#but my ability to recognize hearing 'milk' is just as quick as my ability to recognize 'gloomy' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

league-of-thots · 4 years ago

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YeeHawks

Pairing: Hawks x female reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, riding, is cowboy kink a warning?

A/N: not the way y’all wanted me to return, but the way y’all deserve lol. i didnt really have the energy to give it an in depth edit but sometimes it be like that

You wipe the sweat from your brow, the sun is high in the bright, cloudless sky. It means that the heat is just pouring down in waves from the sky though, and you curse the fact that you’d agreed to switch shifts with one of the other farmhands that had asked you the day before. Part of you wants to find Kirishima and reem him out, but you know he’s a sweetheart and wouldn’t have ever done something that would make things harder for you on purpose.

Having said that, imagining giving the man a piece of your mind makes it easier for you to grit your teeth and put your back into heaving large packets of grains into a wheelbarrow for the pigs, so that you wouldn’t have to make as many trips. Instead, it would just be one hellish trip, and a lot less walking in the heat.

Wiping the stray dirt on your pants you sigh. You feel sticky and can feel the grit on your face, on your arms. You must smell something fierce, though you know compared to the pigs you’d be feeding in a few minutes, you smelt like a bed of flowers.

You feel the strain on your back as you finally finish loading the wheelbarrow and start to haul it over to the south side of the Academy farm. The ground is rough, and you feel the jarring of the weight in your shoulders, you’re going to be so sore tomorrow.

After you finish feeding the pigs, you take the supplies back to where they belong and head off to start some of your final tasks of the day. One is milking the cows, and the other being your favourite, plowing some of the dirt to prepare for the new season.

Is it a bit stupidly cliché that you love riding the big tractor while the sun lowers in the sky? Maybe. Is it worth it? Absolutely. It’s one of the best views you’ve seen in your life. Plus, it always helps clear your mind from a day of hard work so that when you enter one of the farmhouses, you’re ready to do whatever else you need to get done.

When you park the tractor back to its spot in the barn, you see a few of the other farmhands talking together. They’re laughing with one another, and you wave to them as you walk out with your overcoat and keys.

You’re in a daze until you realize you’ve somehow already started up a warm shower, standing under the steam to relieve your body from the stress of the day. Your muscles feel so much better with the hot water on them and the steam makes you feel as if you’re in stasis. It’s good because tomorrow is going to be a big day, the August festival, a celebration that the community holds as a sort of last hurrah before the season gets busy once again.

After you’re clean and put together, you head downstairs to have a quick conversation with the couple other farmhands that share the house with you. You need to check if there’s anything else you need to do to help with the final preparations for tomorrow. The four of you had made some homebrew cider to share with the other townspeople, and it tasted quite good, despite being a little heavy on the alcohol. But nobody would be complaining about that, of course.

“Mmm, I think its fine.” Mina says, faced scrunched up in thought. “We did pretty well with it for sure.”

“I agree,” you reply. “Just wanted to make sure I could pass out for the night. I’m fucking dead.” She laughs a little at that.

“Gotta make sure you have the energy for tomorrow. I hear that it’s going to be extra wild.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You know that there’s going to be a horse-ridin’ performance from our sheriff’s department, but there’s also gonna be some cowboys over here to show off some of their skills too.”

You’re slightly intrigued at that. Maybe, you’ll even get to see him again… but, better not get your hopes up too much. Instead, you say, “That would definitely be a treat for all the hard work that this year’s been.”

Mina nods sagely at that. “If I see that blonde, twink of a cowboy I’m goin’ to make him my bitch. Because I deserve it.” That brings a snort out of you, but you pray a little for Denki if you do see him tomorrow, because lord knows he’s going to need it.

The two of you chat for a little while longer before you wish her a good night and head up to get some rest. You do have a busy day to get ready for after all.

You wake up early the next day, ready to quickly get your tasks done so you can let loose with friends and community members that night. You wish that you don’t have to do any work, but you can’t have everything you want.

So, you drag yourself out of bed, muscles tight and body sore, to quickly grab a protein bar and a cleaner pair of working clothes. Your overalls are starting to sport holes and there are some dark stains that just won’t ever come off. You need new ones, you think, as you walk towards the horse pen.

You love the horses, how sweet most of them are and how peaceful it is in their separated area. It’s especially nice in the early morning, with a crisp breeze and the sun peeking out on the horizon. You grab the feed mix that someone had mixed the day before and drag it over to the troughs, where there are already some of the animals waiting for you to arrive. The horses have learned to expect people in the morning, and some of the more assertive ones wait at the fence to be the first ones to get to eat.

While they feed, you prepare the cleaning tools inside the small stable that is connected to the fenced off pen. You take each horse that’s finished eating into the small shelter to clean their hooves, brush out their mane and body, and then your favourite part, riding them for a few laps of the enclosure to make sure they run a bit each day.

It’s while you’re dismounting a cute mare named Starlight when you hear a low whistle from behind you. Someone’s obviously been watching you, and sitting there just outside the enclosure.

“Damn, baby, wonder if you could ride me as good as those horses there.” You feel a vein ticking in your head as you recognize the voice. He’s supposed to be getting ready for the group event, not bothering you while you try to get some fucking work done before you can finally relax and celebrate.

You turn your body and inwardly groan as your suspicions are confirmed, sitting there waiting is a certain cowboy who’s always managed to piss you off greatly every time one of his short visits brings him to the UA farms.

“Hello, Hawks.” You grit your teeth as you move towards the next horse that you’re about to take care of.

“I’m wounded, really, that you don’t sound pleased ta see me, angel.” There’s a satisfied smirk on his face. He really does get off on toying around with you and seeing how much he can piss you off. So, you take a deep breath and calm yourself.

“Now, why would you expect anything different? I haven’t forgotten the last time you came aroun’-“

He waves you off. “You’re bein’ ridiculous. It was a harmless joke.”

“I had to clean the stables for TWO WEEKS.” He just laughs at your anger, totally unphased. It grinds your gears more, the cheeky grin on his face that charms everyone around him, whittling down your intense irritation.

“Well, if anythin’ everyone else certainly enjoyed it.” You grumble out some choice words about him, making sure they’re loud enough for him to here, as you start brushing out the mane of the mare in front of you. He seems pleased with himself, leaning on the fence, head on his hands.

“Do you not have somewhere to be? Something you should be practicing for?” He lazily waves away your attempts to get him away from the work you’d like to finish up.

“Who needs practice? I know exactly what I’ve gotta do so there’s no real reason for me to waste my energy before the actual performance.” He says it with a casual arrogance, that you know comes from years of experience and absolute confidence in his abilities. “The only thing I wanna do right now is try all of the good I know y’all made for the party tonight.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “Just because we know each other does not mean that I’m going to just give you the cider meant for the community.” He pouts “You can try it when everyone else does later.”

“Yeah, but we have a special connection.” He grins and you splutter, embarrassed and trying to put away the memories of your bodies pressed together and calloused fingers in your cunt.

“Jesus, Hawks. Shut up.” You look around furtively, checking to see if anyone would’ve overheard.

“You like me loud.” God, his smug look makes you feel hot and bothered.

“Get outta here so I can finish my work, damn it.” He just laughs, turning around before turning back.

“You better save me some of the goodies y’all made up for after the performance.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumble, face flushed and mind now distracted with memories of Hawks’ hands tangled in your hair.

“Well, now. This is delicious.” Your eyes follow his tongue that darts out to lick the drop of the cider that had dripped onto his lips. You’d made sure to fill a plate up with the treats that had been spread around the outdoor tables, lanterns hung up around them not only for ease of finding them, but also to light up the evening. “You helped make this?”

“Yup. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was between never having done it before and Mina’s enthusiasm. God bless Momo, without her we wouldn’t have gotten it done.” He laughs, and you can’t help that you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

He was slightly sweaty from his earlier performance, which had been perfectly executed, tank top tucked into worn jeans with a feather-like buckle. His eyes are scanning the crowd around as the two of you lean on the outside of the saloon, the inside being too filled with inebriated or high adults to even try to squeeze into a seat.

“So, how’s life been around here since I last visited?” he asks between bites of some spicey brisket, obviously enjoying it.

“Ah, not much. Just the usual social drama. Actually, Shinsou almost got his dick sliced off by some machinery someone had fucked around with. I swear to god that man has the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

“Holy shit, sure does sound like it.”

“But yeah, it’s just living day to day for me now. Not much new happens out here, as you very well know.” He shrugs.

“Might as well see. What’s even keeping you here, then?”

“Not everyone needs to be on the road their whole life to be happy, Hawks.”

“I suppose. More cider?”

“Sure.”

You’ve drank way too much, you know that. But the fuzziness in your head just makes you want to keep going, to have fun and make up for all the time you lose working long hours every day.

Besides, Hawks is there beside you, egging you on and matching you drink for drink. His hands always seem to be on your body, either squeezing your ass, wrapped around your shoulders or waist. It makes you feel warm, and you know he’s teasing you, trying to rile you up. He wants to see how bothered he can make you before you snap and drag him off to some private place.

You’re determined to beat him out though. So, you lean into his body space and trace your hands over his arms, the insides of his wrists. You hear his breath hitch, though his attention is kept on whatever conversation is happening in front of you.

Of course, this is Hawks, who has just as much patience as a saint, despite being as far from one as possible. But you’re drunk and turned on and the teasing is too much for you to handle, so when there’s a brief pause in the activity around the two of you, you pull him down so you can whisper in his ear how much you want him.

He grins, “Might as well head back to your place then.” You agree and drag him with you.

The moment you’re in the house, you wrap your arms around his neck so you can bring his lips to yours. Its messy and rushed, but it’s relieving at the same time. The two of you have done this enough in the few times that he passes through that he’s comfortable enough to let you take charge for a bit.

“You can’t even wait ‘til we’re upstairs, sugar?” he chuckles, drawing out each word. You feel the rumble of them, pressed up as you are against his chest.

“Shut up, Hawks.” You grumble, pulling him towards your room if that’s what it’ll take to get his dick out faster.

After rushing in the room, you kick the door shut behind you and immediately get back to kissing him. This time, he makes more of an effort to assert himself, holding your face in his hands and licking into your mouth. You sigh into him, your hands finding his heated skin beneath his shirt as the pace slows down from the frantic rush it had been. It becomes sensual, and you can feel him getting more aroused as he slowly shifts his hands, starting to grind into you.

You pull away from him, getting some air as you start to take off his shirt. He enthusiastically moves to help and you get to admire his muscles stretch as he does. Obviously, life constantly on the road does wonders for your abs.

“You too, sugar. You’re gonna make me feel underdressed.” He says as he moves to take off the rest of his garments. A laugh slips out of you as you hastily get out of your outfit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s sitting on the bed and he gestures for you to join him.

When you do, he kisses you again, intensely, as he guides you onto your back. You sigh as he kisses down the side of your jaw to mark your neck, reaching blindly for the lube and condoms beside the bed.

He quickly slides it on and you hear the squelching of lube as he moves in a rush. You don’t have time to make fun of him though, because as soon as he’s finished, he spreads your legs and puts the head of his dick at your entrance.

He groans, closing his eyes as he enters you, and its uncomfortable for a little bit. Soon enough though, you relax, and start to feel great as he moves his hips slowly against you. Hawks fucks deeply, you know this from your times before, but each time it feels just as tantalizing as the last.

