallowed my food. “If you decide to become full members of the Sharing, I’ll throw in the first few lessons free!”

“Full members?” wondered Katara. “What does that mean?”

“Yeah,” I interjected. “How much does it cost?”

Master Yu winked. “No cost. It’s free! All it requires is becoming a part of our larger purpose, helping people overcome their problems and find inner peace.”

Aang blinked. “Well, actually, I was wondering if you knew where I might find an earthbender called The Blind Bandit?”

Master Yu paused. “I am not familiar with anyone who goes by that title. And in fact… that sounds like a stage name for one of the underground tournament fighters.” Yu’s lip curled slightly. “The underground fights will be abolished soon.”

I stared, horrified. “Abolished? But- but they’re awesome!”

“They are not conductive to a healthy, productive society. You’ll be much better off with us. We can offer community support and structure.”

“Well, maybe,” said Aang. “I’ll think about it.”

“Of course. Please, don’t feel pressured. Enjoy yourselves tonight! Still, my offer stands.”

Master Yu gave another wink, then turned to go greet someone else.

“Well,” I said. “That was weird.”

“Yeah,” agreed Aang. “He was nice, but I don’t think he’s the teacher for me. He sounded like he was selling something.”

“Yeah, well, it feels like everyone here is selling something,” I muttered. “What an idiot! I can’t believe they’re going to shut down the Boulder!”

“You guys are being too harsh,” said Katara. “They’re trying to help people! And we might just not be able to find this Blind Bandit.”

Aang sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just train with Master Yu.”

Aximili walked up then from the buffet, clutching his stomach. “Prince Sokka, I think that my body has been poisoned.”

Katara quickly withdrew the water from her cup of tea and pressed it to Aximili’s stomach. After a moment, she withdrew it and shook her head. “You just ate too much. You have a stomach ache. Some tea will help.”

“Sto-mach ache,” said Aximili. “I did not know there was a limit to food that can be consumed.”

I slapped my hand to my forehead. I mean, I love eating, but even I knew that!

Then, I saw Aang, who was staring open-mouthed at the cup Katara held. I followed his gaze, and saw that the porcelain was imprinted with green curlicues, surrounding the shape of a winged boar.

“That symbol…” Aang said. “It looks exactly like my swamp vision.”

Katara looked up from getting Aximili some tea. “It does?”

I frowned and stroked my chin. The teacup, and all the food, had come from the Bei Fong estate. What if there was a connection?

Aang was thinking along the same lines. “We’ll check out the Bei Fongs. Maybe they know something.”

Katara nodded. “And if worst comes to worst, we can always take lessons from Master Yu.”

Aximili took a giant gulp of tea. “Ah! Ah ah hot hot!”

I sighed.

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

The next evening, we knocked on the door to the Bei Fong estate. A servant opened it, and smiled widely. “Welcome to the Bei Fong manor, Avatar Aang and companions. It is an honor to have you here, though it is on short notice.”

“Yes, well, I’m happy to be here.”

“The Lady and Master are going to dine soon. Would you care to join them?”

“Sure!” I spoke up. “That would be great.”

I had to admit, this was a much nicer welcome than our foray onto the estate that morning had been, when the Blind Bandit, or rather Toph, had earthbended us onto our faces, then called the guards on us. Yes, a fancy dinner was much better.

It was delicious, and as Aang made small talk with the Bei Fongs, I took full advantage of the spread. I mean, on the road it’s hard to get such nice meals! Who wouldn’t go to town? Not me, and I guess not Aximili either.

The food was so good. Incredibly good. Why, I was already feeling sleepy and full, even though I had barely begun to eat. So very, very sleepy and full…

As my limbs began to go slack, I realized something was wrong, but before I could yell out a warning, the world faded to black and I was gone.