“Hawks, please.” You pant, trying to wiggle a little bit just to get some friction, some tiny relief for the edging you’ve been through. He just gives you a smirk, as he keeps you completely locked between him and the mattress. You tense so hard he groans on top of you, but he doesn’t let you move, dick still sitting snug inside your cunt.

“Well, let’s see those barebacking skills you were showin’ off earlier then, hmm?” he says, his voice low and gruff. With ease, he gets the both of you turned around so you’re now sitting with your ass on his thighs, hands clamped tight on your waist keeping you in place while he lays back on the headboard. He nods satisfactorily, looking you up and down with lidded eyes. “Y’know, I like this view much better, baby. What a pretty picture you make right on top of me.” Part of you wants to roll your eyes, but the warmth that his words give you makes the impulse disappear.

“You know, Hawks, in order for me to show you said skills, you’re going to have to let me move.” He laughs as you try and lift yourself against the pressure he’s putting, obviously unable to really do anything. “Seriously, you dick, lemme move.”

“But the face you make when I play these little games with you is so cute, sugar.” He’s got a faux innocent smile across his face and you pout and cross your arms in response. “Okay, okay, I’m done. I promise,” he says, letting off all the pressure, but keeping the two of you connected at the hips.

“Thank you.” you quip, starting a quicker pace than the one Hawks had been setting, gravity still making it just as deep as before.

Being drunk obviously makes Hawks that much louder, or maybe it’s the change up in position, you can’t be sure. But, his praises, his deep moans, the lewd noises from the slapping of your body against his hips, it all makes you feel hot as hell.

You look down, seeing Hawks’ eyes widened and excited, he grins when he notices your look and begins to rock up into you. You throw your head back in as he hits deep within you, crying out his name. Hearing it obviously enthuses him as he grunts in exertion, starting to thrust upwards harder, and you feel your body responding, muscles tightening as you get closer to your climax.

“God, you’re gorgeous like this, y’know?” he gets out through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to be able to last much longer…” He’s panting, fingers digging into your hips sharply, sure to leave marks.

“Please, I wanna cum Hawks!”

“Tell me what you need, sugar, I’ll give it to you.” Hearing that makes you smile, he was always so attentive to your needs.

“Touch me…”

“You gotta tell me where for that.” Even when so close to his climax, somehow, Hawks manages to be cheeky. However, when he’s fucking you this well, it’s much easier to let the teasing roll off your back.

“My clit, Hawks. You do know what that is, right?” He lets out a genuine laugh at that, before sending one hand down towards the bundle of nerves.

It’s enough, between the stimulation and the deep thrusts into your cunt, that you feel yourself tighten and cry out, cumming hard onto his cock. You lean into him, kissing him hard as pleasure courses through your body.

He works you through it, breathing heavily, you can feel his pulse skittering under your hands. You feel him twitch within you, and an idea forms in your mind. Mind wrapped up in pleasure, you act on the thought immediately, bringing your hands to his chest to play with his nipples.

He loves it, making keening noises as you work, legs shaking with effort to stay up and keep pace with him. You let him take the lead and you hear him shout and arch up as you pinch his buds, feeling him release.

He thrusts a couple more times, lazily and slowly, kissing the top of your head as you settle down to lie on his chest for a few minutes.

You breath deeply, content in the moment. You know after you clean up and rest, he’ll be gone on the road once again, so you relax, enjoying the presence.

#jays writes #Smut #hawks x reader

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plantsarefun06 · 4 years ago

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Creation of Lazarus

"But I know the rage that drives you. That impossible anger strangling the grief, until the memory of your loved one is just poison in your veins. And one day, you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed, so you'd be spared your pain."

-Ra’s al Ghul ----

Ra’s was born in the Arabi desert, to nomads, in 1430. If you asked any person from that tribe what Ra’s was, they would say “A boy with dreams”. Ra’s had dreams of knowledge, dreams of helping others, he dreamed of having a legacy, and a great one at that.

His dreams led him to leave his tribe. He knew that as a nomad, he would never truly achieve what he wished to and the best course of action was to settle down in a great city and continue the measly education that he got as a nomad, and the great knowledge the libraries of the Sultan provided.

His studies led him to a physician. Ra’s requested to become a physician, he wanted to help others, this would offer him an opportunity to study and learn about diseases and ailments, firsthand, and offer him chances to help the sick and injured.

The physician asked for one thing. “I am infirm and soon for the grave. My daughter, Sora, she will need a husband to look after her.” That’s when he heard a yell from the curtain behind the clerk’s desk. A woman swiftly pushed back the curtain to scold her father. “I thought we agreed you’d stop trying to marry me off!”

The girl, clearly about his age, looked at him, let out a quick huff before grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip and dragging him behind the clerk’s desk, behind the curtain, into what he could now see was a closet, with medicines and serums lining the walls, all filled with cobwebs and dust, clearly having not been used in a while.

“I’ll be honest with you Ra’s… I don’t really like boys much… but I can offer you companionship and support. And if we get married it will make my father’s last days much happier.” He was evaluating what she said as she said it when she quickly looked over to the shelves “And him stop pestering me.” She mumbled more to herself than Ra’s. At that he let out a light chuckle and having thought over her offer gave her his thoughts.

“I admit, I’m more interested in the pursuit of knowledge than women. We might be able to come to some… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Sora gave a light smile to Ra’s, and he returned it. They both understood the agreement they both had created.

----

Within the year, as they all had expected, Sora’s father had died.

Despite them knowing that the time was drawing near, it was still hard. Sora would never admit it, but she shed a tear at his funeral, watching the bird fly through the skies as he was laid out in the Tower of Silence for a sky burial, traditional for his Zoroastrianism.

To cope Ra’s delved into his studies and found a project of the late physician. He had seen him look over it many times, but he had never been allowed to read the texts. He would simply watch as the physician would spend hours pouring over the texts, before the physician would finally come over and teach him about traditional medicinal herbs and serums and their effects. Ra’s forever acknowledges that he learned more in his months under the physician's tutelage, than he ever did in the library.

He learned of how diseases spread, and the common ways they would extend across the city in the matter of weeks. How if they started within the markets, they would quickly spread across many of the peasants, and other middle-class folk, but they wouldn’t get much farther, and how if the diseases started amongst the slaves, they would spread much faster due to the unsanitary conditions, and they would often then be picked up by someone of upper class, as they traditionally had slaves, and spread.

He was eternally grateful for the lessons he was given. They helped him serve the city in incredible ways. Ra’s performed near miracles for anyone who needed it. His reputation started to grow, some upper-class citizens would refuse to come, because Ra’s would cater to slaves, but others would request the treatment of Ra’s and would always find themselves healed within the week.

But these texts that he found of the physicians, seemed to have some pages with herbs and brews, but the majority held drawings of people, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, all bright, with texts in a script he couldn't begin to understand. He looked among the pages and found what looked to be a cypher in the physician's handwriting. The physician had part of the unfamiliar script figured out… no not script… it was CODE! The texts were coded!

All he would need to do was complete the cypher and he would discover what the texts were for.

----

Ra’s poured hours into the texts and completing the code, with no such luck.

“It’s no good. These codes your father was working on have me beat. I can’t break it…” He called to his wife, who was currently working in the front of the shop after it closed about an hour ago, she was preparing for the next day, he supposed.

“Perhaps I can help?” She poked her head in from behind the curtain to peer at him being over the table.

“Thank you, Sora. A warm bowl of goat’s milk and nutmeg would be most refreshing.” Ra’s commented back to her, without lifting his eyes from the texts in front of him.

He could practically feel the glare she was giving him. He wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t burn him with the intensity he could only feel from it, and he wasn’t even looking at her.

“I mean with the code. I learnt much from my father and knew he was struggling to complete his final great work, just as much as you. You’re not married to a servant girl, Ra’s. Warm the milk yourself, and let me see those figures.” The defiance in her tone was thick and her anger was subtle yet tangible. He didn’t understand it but that defiance, and strong will made him want to love her.

He knew that their relationship was built on the agreement of companionship, and for the safety of Sora after her father’s death, but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t love her. Love the way she would snark him when he would ask her to do things, that he could do himself, love how she would hum as she cooked the dinner that they ate every night, her loved how she would ever so lightly furrow her eyebrow when she was concentrated on work.

Ra’s let out a small smile and turned to meet his wife by the curtain. He bent down to kiss her forehead, “Sora… I believe this is going to be a beautiful marriage.” He gave her a light hug before giving her another kiss on her forehead and mumbling to her just loud enough for her to hear, “I’ll go warm some goat’s milk for the both of us, and you can look over the codes, until I get back, and we can work on them together.” He gave her a light squeeze before unraveling himself from her and going off to warm the goat’s milk, and Sora heading over to the table to study the texts.

----

“More code?” Ra’s asked no one in particular. He and Sora had stumbled upon a trapdoor underneath a floor mat in the medicinal closet while cleaning. Ra’s could tell from the hinges alone that it was used regularly. When they opened the hatch they saw that it led down a small ladder, the ladder led to a room, an underground cave almost, despite it being quite dark he could make out the sound of lightly sloshing water and summarized that there was a pool in this cave.

They both held small candles, and when holding them close to the wall they saw it. It was a wall full of more texts! They were familiar enough with the code to recognize that the code from the texts upstairs matched the one in front of them.

A glint of recognition and understanding was in Sora’s eyes. “My father was working on a map of the Tibetan mountains, using the wisdom of the stars and other maps from the libraries of the Sultan. And figuring out the meaning of the code from texts of the ancients. A code showing…” She stopped speaking, her eyes running over a few things before stopping.

“And code of what?” Ra’s questioned Sora’s sudden quietness and turned to give her his whole focus. Her eyes were completely fixed on one drawing. It was of the silhouette of a man, behind him was a circle of purple. The way it was positioned it seemed to be describing the man emitting the purple. Like he was glowing.

He refocused his attention on his wife’s face as she turned to him, “One which tells the way to achieve something men have long dreamed-” he saw the emotions his wife’s face held. Emotions he had never seen in her face before, it was complete and utter disbelief,

“-a wish to change reality.”

----

They soon were able to decipher enough code to learn that the Tibetan mountains was the location of the Temple of Guardians, the holders of two pieces of magical jewelry that possessed the ability, when combined, to grant a wish that could alter reality.

Sora and Ra’s had both packed enough for a 3-week trip on horseback, to the Tibetan mountains, and back. Ra’s had won the argument over who would be going, Sora wanting it to be herself, but eventually agreeing Ra’s would be better suited for the job, considering he grew up as a nomad, much to Sora’s chagrin.

He had been on trek for a week and was taking a rest on the side of the dirt road to fill his canteen with water from a stream he saw nearby, when he saw a flash of light blue and white out of the corner of his eyes. He immediately drew one of the daggers that he carried at all times and started to look around for what he saw.

He hadn’t fought anyone in a decade, last time being a practice spar with his uncle the night before he left to go live in the city alone, and even then, he was only okay, but he did know some forms of martial arts and weaponry in theory. He read about it in some of the texts from the library, while theory may not have anything on experience, it was better than nothing.

He was beginning to think he had either come down with a fever and been hallucinating, or he had simply been seeing things, when after five minutes of surveying the area, he could see that no one had been there.

He walked up to his undisturbed horse and grabbed the reins. Upon lifting himself on the horse he heard a light *jingle*. He looked down to find a small drawstring bag tied around the tip of his saddle. He was used to seeing little drawstring bags, like this one, around the shop. Sora often used them to hold the herbs they used for medical purposes, but he didn’t know why she would have packed it, or why it jingled when it was shaken.

He slowly picked it up, examining it as if it were going to spontaneously catch fire. He slowly undid the knot and overturned the contents of it in his gloved hand.

Out fell two earrings and a ring…

A ring that was a black as dark as the night sky he saw as a nomad child, with a pawprint, greener than any grass or any tapestry he had seen before…

And a pair of earrings red as the blood he had seen countless times as a physician, and five distinct spots, black as the ring…

Both the ring and the earrings looking exactly like the drawings he had seen of the Black Cat miraculous and the Ladybug miraculous he had seen in the texts.

Ra’s had learned many lessons in his life, but one of the biggest, most important of them all: There are no coincidences in the world.

Ra’s had no doubt in his mind that in his hand, he held the two most powerful objects in the universe, two objects that would grant him a wish.

Slowly, a grin grew on his face. He immediately seized the reins of his horse, and turned him around, heading faster than he ever had back to the city.

His father-in-law's final project was finally completed on its way to being completed.

----

The look on Sora’s face was one he had only seen once before, when they first discovered the small area underneath the shop, complete and utter disbelief.

“This… these jewels… are they really the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous?” She asked wide-eyed, just looking at what Ra’s had set on the counter after barging into the shop, in a ridiculously loud manner, might she add.

“I do believe it is, they practically feel powerful!”

Sora slowly inched her hand toward where the earrings fell on the counter. The moment she gently brushed her finger against one of the earrings, a bright pink light emitted from it, one that forced both Sora and Ra’s to cover their eyes.

Once the light dimmed, they saw something that was not in the texts.

Both Sora and Ra’s were in a state of shock. It was broken when the thing floated up to her face and began to speak, “Hello my name’s Tikki. I’m the Kwami of Creation!” She said, giving a little twirl in the air.

Ra’s, finally able to speak again, asked, “That does not explain much. What is a ‘Kwami’ and why did you suddenly appear when the earrings were touched by Sora?”

“Ooh. A Kwami is an entity tethered to this plane of reality by the jewelry that is sitting on your counter. I’m the entity of creation. When everything came to be, I came to be with it, not before, not after, some people confuse that.” The ‘Kwami’, as they both learned it was, giggled before continuing with the explanation they both needed, “I’m the thing that gives power to that jewelry, without me, that jewelry is just some antique junk.” She finished her explanation.

It made more sense than just ‘magical jewelry’ to have some entity tethered to it. “If you touch the ring Plagg will come out!” She exclaimed before going over to Ra’s and pulling off his glove and grabbing his hand. She pulled his hand from his side and he willingly allowed the ‘Kwami’ to lift his finger to touch the ring.

A second burst of bright light, green this time, came from the ring. This time Sora and Ra’s expected it so it wasn’t too bad. They only had to blink a couple times before they heard a yawn, “Well that was a good cat nap!” The other ‘Kwami’, who he was guessing his name was ‘Plagg’ from what ‘Tikki’ said, “Do you all have some cheese, I’m starving!”

Sora was the one who pulled herself together enough to answer ‘Plagg’s’ question, “There is some food in the cabinet under the basin. You may find what you are looking for there.” Sora gestured to the curtain and both Kwami got the memo, before floating off where Sora indicated the food would be.

Both Ra’s and Sora locked eyes. Their silent conversation led to them both leaving each other's gaze to eye the ring and earrings. They both agreed that they had no idea what had just happened.

----

“That is not a good idea.”

That was the only thing that was said after Sora and Ra’s took them to see the basement beneath their shop that held the texts and the pool. Both of the Kwami were faced away from the texts as ‘they should not see them’. Ra’s gave them an indignant look at their immediate dismissal of their want for a wish.

“This could help hundreds maybe even thousands of people, how is this not a good idea?”

“You don’t understand, the wish has major repercussions, you can always ask for a way to heal the injured and dead, but that wish will have untold side-effects.” Tikki tried to explain to both Ra’s and Sora. The sincerity in her voice was deep, but they did not hear the sadness that lingered in it as well.

“Will you not allow us to make the wish?” Sora asked, tilting her head to the side, as if analyzing the situation.

“We cannot stop you from making the wish, but we must tell you, it will have repercussions, and the one who makes the wish will feel them deeply.” Sorrow again seeped into Tikki’s voice; this time Ra’s noticed it as well.

“Then I will make the wish, I have memorized the incantation and only one of us can make the wish itself.” He pulled the now silver ring and black earrings from his pocket. He placed the ring on his left middle finger. He prepared to force the earrings through his ears, worst case scenario he could use whatever came of the wish to heal himself, only to be pleasantly surprised when the earrings glided through his ear as if he did have a piercing.

Both the Kwami moved to the outstretched hands Ra’s offered and sat down. Ra’s failed to notice the tears in Tikki’s eyes, and the downcast look on Plagg’s face.

The moment he uttered the last syllable, the rush to Ra’s was undeniable. He felt immense amounts of power seeping into his veins.

“I wish to have the means to heal any injury and return any person from death.”

And everything went quiet. All the power he was feeling only moments ago, felt like it was running off him, like dirt would in a shower.

He looked over to see Sora sitting in the ground shielding her face, much in the same manner she was when they first met the Kwami.

Both the earrings and ring started to burn lightly, so he ripped them off and threw them behind him, before running over to Sora and helping her stand.

Ra’s felt at his ear, where he just ripped the earring out, noticing the earrings didn’t leave so much as a scar.

Looking to check over Sora, he saw out of the corner of his eyes a bright green glow.

Both Ra’s and Sora looked over to see a neon, toxic green color at the bottom center of the pool.

It was mesmerizing how the green stretched from a small center at the bottom of the pool out, almost like tentacles, or tree roots growing out in the dirt.

He continued to watch until the entire pool was filled with the green, when he saw the same white and light blue flash out of the corner of his eyes. He tried to turn quickly and catch it, but the only thing he saw was an empty room.

A room empty of both the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous.

----

Life went on relatively normal for Ra’s and Sora. They cleaned out the basement and removed the texts, as they were no use to him anymore, and cleaned the area.

When finding a name, they settled on one- Lazarus Pit - from a biblical story that Sora’s father mentioned in one of the texts.

He had said ‘he wanted to be able to do the same as the Christian’s god, and revive the dead. And if the wish truly worked, it would be able to, they had yet to try the pit and test the magic that quite obviously resided within it.

----

As time went on, and the pit remained below their feet, Ra’s continued his work as a physician, continuing working miracles without the use of the pit, which was an actual miracle. His reputation grew both of his physician's duties, and of the great mind he held. He was referred to as “the greatest mind of his age” by some.

Ra’s had heard him referred to as this on occasion, but he didn’t realize just how far word of his miracles went until the Sultan’s guard requested his aid in healing the prince who had fallen ill.

As the guards left his shop, leaving him with the letter asking him officially of his aid he immediately turned to Sora with quite possibly the largest smile he ever had on his face, “If I could cure the prince-- our reputation would be made, I’d have the funding to push my research forward-”

He was cut off by Sora who he only realized was rubbing her temple with her hands at his rant, “The prince is nothing but a cruel young aristo-- I’ve caught him leering at me in the Bazaar!”

“Don’t do this Ra’s. We can do without the Sultan’s money!” Sora pleaded to him. She held a look of concern on her face that Ra’s completely ignored, rather thinking about what he could possibly do with the benefits of healing a prince.

“You’re wrong! When I walked through the desert, I nurtured a dream. This is my way to fulfill it!”

Ra’s turned away from Sora, and headed down below the shop, to the Pit.

----

Everything went wrong. And Ra’s had no idea how.

Everything was going fine.

The royal guards had brought the sick prince to his shop as requested by Ra’s. The moment he saw the prince Ra’s knew that he was on his deathbed… he knew the only way to help him was using the Lazarus Pit.

He had the guards bring him down the ladder and he followed them, with Sora by his side.

They dipped the prince in the Pit. They let him wade. It was only seconds, maybe a minute, at most, before the prince burst out from under the water. Certainly not sickly like he was, to the point of not being able to walk, not like he was when he arrived.

For the briefest moment Ra’s lived in this fantasy where the Pit healed the Prince, and Ra’s got the reputation he wanted, the funding he needed, and got to continue the research that he always wanted to. He lived in this fantasy where he and Sora worked side-by-side, studied medicine, and became great physicians known for their miracles.

This fantasy ended when the prince left at Sora his eyes, we're not the same as they were when he went in; they were yellow and feral. There was a snap before the guards were able to subdue him. They only realized that the snap was from Sora’s neck. And Sora laid on the ground with scratch marks on her face, her head bent at an unnatural angle, and a small drop of blood dripping down her cheek, from her mouth.

Ra’s fell beside her body, unmoving, he saw out of the corner of his eyes, the prince stopped struggling in the guards' arms and seemed to gain some form of coherency of the situation, but he could not look away from her. He didn’t even breathe until the guards grabbed him as well and put a bag over his head.

Everything went wrong.

----

They said he killed her. The Sultan was told by the prince’s guards that his son had killed the wife of the physician that treated him for his illness.

That he had snapped her neck. In return the guards were killed. They could not have the truth be spread. It could cause uprising if such rumors were told to others. So, the moment he was told the story, directly from the prince’s guards who had been there, and he got assurance that they had taken the husband -the physician- and put him in the dungeons, and after that assurance was placed, he had his personal guards slit their throats.

It wasn’t hard to say it was the husband who did it. Without the guards to tell what happened, and the physician in such a state of shock he wouldn’t even talk, no one questioned what the Sultan said.

How did this happen again?

Why did the prince look like that?

He looked feral?

His eyes were near yellow?

Why would he attack her?

Why would he kill her?

Why did he seem to be fine after a minute or being restrained?

Why?

They were the only questions Ra’s was asking himself of late.

He was completely unreactive on the outside but was perfectly aware of what was happening. He was perfectly aware of how the Sultan was placing the blame on him. How the Sultan was saying he killed Sora. He killed his wife.

And yet he knew that regardless of the fact he was innocent, he would still be blamed and persecuted for her death. So, he sat still and continued to ask those questions in his head.

How did this happen again?

Why did the prince look like that?

He looked feral?

His eyes were near yellow?

Why would he attack her?

Why would he kill her?

Why did he seem to be fine after a minute or being restrained?

Why?

He knew he was being gagged, tied up, and dragged from his cell from the dungeons beneath the castle. He knew that this is when they would punish him. It would be death.

How he would die?

He did not know.

Likely a public flogging, beating, or torture of some kind before then bend him over a rock and to take his head off.

And to be honest, Ra’s couldn’t feel anything, he was completely numb as his knees, calves, and feet were dragged over the dirt, and cobble leaving long scars. He knew they were supposed to sting, and burn, and just hurt, but he couldn’t feel a thing. He knew that was a bad sign, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He didn’t start to see anything until he saw it. There was a cage in the center of the courtyard, black iron, probably burning hot with the sun as it is, but that is not what caught his eye. It was the body of Sora that laid in it.

He started to feel the burn of the metal as they forced him in the same small cage as Sora. He was forced to curl in on himself as her body lay not 6 inches from him. Sat up against the side of the cage, with rope tied around her neck and waist, keeping her sitting upright, and facing the rest of the unbearably small cage. Her eyes still opened in the same shock they were in when he first was beside her body.

He felt as the cage was lifted up, the burn of the hot metal only worsening, as they carried the cage out to the city walls, to leave him in the desert to die.

----

His eyes never stayed off Sora’s for long. He remembered what her eyes looked like…

… these are not her eyes.

Sora’s eyes held none of what it used to. Her eyes held confidence, charm, they held stubbornness and defiance. All the things that made Sora the woman she was. All the things that were devoid in those eyes.

Those eyes were open and held only one thing: fear. And that was unlike Sora at all. Sora was never afraid.

But maybe she was of death. Maybe her eyes held fear because she realized what was going to happen…

...because she realized she was going to die.

----

Ra’s didn’t know how long he sat in that cage outside the city walls, staring into the unfamiliar eyes.

All he knew was that the trance was broken by the sound of creaking metal. The hinges. And the feeling of hands going under his arms and pulling him up. He had the strength to turn his head and be met with a face that was faintly familiar.

“Who are you?” He weakly rasped out. “Sabih, I’m a slave for the al-Hafiz family. You saved my mother from dysentery four months ago… I figured I owed you the same.”

And that’s all they said. That’s all they said when he walked back towards the al-Hafiz property. That’s all they said after Sabih settled him in the stables and fed him some water and leftover scraps. That’s all they said as Sabih handed Ra’s a small bag with some water, and food in it. That’s all they said before Ra’s returned to the outside of the city walls, and left on a search for the nomadic tribe he was born and raised in.

He didn’t know what to do, but he was going to figure it out, but not do it in that city.

----

It took him a few weeks, and some manual labor in return for supplies, before he found his uncle’s nomads and took control. It was relatively easy.

By the time he had found the nomads he had been able to sort through his mind. Find his priorities.

And right now, he wanted one thing: he wanted the great city to burn.

He wanted them all dead, he just had to be smart about it. He was thankful, now more than ever for the lessons Sora’s father gave.

It would be easy, he would start by giving a disease to the slaves, if the disease would spread quick enough, it could be passed down the classes and severely weaken the city. Especially if the slaves were hit first, considering that the city was built with them as their foundation.

----

The city was ravaged. Those who didn’t die of disease were killed by Ra’s and his men. When the priests of the Zoroastrian Delegation asked if they spared them and their Holy Towers of Silence. Ra’s turned to the man who was the messenger of the request and bared his teeth.

“Kill the priests. Burn their sacred buildings!”

Ra’s stood in before the destruction he caused. He returned to the city a very different man from when he first arrived there.

A man with a different dream…

Ra’s walked back to the old shop. One that he spent much time in. Leading the others down to the opening below the shop to allow them to see the Lazarus Pit.

“Uncle, you are still the leader of our tribe, but the tribe I am describing will stretch farther than the sands of Arabi. Stretch into every land… past the wall of every city.” Ra’s spoke keeping his voice low and authoritarian. His uncle let off a chuckle.

“Oh, nephew. Just like your father. You were always the dreamer. What you speak of it too… fantastical.” His words made Ra’s a bit angry, but a bit smug at the same time. His uncle had no idea what the Pit in front of his very eyes was capable of.

“*tch* My father never had half my vision, Uncle, nor half my talent.”

His uncle just sputtered in response, “But… it would take several lifetimes for one man to accomplish what you speak of!”

Ra’s just smirked at his words, “Yes, uncle. Yes indeed. And it will be quite some journey.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ra’s focused on the pit, reminded of Tikki’s words…

“You don’t understand, the wish has major repercussions, you can always ask for a way to heal the injured and dead, but that wish will have untold side-effects.”

“We cannot stop you from making the wish, but we must tell you, it will have repercussions, and the one who makes the wish will feel them deeply.”

He truly did. The creation of this wish helped him achieve one of his life’s greatest desires, one of his greatest loves, and in return he lost the love of his life, Sora.

And if you are to use the Lazarus Pit to heal physical injuries, you will suffer from temporary loss of sanity.

Truly a balance.

“You will learn in time. Time is something we have a great deal of. The destruction of this city… has unleashed a demon.

And I… Ra’s al Ghul… I am truly the Demon’s Head!”

----------

Heavily based off of Batman Annual Vol. 1 26

‘al Ghul’ translates to Demon’s Head in Arabic. Notice how that ‘al Ghul’ is only used during the quote at the beginning of the story(yes I did use a quote from the Nolan movies. It fit really well), and at the end when he loses it.

This is the closest I could possibly get to DC canon on Ra’s al Ghul’s origin. In the original Ra’s does not create the pits he simply finds them, with the help of maps left behind by the physician. I wrote this because I really wanted a Miraculous created Lazarus pit, but one that also had Sora in it. I really like her for the scene with the goat’s milk (that is comic accurate, you can check) and what happened to her was NOT deserved. I also wanted to show the human side of Ra’s, and how rage drove him to be such an evil person.

Also a headcanon of mine is that any miraculous jewelry that is some sort of piercing, does not actually require a piercing to wear, it will just go through the skin as if there was a piercing.

The ‘light blue flash’ that Ra’s thinks he hallucinated was a holder of the Rabbit miraculous leaving both the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous to him. This is done because the Lazarus pits are necessary to a stable timeline, not because whatever holder of the Rabbit miraculous is active, thought it was a good idea. They were practically forced.

Ra’s and Sora were closer to each other than anyone else, she was referred to as the love of his life, and they really had a deep bond and when Sora was killed he was broken. In the comic I based this off of, Talia even says, “[...]the death of Sora broke your grandfather’s heart… and forever darkened his soul.” when speaking to Damian.

#maribat #ra's al ghul #sora al ghul #lazarus pit #ml tikki #ml plagg #miraculous fandom #prequel #the blindness of marinette

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chao-writes-stuff · 3 years ago

Text

DELTARUNE SPOILERS

Heyyy! I wrote a thing involving Jevil and the Chapter 2 Superboss! I'm going to put it under the cut, but at the end, there will also be an Ao3 link if you wanna support me there!

Thank you! Remember to Reblog if you wanna

The Lightner Trio walked down the stairs in the Queen's massive manor, their hurried footsteps echoing like a rough pitter-patter in the technological nightmare. The massive lair confused and bamboozled them, but they definitely wanted to figure out the mystery behind what the Fountains were about, what Queen's true intentions were… and what was in the basement?

"Uhh… Kris?" Ralsei asked, his soft voice echoing out. "Why are we even here? Aren't Queen, Noelle, and Berdly upstairs? And not here…?"

Susie quickly interrupted him, punching his arm lightly to get his attention. "Of COURSE they aren't here. But whatever is here is probably important. Right, Kris?"

"I guess!" The currently blue human replied. "I've been asked by some… guy, about doing these weird favors for him. He really wants me to be alone."

"We sure he ain't a p-" Before Susie could finish her thought, Ralsei muffled her mouth with his scarf. "Who is he? And why does he want you to be alone?"

"His name is Spamton, I think. I don't know much about him, but he gave me this Loaded Disk earlier, and--"

Suddenly, a strange, chaotic voice rang out. Everyone recognized it. The tail attached to Ralsei's cloak popped off, diamonds and hearts flying out with it. The tail spun and took form, and the chaotic Jester they quite literally put to rest yesterday was reawakened.

"Spamton? SPAMTON? The same Spamton who wished for me to go, to go, and be free, free?" Jevil laughed chaotically, with Ralsei caught quite off guard. "You know him?"

"That dorito chip was part of the reason why I was set free, he was! He used to rule this world, before the Queen I've been hearing oh so much about took over. Oh, I MUST know more of how you met that ridiculous lunatic! And that's coming from ME, ME! Spamton, oh Spamton, I'd like to have a word with him~!" Jevil looked quite pissed off, his normally jovial expression looking slightly stern.

"I didn't wanna go down there anyway. Just come back, okay? You're kind of carrying us with your defense boost." Kris, with a neutral expression, gave the clown the disk they were gifted by the malignant salesman, and watched as Jevil immediately sprinted off into the basement. They could hear an echoed "Buh bye~! I'll be back in a few hundred words!" As the jester descended into the decrepit basement below...

Jevil entered the musty, rotting cellar. Despite him rarely stepping on the ground, each step he did take left a haunting impact on his feet. It was silent, save for the occasional rustling of his clothes. He didn't have long to do this. His physical form only had a few hours to be out and about before he solidified, just like the young boy and the puzzle freak. Thankfully, that's all he needed. He was getting excited, almost giddy, to interact once more with his old acquaintance. Oh, what a wonderful conversation they'd have!

He didn't walk for too much longer before he found the train station that was buried deep below. Or was it a roller coaster? Whoever had this built clearly had some elaborate roundabout in mind… too bad they were still imprisoned, haha! Jevil walked and floated across the tracks, reaching a room with a decaying robot inside.

He knew this was a bad idea. But when did he ever have good ideas?

Without hesitating, the joker put the disk into the robot. At first, nothing happened, and he was getting impatient VERY quick. He gave the robot a swift kick in the lower area, before stepping back out of the room.

Step…

SLAM! The clown was admittedly caught off guard with how fast the silhouette from above came and pushed him onto his knees. With a small gasp for air, Jevil looked up slowly at the encroaching menace. The jagged movements, the glitchy, unsolidified form… this was him alright.

"KRIS… MY LOYAL [Sponge!] THANK… YOU. THE [Clown Around Town!] I REMEMBER YOUR [Disgusting] FACE. EVERYONE WAS SO [Thrilled] TO SEE YOUR [Calcified] FACE." The massive robotic behemoth loomed over Jevil, rage in his glasses. Spamton NEO.

The clown got up, a smug, shitfaced expression on his mug. He knew damn well that the dorito in front of him was pissed off, so he leaned back in the air to retort. "At least I drink plenty of milk, uee hee hee! As for you, you haven't changed one bit since we last spoke~! Or would it be a byte, a byte? Regardless, I do hope you've given up on the illusion of freedom, freedom~! The only one who can be free is MEEE!"

The robotic menace swung around to the other side of Jevil, making it very clear who was in charge of the conversation. A small concentrated blast of Pipis was fired at the jester, pushing him back with a surprising amount of force. "YOU ACT SMUG, BUT YOU [Crashed our stocks!] AND THEN YOU [Spoiled relations with our Esteemed Partners!] I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU… GOT IN HERE, YOU… [Tuna Fish,] BUT I'M NOT FALLING FOR YOUR [Roundabout!] AGAIN!"

Jevil laughed maniacally at this thought. This guy was mad! Over something that happened how long ago? Why even bother holding a grudge still? Petty, petty! He knew why, and it's why he came back too. "You influenced him. That pretty little kitty. You gave him enough funds to release me into that carousel of bliss and innocence! But I wasn't done, not one bit! And all those years, spent being free… they made me realize something, my dearest Spamton."

The oddly calm tone coming from the jester put Spamton NEO at an incredible amount of unease. "WHAT? WHAT COULD YOUR [Calcified Lump] THINK OF THAT WOULD MEAN ANY GODDAMN THING TO ME?"

"I CAN DO ANYTHING!"

The joker used his latent power to pelt the giant mecha with small white hearts. Spamton was caught off-guard, stumbling back a fair amount. Of course, you have to fight fire with fire, so the robot used his abilities to send out a Big Shot of blue Spamton Head Pipis.

"YOU [Saturated Marketshare!] YOU CAN'T SIMPLY ATTACK ME AND EXPECT IT TO WORK [As seen on TV!] I'M A [BIG SHOT!] [BIG SHOT!!!]"

Jevil hopped up onto the ceiling, clearing the first few Pipis on the lower row heading his way. Unfortunately, the higher row caught him clean in the face as he bounced between the two, making a small Jack-in-the-box melody as he pinged around.

"SPAMTON, MY BELOATHED! I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND, UNDERSTAND, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE TRAPPED IN A CAGE WITH A SHARK, A SHARK! YOU GET BITTEN AND CHEWED UP!"

The fool retaliated by running circles around Spamton, turning into a carousel of horse bullets! The robot, in a surprising feat of puppeteering, dodged the attack almost perfectly… until a stray horsie cut a string, sending the mech's right arm into the horse race. One thing about arms with cannons on them? They fire.

As soon as it happened, Jevil was face to face with a swarm of Pipis all around him. He was stuck. All of them exploded brilliantly, sending the clown flying clean across the rotting tracks and into the wall. Tauntingly, mockingly even, Spamton NEO retorted.

"I'M THE SHARK NOW, JEVIL! I'VE CHEWED UP SO MANY [Failed Buisness Partners] THAT I COULD MAKE A WHOLE [Presentation] OUT OF THEM! STAY OUT OF MY GODDAMN WAY, OR [Sparkle like new!] YOU BRAT."

The buisnessman charged at Jevil, his hands becoming phones. "IT'S FOR YOU." Suddenly, before either of them could react, loud blasts of garbage noise manifest expelled from the phones, attacking the court jester with white blasts of energy. There was nothing he could do to stop this robot's onslaught, it looked like.

"OH SPAMTON, IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? THAT YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S SO POWERFUL RIGHT NOW, NOW? I'D SUGGEST YOU LOOK UP, UP! YOU'RE NOTHING WITHOUT THOSE STRINGS IMPRISONING YOU, UEE HEE HEE! YOU'RE NOT A BIG SHOT, YOU'RE JUST A LAZY FRAUD WHO CAN'T STOP HANGING ON TO HIM! I GUESS SLEEPING FOR 100 YEARS DOESN'T MAKE LITTLE OLD ME MISS MUCH, RIGHT?"

Without warning, Jevil was myseriously gone from his corner. The spamware looked frantically for his target, before being struck in the arm, the leg, and the chest by scythes. Devilsknives. The last knive cut a few strings clean off the puppet, who briefly hit the ground before rising back up.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! [Hyperlink Blocked.] I'M STILL HIS LOYAL ASSOCIATE! HE MAY NOT HAVE TALKED TO ME IN [Employee of The Month for 144 months!] BUT HE'S STILL THERE…"

Jevil interrupted him cleanly and concisely. "FACE IT. YOU'RE NO BIG SHOT ANYMORE, SPAMTON G. SPAMTON. ALL YOU ARE IS A FAILED INVESTMENT, UEE HEE HEE!"

With those words, a purple blast came from behind the clown, striking the robot right in the noggin. He flew back a bit, giving the joker enough time to turn around to meet his esteemed guests.

"Ah, my imprisoners~! Didn't you guys have a Queen to rock-em sock-em?"

Susie immediately cut him off, as she punched him in the arm (causing his head to spring up, naturally.) "Well, Kris over here couldn't shake the feeling things were off. So they forced us down here, and now they're right. Somehow?"

"I know I'm right.. Jevil, who the hell is Spamton?" Kris replied, their worry about the situation starting to rise.

"It's of no concern to you~! His screws were almost as loose as mine, and I don't think it's my job to tighten them~! Uee hee hee! Thank you for the help, but I can do anything~! Even tell you guys that 3 coasters are about to come down and force you guys along for the ride~!"

Ralsei immediately stuttered something out. "Three… what?"

And just like that, with a loud rumbling, the heroes were swept up into 3 old, rusty carts, barrelling down the track. Jevil laughed to himself, proud of what he got to do. "Ah well, it's a shame I can't finish him personally…"

"But oh well! Are you proud, proud? They took care of him…"

"Doctor."

Ao3 Link!

#Deltarune #Deltarune Spoilers #Deltarune Chapter 2 #Jevil #spamton #kris #ralsei #susie #undertale #okay cool thank you byyyyeeeee

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makeste · 4 years ago

Note

this is pretty random and you don't need to answer it, haha, but could you share your personal hcs regarding platonic todobaku with me??? 🥺🥺🥺 i'm in need, LOL, and your takes on characterization and relationships on bnha are always so spot on, so... i hope you're having a good day/night!!!!!!!💖💖💖

thank you so much! sorry it took a while to gather all of these; my TodoBaku headcanons weren’t as immediately forthcoming as my general Baku headcanons were. but here goes. the first half of these ended up being more just my general thoughts about their relationship than actual headcanons, but I eventually steered myself back on track.

first of all, this is important to note: when Katsuki says in ch. 241 that “there’s no correlation between time spent [together] and friendship”, it’s not purely out of denial. this is something he genuinely believes, having learned it the hard way growing up. for someone who seemingly led a pretty charmed life for most of his childhood, Katsuki hasn’t actually had a particularly sunshiny experience when it comes to his friendships. all of his closest childhood friends eventually left him (Tsubasa), turned on him (Deku -- from his perspective lol. obviously this wasn’t actually the case at all, but it’s how he interpreted it, and it definitely had a big impact on him emotionally), or abandoned him (that long-fingered kid, who notably fled and never looked back when the sludge monster tried to eat Katsuki back in chapter one. like, thanks for nothing, my dude).

so it’s not surprising that all of these experiences would have a profound impact on Katsuki’s ability to trust other people and accept them as real, genuine friends. in its own way his childhood was almost as isolating as Deku and Shouto’s. it’s only since coming to U.A. that he’s started to make real friends again for the first time since kindergarten. and even then, in the case of Kirishima and Kaminari and Sero, even though I think he does consider them friends, he still isn’t very open with them. because he’s learned the hard way that that can lead to hurt, and I think he’s very hesitant to ever let himself be vulnerable to that again.

but having said all that, Shouto is still absolutely correct when he says that they’re friends. and the thing is Katsuki knows it too, but he’s just reluctant to admit it. partly because the part of his brain that processes everything as rivalry isn’t sure whether Being Friends With Shouto = Losing To Shouto (IS THIS A TRAP??), and partly because of everything else I just explained above. even though by this point he knows Shouto pretty well, well enough to be reasonably sure he’s not just gonna be another fakeass groupie who turns tail at the first sign of trouble, there’s still a part of him that’s hesitant to admit that connection is there, because doing so opens him up to potentially being hurt again at some point. goddammit. why is this shit so complicated.

meanwhile on Shouto’s side of things, this poor lil bubba never had any friends growing up to begin with, so he’s not nearly as paranoid or prickly as Katsuki is. instead, he’s still discovering for himself just what friendship is all about. the interesting thing about Shouto is that since he never had any childhood friendships, in a way, the friendships that he’s making now at U.A. are his childhood friendships. and so they tend to be straightforward and uncomplicated in much the same way that very young children’s friendships are uncomplicated. “I like this person; I am going to make them my friend.” boom. done. friendship is mad easy yo.

and he does like Katsuki! sure, his personality is a bit unconventional, but there’s a lot to admire about him even so, and they actually have a lot in common! they’re both rather introverted. they’re both very serious, and I think this is something that Shouto particularly appreciates, because jokes and idioms and playful insincerity sometimes fly over his head just because he doesn’t have a lot of experience dealing with other people. but Katsuki NEVER jokes around, and he is never insincere. he says what he means, with the exception of insults, which are 90% more bark than bite. and so once Shouto figured that out, it became very easy to figure out how to interact with him. aside from that, they’re both close with Shouto’s Other Best Friend Midoriya, they both have incendiary quirks, and they both tend towards the quiet side (yes, even Katsuki) with the occasional burst of hotheadedness (maybe a bit more than “occasional” when it comes to Katsuki’s end).

and like I said, there’s a lot that Shouto admires about Katsuki as well. he really respects how determined Katsuki is, because he himself lacked any sort of clear goals for quite a while growing up. all he knew was that he didn’t want to end up being like his dad. but Katsuki is someone who has always known what he wants, and he goes after it with a singlemindedness that Shouto is almost envious of. he’s also very intelligent and quick-thinking, and Shouto knows he can rely on him in a tight spot. he’s also honest, and surprisingly principled, and while he’s definitely not the nicest guy around, I think Shouto can recognize to some degree those same types of walls that he once spent so much time building up around himself. and so he knows that to a certain extent, Katsuki’s hostility is just a front. and I think he’s both intrigued by that, and drawn to it. because every so often when Katsuki’s guard does drop and his better self briefly shines through, Shouto can see that he’s someone worth getting to know.

anyways, but enough of my rambling about their relationship, and on to the actual headcanons. first of all, I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that at some point during all of those mentally and physically taxing weekends spent training for their provisional exam, they have each fallen asleep on the other’s shoulder during the ride home. Katsuki was actually the first to do it, and it was only for a couple of minutes, but when he woke up he was absolutely mortified. but much to his relief, Shouto never said another word about it. (and if Shouto still remembers the warm, cozy feeling in his chest during those few brief minutes when Katsuki was dead to the world, with his face smoothed out and completely trusting and his breathing strangely in rhythm with the movement of the car, and if doing so brings him a sense of calm that’s hard to describe, well then, that’s no one’s business but his own.)

anyway, so because life is Just Like That, eventually of course the reverse happened. and with anyone else, Katsuki would have violently shoved them aside without a second thought, and he was almost gonna do the same here, but then he remembered he owed him (because he really did keep his mouth shut about the earlier incident, thank fuck), and so he didn’t. for almost two whole minutes, anyway. whatever. that’s more than generous, really. meanwhile no one else knows about this except for Aizawa, who was chaperoning them that day, and took mild notice at first on account of it being unusual behavior on Katsuki’s part, but then immediately forgot about it afterwards. he was proud of them both for upping their napping game, though. he respects naps.

both Shouto and Katsuki were actually scared shitless during the test of courage at the forest training camp, and if Katsuki hadn’t been kidnapped and everything had instead gone on as normal, they would have both had trouble getting to sleep that night. Katsuki actually can’t stand scary movies or ghost stories (fyi this is canon according to the third light novel, and EXCUSE HIM FOR HAVING A HEALTHY RESPECT FOR THE SUPERNATURAL. you wanna go and get your own dumb ass cursed or dragged to hell or whatever, BE HIS GUEST). whereas Shouto has next to no experience with them and doesn’t really see what’s so scary about ghosts because GHOSTS AREN’T REAL DUH, but even he feels a little unsettled when an undead swamp girl suddenly rises from the depths and crabwalks towards them in the middle of the woods.

Katsuki has on rare occasions been so drained by provisional lessons that he goes into autopilot and forgets to pretend not to be friends with Shouto, which can result in them having completely normal conversations for minutes at a time before he eventually regains enough of his senses to realize he’s fraternizing with the enemy. this is how Shouto learned about things like Katsuki’s favorite foods, and his love of hiking. the latter is actually one subject that Katsuki can go on and on about if you get him started, and Shouto very much enjoys hearing about it and never tries to stop him.

by contrast, Katsuki never intentionally seeks to gain any new knowledge about Shouto because he feels like he already knows way more than he ever wanted to. however, this doesn’t stop him from absorbing knowledge against his will by simple osmosis, and then discovering to his dismay that he’s retained the information afterward. this is why he also knows Shouto’s favorite food in return (although to be fair, I think everyone in Japan knows Shouto’s favorite food), as well as other tidbits like the fact that he likes strawberry-flavored things (because he always gets the same brand of strawberry milk from the vending machine during their lunch breaks). he hates himself a little for both noticing and remembering these stupid little details, and would rather be kidnapped again than ever admit to Shouto that he does.

Katsuki thinks of Shouto as “Todoroki” in his head rather than “IcyHot” or “Half n’ Half”, and has to make a conscious effort to use the nicknames whenever he addresses him out loud. more and more often he finds himself forgetting to do so nowadays, much to his dismay. Shouto was pleasantly surprised the first few times it happened, but quickly stopped taking notice of it, as he’s come to realize that the way Katsuki addresses people carries very little meaning regardless, since something like 75% of his actual feelings are conveyed through his actions rather than his words.

Katsuki does wish that Shouto had had the decency to choose his surname as his hero alias rather than his given name, though. he lives in fear that one of these days he’ll be required to call him “Shouto” while on duty. number one hero or not, there’s a good chance he would resign from his internship at the Endeavor Hero Agency before he ever willingly agreed to that.

and last but not least, the number one thing that Katsuki would rather jump in a freezing lake than admit to Shouto or even himself is that he actually cares about him too. and has even mostly forgiven him for wussing out at the last minute during the sports festival. he still doesn’t fully understand why he did it, but he gets that Shouto was Going Through Some Stuff, and okay yeah, he can admit that his family situation is pretty fucked up, so whatever. there’s an uncomfortable feeling he gets whenever he’s reminded of this; sort of a weird, squirmy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever the subject of Endeavor comes up, or whenever he sees Shouto talking to the man himself. it makes him feel restless and on edge, and he never knows what to say or do afterwards, especially if Shouto goes all quiet and sullen and reflective. he wants to scream at him, or slap him on the back of the head, or grab him by the shoulders and shake him; whatever it takes to snap him out of it and ease the tension. but he knows that’s not the right way to handle it. and more to the point, he knows that he’s not the right person to handle it. and sometimes, if he’s not quick enough to squash the feeling when he senses it coming, he wonders how Shouto would react if he ever found out what Katsuki used to be like back in elementary and middle school. and he wonders whether Shouto would still be so dead-set insistent on calling them friends. and then he does squash out the thought, as viciously as he possibly can.

anyway so that turned weirdly angsty towards the end whoops. not even sure what happened there, since this is supposed to be my cute and funny ship, while BakuDeku greedily hogs all the angst for itself! lol my bad. but don’t worry, they still love each other, and Shouto is still fond and soft and equipped with bullshit-radar, and Katsuki is still rabid and in denial and a dumbass.

#bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #todobaku #bnha headcanons #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks

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live-laugh-lesbian80083 · 4 years ago

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Jazz Band Jazz

Summary: Evan heads over to his girlfriend, Zoe’s house to hang out. Zoe teaches him how to play guitar and things get a little spicy

Word count: 1,526

Warnings: gets a little smutty, swearing

Requested: nope

Please do NOT copy, rewrite, or translate onto another site. Permission will not be given if asked for it.

—

Zoe was peacefully strumming her guitar while playing one of her favorite songs, Unruly Heart from The Prom. It was one of the first songs she ever learned on her guitar. It may have taken her months of practice but once it was perfected, she sounded like an Angel. She was quietly humming the lyrics to herself when the doorbell rang. She carefully tossed her guitar onto her bed before jumping up and throwing open her bedroom door to see Connor already opening it.

"Zoe! Your boy to-" Connor started "Didn't know you were standing there. Evan's here"

"I can see that." Zoe commented as she sped down the stairs to greet Evan. Once she finally met with Evan, she greeted him with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek "hi babe."

"Hey babe." Evan replied, the couple earning a gagging noise from Connor.

"Let's go up to my room. Shall we?" Zoe asked, sticking her arm out for Evan to take.

"We shall." Evan said, linking arms with his girlfriend.

They made their way up the stairs, laughing at each other's clumsiness along the way. Zoe led Evan down a short hallway and into her bedroom. She then shut the door and noticed Evan eyeing her guitar. She smiled to herself and snuck up behind him, throwing her arms around his waist.

"Whatcha lookin at?" She questioned innocently.

"Your guitar." He replied, not taking his eyes off the wooden masterpiece before him.

"Want me to teach you how to play it? It's really not that hard." Zoe said, releasing Evan and jumping onto her bed and taking the guitar into her lap.

"I- I mean I'd love to but I've never even touched a guitar before." Evan commented, watching Zoe as she placed her fingers onto the strings

"Come on. It's so easy! Just try it." Zoe insisted.

"Alright fine. But if I make your ears bleed, that's on you." Evan commented, taking the guitar from Zoe.

"Only Jared could do that." She snickered

"True that." Evan replied, making a face which caused Zoe to burst out into a fit of laughter.

Zoe's laugh is what keeps Evan in check. It sounds like pure sunlight and sweet milk chocolate. It has the ability to make anyone in the room smile. It's contagious. But the person who catches the joy first is always Evan. Once he hears the start of her laugh, he immediately breaks out into a place of pure joy. His heart warms up to the perfect temperature, making him become overwhelmed with a warm fuzzy feeling. Then his smile breaks through. It's soft and welcoming, something anyone could get used to. Evan's smile is what keeps Zoe on her toes. It's bright and warm and something that takes effort to get out. But once you earn the right to see his true and genuine smile, it changes you. It makes you think about the good things in life. The things that matter. All of your worries melt away and you for once focus on right then and there.

Zoe proceeded to teach Evan the basics of guitar. He quickly got the hang of it, finding it was similar to typing on a keyboard. His fingers moved swiftly along the frets and strings. After thirty minutes of learning chords, Zoe showed him how to play one of his favorite songs, Birds by Thomas Sanders Feat. Terrence William Jr. He pushed through the pain coursing through his fingertips because of holding the strings. After forcing himself to finish the song for an hour or so, he finished the song. During his last run through of the song, Zoe snuck a quick video of him. She smirked to herself as she posted it onto her social media and sent it to him. He got the notification and looked up at his girlfriend, trying to pull his smile back.

"Why are you looking at me like that." Zoe commented, smirking but hiding it with her hands

"What do you mean?" Evan asked

"You looking at me funny." She chuckled

"Am not!" He exclaimed, taking the guitar off his lap and putting it to the side

"Are too!" Zoe giggled

Evan scowled playfully and stood up, turning his back on Zoe. That was a mistake. She pounced onto his back, attacking him with tickles. He fell onto the floor in a fit of laughter, begging Zoe to stop. She didn't. That was also a mistake. Once he got a hold of himself. He flipped the two of them over so he sat over her (Oh god this sounds sexual. I swear it's not lol.) and watched her facial expression go from beaming with joy to perplexed with his actions. He pinned her arms down so she can't attack him any further and smirked. Evan then leaned down and passionately kissed Zoe. She melted into the kiss. Evan's never kissed her like that before. Where did all this dominance come from?

All of the sudden, they hear Zoe's door swing open. The couple snaps their gazes to the door to lay their eyes on Connor. Both their faces were overcome with a deep red as they quickly scampered away from each other. Connor found himself smirking at the sight. His little sister was making out with his best friend. And he walked in on them. Both of them are embarrassed beyond belief, trying to think of a way to cover the situation.

"Connor, it's not what it looks like." Zoe called out.

"Oh it's exactly what it looks like." Connor smirked.

"I swear it's not." Zoe defended.

"It totally is. I'm gonna go tell Cynthia and Larry!" Connor yelled "Cynthiaaaaaa!"

Zoe ran over to Connor and slapped her hands onto his mouth while Evan just sat on the floor trying not to freak out. What the hell just happened? He just went full dom on Zoe. Because of a goddamn tickle fight! But why is he getting riled up over a dom moment you ask? No idea. He's just never done it before and it's something he never saw himself doing.

"You keep your mouth shut Connor." Zoe snared.

"And if I don't?" Connor questioned through Zoe's hand.

"I'll tell mom and dad about your Newsies obsession." Zoe threatened.

"Alright! Fine! Now let me out of this sex hole!" Connor agreed.

"It's not a sex hole!" Zoe exclaimed.

"Wait, since when have you liked Newsies?" Evan asked curiously.

"For fucks sake-" Connor swore, running his fingers through his dark hair.

"I caught him dancing to seize the day once." Zoe snickered, enjoying making her older brother embarrassed for it rarely ever happens.

"You dance?" Evan questioned

~Flashback brought to you by The Most Amazing Trees~

As Zoe came home from school one day, she heard a soft beat flowing through the house. Curiously, she followed the sound throughout the whole house. It led her to the basement door. She carefully opened it, trying to not stop whatever she was about to interrupt. Zoe silently made her way down the steep set of stairs, trying to figure out the source of the music. Connor's supposed to be home by now. So is Cynthia. Maybe it's one of them. No, this seems way too theatrical for it to be either of them. Who could it be?

As she reached the edge of the stairs, she recognized the music. It's Newsies The Musical. Okay. Now this is really weird. Zoe's the only one who listens to Newsies in the Murphy household. Did she accidentally leave her speaker on when she left the house this morning? Well, we're about to find out. She continued to follow the sound till she heard a large thud. She whipped back around the corner and hid behind a wall. The music continued. No more thudding. After waiting for a moment, she continued the journey to find the culprit of the music.

Once it felt safe, she fully turned the corner once again, to find Connor jumping around the hardwood floors. She immediately broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. Seeing her older brother in all of his angsty teenager glory prancing around the basement while listening to Newsies is something she never expected to see in her lifetime. Connor froze after hearing Zoe's laugh as his face turned beat red. His fists clenched into tight balls as he turned to face his very amused younger sibling.

"What the fuck are you doing here." Connor yelled.

"I-I heard music coming from the basement so I investigated." Zoe stuttered.

"You did your stupid little investigation. Now he the hell out!" Connor exclaimed, sending Zoe scrambling back up the stairs.

~Flashback Over~

"Do you still remember the choreography?" Evan questioned.

"Oh my god-" Connor exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air while storming out of Zoe's room.

There was a moment of silence before the couple bursted out into a hysterical fit of laughter. God, isn't Connor just the best?

#dear evan hansen #zoe murphy #evan hansen #zoevan #deh fanfic #dear Evan Hansen fanfic #jazz band jazz #dear evan hansen x reader

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laylacooke · 4 years ago

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New Moon Rising || Ariana, Alcher, & Layla

timing: Friday, 9/20 parties: @letsbenditlikebennett, @zahneundklauen, & @laylacooke summary: Ariana, Alcher, and Layla bond over dinner. warnings: death mention tw by all three characters

Nothing felt right. It’d been nearly a week since she read that news article about Winn and Ariana still felt numb. At least she had since seen Ace, but how weary she was didn’t seem to fade. No amount of woodworking projects, new recipes, or distractions seemed to do the trick. Diving into solving who killed him with Blanche helped to an extent, but they’d yet to find Winn’s ghost. Since she’d stopped by Kaden’s, she had seen Celeste a few more times. She seemed like herself and somehow, it had her reeling even more so. It couldn’t really be Celeste, but this figure sounded like her, acted like her and even smelled like her. Right now, it was the only thing pushing her forward. She idly fidgeted with the little wooden bat she’d been carving. Both vegan and regular chili were already on the stove. She’d made two macaroni and cheeses as well. The potatoes and veggies would work for both of them. The table and chairs she’d made looked nice in her dining area and she wanted to be excited she was having guests over. She had been so before, especially since Alcher and Layla would get to meet, but she couldn’t muster it anymore. Her energy seemed to be getting lower and lower though she tried to perk up and turn it on when she heard a knock at the door.

Layla had been free from cat life for a little while, but the news she had come back to had sent her mood plummeting. The news of Winn’s death had been unexpected, and so badly she had contemplated going back to Cordy and seeing if the witch would turn her back into an animal. She hadn’t even had a chance to go apartment hunting with Winn, and now, she was lost on what to do. Thankfully, Ariana had given her an escape and offered up dinner. The trailer had been lonely without her, and while Ulf had given her the option to move into the house, it hadn’t felt right with Ari not being there. At least she had still had Indy with her. The one thing in her life that hadn’t moved on or away. With the small dog in tow, Layla found herself standing outside Ariana’s new place trying to decide if she had wanted to go in or not. Everything had felt off, since she had returned to werewolf life and laying low had just seemed to come naturally to her, “Should we go in, Indy? Or just grab some food from the grocery store and head back to the trailer?” She looked to the small dog in her arms hoping for an answer.

The first time Alcher had woken up in a place she didn’t recognize hadn’t been too much cause for alarm. The second and third times, however, were. She had always been extremely careful to make sure she did not lose track of time or herself, that she did not lose herself completely to the beast. Was this the work of the beast? Or was it coincidence that the full moon had just passed? She could not be sure, but she did know that she was going to try and get to the bottom of what was happening-- after this dinner with Ariana. It was important to gain her full trust, and the fact that she was bringing another wolf for her to meet. Layla was her name, and by the sounds of it, she, too, was a young wolf. This meeting tonight would be important. It would make or break Alcher’s ability to take these two into her fold. If she wanted to help them, she needed them to trust her and accept her first, and Alcher was nothing if not patient.

When she arrived at the address Ariana gave her, she smelled the other wolf before she even saw her. She stood up ahead, on the sidewalk, looking up to the apartment. There was a dog beside her. Her father had always warned her of the danger of keeping a dog as a wolf-- they would end up dead, eventually, and the bond between the two would be broken. Still, these poor children were so lonely, weren’t they? Without a true pack, they sought companionship in domesticized cousins. She came up beside the red head. “I think,” she spoke softly, “we shouldn’t leave our friend waiting.”

With the full moon having just passed, Ariana could hear the other wolves before they knocked on her door though it took them longer than she would have expected. She knew Layla walked up first when she smelled her and Indy arriving. Part of her reached for the door, but she’d give Layla a minute. It was hard to determine just what was holding her back though she did frown and gave both pots of chili another stir. A quick peek out her window told her the area was still foggy and the sky still darker than normal. Everything just seemed wrong which mirrored how she’d been feeling lately. People kept dying or getting hurt and it was hard to focus on what good could come of that when she felt like she was clawing away with nothing to hold on to. She shook the darker thoughts away, afraid of what they might bring. She hadn’t seen Celeste again since she’d left Kaden’s, but that was not a scene she could stomach happening in front of her again. When the knock finally did come, she threw on her most convincing smile and opened the door. “Come in,” she greeted warmly and gestured toward the living area, “I’ve got classic chili and mac and cheese going for me and Alcher. Got some vegan versions for you, Layla. Then some cast iron roasted vegetables for everyone because vitamins or something.” She gave them a quick little tour of the apartment and directed them to the barstools. “Did anyone want a drink? I’ve got water, White Claws, orange juice, milk, La Croix, and Sprite.”

Layla could smell the other wolf before she had even gotten close, so the words hadn’t come as a surprise. Looking over, the redhead nodded softly. It wasn’t long before she was being escorted inside with Indy in tow. Ariana’s new place was nice. And it was something she had hoped to find with Winn’s help, but all the cat bullshit had gotten in the way, and before she could go apartment hunting, or even just see her friend one last time, he was gone. Thankfully it was an evening being spent with her best friend and apparently a new friend. One whose name had sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place at the moment, “I know it’s a pain in the ass cooking two meals, but thanks, Ari. I’m more so just grateful for the company and not constantly hearing myself meow.” She laughed softly, “I’ll go with water.” Turning her attention back to the other person, she stuck out her hand, “I’m Layla, and this is Indy.” She showed Alcher the small dog, before sitting him down on the floor to go play with Luna.

Alcher’s smile was warm and soft when Ariana opened the door to greet them. Despite the ache in her shoulder from the silver knife, and the strangeness of waking in places she did not remember going to, the smile was genuine. She was happy to see Ariana, smiling and sweet, after everything she had told her over the past few weeks. Someone hunting wolves, full moons being taken from them, and now the passing of a wolf whom Ariana had known-- Alcher wished she could take Ariana’s pain and carry it with her, but in all her years, that was the one thing she’d never figured out how to do. So, instead, she would be here to support her. And now she was finally meeting the other young wolf, Layla. They’d talked once on the internet, and now Alcher’s suspicions were confirmed. Though her brow did furrow at the mention of vegan food. They would have to deal with that discrepancy later. She first needed to bond with the girl. “We’ve met, actually,” she said to Layla, taking the offered hand, “online. I may have told you a different name, however. I go by Ada in public.” A grin. “But for my friends and for those I can trust, it is Alcher.” She turned back to Ariana, enjoying the smell of the food wafting around them. “It all looks wonderful, Ariana,” she said, heading towards the kitchen. “Water will do for now,” she answered. “So, tell me-- how did you two meet? Have you both lived her long?”

Ariana was quick to grab water for both of her friends. Somehow, playing the perfect hostess was enough to keep her mind idly occupied. At least until she remembered everything that had happened. It was hard to swallow back the lump in her throat, but she did as she handed them both glasses of ice water. “Here you go,” she said as she slid over coasters for them to use, “And I’m definitely gonna be that person with the coasters. Countertop isn’t wood, but most of the other surfaces are and I made them myself so…” As she realized the pair had chatted online, she noted, “Funny, a conversation was what inspired Alcher and I meeting. I’ve dubbed myself White Crest’s official trail guide… although that sounds like a good way to get axe murdered so maybe not though I guess I do have a one up on most.” Unless they were a hunter which apparently, she was shit at realizing ahead of time. At least the hunters she knew in town seemed to care for her. At the question of how her and Layla met, she briefly paused her stirring, “Oh uh, that’s a funny story. I’ve lived here about six months, Layla a little less? I may or may not have sniffed her out.” She’d let Layla tell the rest. It wasn’t entirely necessary to advertise the other wolf had been dumpster diving.

That’s why this woman had seemed so familiar. Layla had talked to her already. Social media had a funny way of connecting people, “I don’t think I ever got your name actually, but it’s nice to meet you, Alcher. I’m Layla.” She turned her attention to Ariana, taking the glass of ice water, “Thanks, Ari, and coasters I can do. Everything looks amazing, by the way. I think Ulf would be proud.” She smiled before taking a sip of water and sitting her glass down on one of the recommended coasters. What the conversation had shifted to was something that Layla hadn’t let enter her mind in quite a while. She had gotten comfortable living in White Crest, and it had come to feel like home despite all the heartache it had brought, “Uh, yeah. Sniffed me out alright.” She laughed softly. Though her situation wasn’t funny, it was amusing to think how afraid of Ariana she had been, “I didn’t really have a home at the time, and Ariana found me rummaging for food behind one of the small restaurants in town. And the rest is history!” Layla wasn’t quite sure about Alcher yet, especially after the way she had been questioned by the other wolf when they had first started talking online. There were still lingering threats on her life from people in her past, and she was slowly learning that trust wasn’t just something to give out so easily anymore.

Alcher watched the two girls interact for a moment. They were familiar with each other, and they were obviously friendly, but there was just the slightest hesitation on Layla’s side, which meant Ariana was the wolf with more experience here. It made sense; Ariana had told Alcher she was born a wolf. From what she’d gathered, Layla was bitten. Which meant she could never be as much of a wolf as Ariana or Alcher. That wasn’t her fault, though, and as long as she wanted to try and be a better wolf, then she would have Alcher’s support. Smiling, she nodded between the two. “I’m glad you two met, then, and that you have each other,” she said. “I assume you’ve since found a place to live, like Ariana?” turned her gaze towards the young wolf she’d met earlier.

Ariana was glad Layla felt comfortable enough to share exactly how they found each other. She knew it could potentially be embarrassing but it was good her friend was embracing her previous struggle and hopefully learning, too. There was no reason for any wolf to be alone in the world and she held Layla very near and dear to her heart. She put the finishing touches on the meals before she started to serve them. “Thanks,” she replied with a soft smile, “I’m sure he will be when he gets a chance to stop by. It still feels a bit weird not having you guys right there, but it’s nice being close to school. Blanche lives right across the hall, too, and I made friends with one of my neighbors, Grace… which is actually a funny story.” The part about Layla being a cat wasn’t all that funny, but as she set the plates down on the table by the kitchen, she said, “When you were still a cat, I happened to win a cat whistle in the craft fair prize. Tried to use it to lure you, but well, turns out it was a whistle for fae cat. It’s since been destroyed, but Grace happened to run into me with well… entirely too many cats around. Putai--” She cut herself off realizing it was probably best to not mention Kaden to Alcher until she knew she wouldn’t seek him out to hurt him. “They eventually left seeing as this place isn’t currently cat central.”

Ariana gestured toward the table and joined them. “I’m glad we found each other, too,” she commented with a wider smile now. “Who else would ride shotgun in my Barbie car with me?” She did miss being able to just hang out with Layla, but she supposed they were due for a sleepover one of these days. She knew Layla wanted her own place and was in the works of finding one. She’d let her explain all that to Alcher though.

“I’m glad we met, too. Ari pretty much saved my life. What about you two? How did you meet?” She looked from Ariana to Alcher back to Ariana. Noticing it was dinner time, the young wolf found her seat and sat down. Everything had smelled good, including the non-vegan food. It had been hard to contend with cat and werewolf cravings as a cat, often snacking on mice or canned fish when she could. The Pièce de résistance was the cooked salmon Deirdre had served up, even though Anya had nearly made her cat life a living hell, “It smells amazing, by the way. Like I could seriously eat it all. I mean…Sorry, cat life still has its lingering effects…” She bit at her bottom lip embarrassed, but perked up at the mention of Ariana’s neighbors and a fae cat whistle, “A cat whistle? That’s a new thing. I swear the people who judge the town contests must be spying on us, because they always seem to put the most ridiculous, but relevant things in our lives.” Layla looked to Alcher. “Did you enter the craft fair?”

Alcher was enjoying watching the two interact. It was more than good that they were friends and seemed at ease with each other. It made her job easier. If one trusted her, the other would soon follow. Layla would be work, but Ariana was already warming up quickly. Either way, they were both worth it, and they were certainly in need of some guidance. Not eating meat, trying to turn people out of fear, turning into cats...yes, they certainly needed a guiding hand. That was what she was here for. She settled into her seat and smiled across at the two. “It’s wonderful to hear about how close you two are,” she commented, “though turning into a cat sounds...perilous. I’m glad you’re back to normal, now, and that we get to meet.” Gave a gentle smile at Layla before helping herself to the food Ariana had provided them. “I did not, and from what I’m hearing, I should thank the stars for that. Do all contests here give out strange prizes? I’ve heard other people complaining of them, as well,” she commented, glancing between the two.

There was a soft smile on her face as she took her seat and answered Layla’s question. “We actually started talking about hiking online,” Ariana explained, “And I offered to show her the trails since well, you know I know my way around the woods here. Obviously, we were pretty quick to sniff each other out.” From that point, Alcher had seemed to want to look out for her even if they didn’t necessarily see eye to eye on the Ace situation. She had almost regretted bringing it up, but she wouldn’t be swayed from protecting someone she cared for. Too much had been lost recently, she wasn’t about to lose someone else. She shook away that thought and took a few bites of her food. She laughed a bit about the cat whistle, “Yeah, apparently not a thing for real cats, but yeah, I’m glad you’re not a cat and have decided the prizes in this town are just sketchy. Plus, I’m pretty sure they ate the chair I made. Like I could have put that on my Etsy shop, so rude.” She shook her head and added, “Alcher, everything in this town is strange. Prizes included.”

“I’m glad I’m back to normal, too. I don’t recommend cat life at all, and if it’s something that happens, I suggest staying away from Deirdre’s house. Her cat, Anya, is a nightmare and like oddly, super smart.” She shrugged off the cat and the bad memories as she reached for some of the food Ari had made for them, “You know, as long as I’ve been here, I still don’t know my way around. Maybe we could all go for a hike one day?” She looked between the two wolves. If Ariana had trusted Alcher, then getting to know the other wolf was something she wanted to invest time into. “Maybe you could show me a thing or two, Alcher?” Layla looked to the woman with a smile as she scooped veggies onto her plate. The one thing the teenager was starting to long for was a pack out of the loneliness she was beginning to feel. It seemed like just a few months back, the wolves of White Crest were onto a great thing, but a thing that never came to fruition. However, with Alcher around there was a chance that maybe the three of them could make magic happen.

“Hmm,” Alcher sighed, “you’re right, Ariana. This place is strange.” She took a moment of silence to contemplate more words before adding on, “But that’s part of the charm, isn’t it?” Smiled toothily at the two of them before continuing her meal. As she expected from the smell, the food was wonderful, though the idea of the non-meat meal still made her insides burn. A problem for another day. “I would love nothing more than to go on a hike with the two of you,” she finally said, sitting back. “I’d like to think I know my way around the woods a little better now.” She looked over to Layla, giving a short nod. A thing or two was putting it lightly-- this wolf needed work. But that’s what she was here for, right? To get them back on track. And these two had lost so much and so much of their packs already, they would perhaps need Alcher for longer than she usually stayed. “I believe I can do that,” she answered simply, putting a gentle hand on Layla’s shoulder. “In fact, I’d love to.”

The thought of all of them hiking together brought Ariana a sense of content that she hadn’t felt in entirely too long. All her life, she’d longed to be part of a pack and while she’d found other wolves in White Crest, it had always felt like a struggle to bring them all together and now so many had left. Or worse. Winn’s death was still entirely too fresh. She shook it off and took a moment before she smiled. “A hike together sounds perfect,” she responded, “There are some really amazing trails here though I tend to avoid any that go near the lake after the whole Squidward thing.” After taking another bite of her food, she added, “I’m sure you do. I was pretty quick to learn them, too. I’ve always enjoyed hiking.” No matter where she and Celeste had gone while on the run, they always found some trails to enjoy. As much was a matter of necessity come a certain time of the month, but all the memories she had with Celeste and how delighted wildflowers made her was something she’d always cherish. The wistful feeling wasn’t entirely unfamiliar though she’d rather try to keep creating new memories to cherish. “I’m sure there’s a lot we could both learn from you,” she turned to Layla and explained, “Alcher travels a lot to help other wolves, so I’m sure she has lots of tricks up her sleeve.” She smiled brightly for what felt like the first time in too long. This was nice. They were building their own little wolf family though she couldn’t help but wish Ulfric and Winn were here, too.

Scooping some of the vegan dinner options onto her plate as well, Layla was set. All the food had smelled and looked amazing. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it, and as she listened to Ariana and Alcher speak of hiking and learning how to wolf, she dug in. Eating with a fork and at a table, rather than just shoving her face in a bowl of food was something she had definitely missed, “A hike it is then. You guys just let me know when and where.” Speaking of the woods, maybe before she met up with them, she could slip off to visit Celeste. It had been far too long since she had gone to pay her respects, and she had a lot to talk about with the woman. Though there had been so much on the forefront of her mind, not a day went by that she didn’t think of her in some way. Whether it be big or small, the hunter with a soft spot for werewolves, had been one of the biggest reasons Layla had survived, but out of fear of upsetting Ariana, she rarely brought her up. Instead, she focused back on the conversation going on in front of her, “Really? Where all have you been, Alcher? I mean if you don’t mind me asking.” She took another bite of food.

Normalcy was relative, but as Alcher glanced around, she found that the only word she had for this moment was normal. How long had it been since she’d sat at a real table and shared a meal with other wolves? Even back in Canada, moments like these were rare. She’d taught that rather feral pack how to behave properly, but they were more wolf than human-- much like herself-- and they did not sit down at tables to eat meals. She looked fondly at the two wolves now sitting beside her. “Oh, many places,” she said, “though Maine was my first stop in the U.S. I lived in Poland most my life, it’s where I--” she paused, distinctly, allowing herself to remember these two were wolves. They were owed the truth, but trust was something Alcher held close to her heart. “It’s where I was raised after my family died.” She let the words come stiffly before moving on. “I was born in Germany. I’ve been to, let’s see now-- France, Austria, Denmark, Italy, Greece...Spain, Portugal, England and Ireland. And Scotland, in all technicalities.” She looked at the two. “Have either of you ever been out of the country?”

It was funny how realistically; this whole setup was all Ariana had longed for as she was growing up. As much as she loved Celeste, she longed for that sense of belonging with wolves, too, and it was her sister who had paid for that desire with her life. It felt wrong to enjoy this knowing what she sacrificed by refusing to leave this town. The deeper she found herself in the supernatural world, the more Ariana realized she had no clue what the hell she was doing, but she wanted this. Maybe it had been the question of the places she’d been that brought up the feeling of nostalgia. All those places she had gone had been with Celeste and she missed so many of those memories. “I’ve never been overseas, but I lived in Mexico and Canada both for a while,” she answered with a bit of wistfulness in her tone. She’d loved Canada and running through snow under the bright light of the full moon. “I did always want to go to Romania with my sister. Maybe I’ll still do that one of these days.” She realized she didn’t know if Layla had ever been out of the country and now, she was curious for the answer, so she watched her friend intently as she moved some food around on her plate with her fork.

Layla listened to the older of the two wolves explain her past. At the news of Alcher’s family, the redhead’s eyes fell, “I’m so sorry to hear about your family.” While she still had both of her parents, she had experienced death before of someone she was extremely close with; her grandmother. The one person that seemed to always be there for her growing up. Sitting silently, she took another bite of food, as she listened to Ariana talk about her travels to Canada and Mexico learning information she didn’t know, “Sounds like you both have been to some pretty cool places.” Traveling out of the country was something Layla had experienced, but it had been when she was small and could barely remember it. In her mind, it didn’t really count, “When I was like super little, I vaguely remember traveling out of the country, but I don’t really remember where we went or how long we were there.” Her parents, as hunters, had done a lot of suspicious stuff, and much of it, she struggled to remember, which had probably been for the best; especially since she didn’t quite trust Alcher to know about her hunter background yet. Instead, she would cherish this get together for what it was; new and old friends having a nice meal together.

As Alcher looked across the table at the two young wolves, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of hopefulness. They were young, malleable-- but they were also smart, and loyal. And they had already found each other. She could make this a good home for them, of that she was confident, and perhaps, along the way, she could make them good for this home. Teach them what she knew, how she lived. How to protect others, how to destroy those who might threaten them or their pack. So, it was with a small smile that Alcher lifted her glass to the two, a very human sentiment, and said a small cheers. “Here’s to hoping things only get better from here on out,” she said, “and at the very least, we can have each other.”

#para: new moon rising #letsbenditlikebennett #zahneundklauen #death mention tw #wickedswriting

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kaiju-emperor · 5 years ago

Text

d’Artagan (Saber) Character Concept

(d’Artagan servant outfit. Art by @angelicvangaart Thank so much for this amazing work! Please go give them your support)

One of the central characters of Alexdre Dumas’s classic ‘The Three Musketeers’. d’Artagan was a young woman, who dreamt of being a musketeer and traveled to Paris. There, she met the titular Three Musketeers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. The four would go on many adventures together, and d’artagan would come into her own as a great sword fighter.

d’Artagan takes the form of a woman in her mid twenties, with flowing locks of brown hair. Her usual attire is the leather armor and cape of her musketeer uniform. She wields a basket hilt rapier, a parrying dagger and flintlock pistol with deadly accuracy.

d’Artagan has an easygoing and ‘rougeish’ personality. She is ‘romantic’ in the classical sense of the word, having a deep sense of honor and manners. Her tongue, and wit are sharp, offering witty quips and jibes in and out of battle. However, she knows when the time for such things is over.

As a servant, d’Artagan is a master of the blade. She was more than likely one of the greatest swordmasters of her era. She strikes with precision, and finesse over brute force. Using diversion, positioning and superior skill to win over her opponents.

(Casual d’Artagan)

Parameters

Strength:C+

Endurance:B

Agility: A

Magic Power:C

Luck A+

Noble Phantasm:A

Skills

Charisma C+:Despite not being a leader, d’artagnan has a decently high charisma stat. Her personality is infectious and she has a way with words.

Riding B+: Like most musketeers d’Artagan was trained in the art of horsemanship. She even has some knowledge about sailing thanks to her travels

Magic Resistance B: Being a saber class servant, d’Artagan is granted a high level of magic resistance.

Noble Phantasms

Tous Pour Un: Musketeer’s Bond Rank B

A secondary noble phantasm to d’Artagan’s main one. Using this power, she can call on a phantom of one of the other musketeers. They infuse her with power, each one granting a different boon. Calling upon the power of Porthos, her Strength and Endurance stat increase, allowing her to clash with opponents physically stronger than herself. Calling upon Aramis grants her keen vision, and agility. It also summons Aramis’s trusty musket, which is a low ranked noble phantasm in and of itself. Finally, by calling upon Athos, the phantom of Athos will strike alongside d’Artagan, mirroring her moves, or defending her from harm. Allowing her incredible versatility in combat. As well as the ability to stand toe to toe with servants whose skill exceeded normal humans in life.

Un Pour Tous, Tous Pour Un: Oath Of The Musketeers Rank A

The full power and form of d’Artagan’s noble phantasm. It is a crystallization of her oath, and friendship with the other musketeers. A representation of their intertwined legend. By speaking the famous oath of the musketeers, d’Artagan creates a reality marble that is an image of the Palace Of Fontainebleau. Inside of the bounds of the reality marble, she summons the full forms of her three companions Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. All three of them are full servants in their own right and their parameters are on par with d’Artagan herself. As long as the reality marble is maintained, the four will fight together to defeat their enemy. It is here that the full power of the musketeers is seen. Within the space of the reality marble, things such as authority and divinity do not matter. All are equal within. Which allows the musketeers to harm divine beings despite not having divine weapons or divinity themselves.

FGO version

4* Saber

Deck

Passive Skills

Riding Rank B+:Increase Quick performance by 9%

Magic Resistance B: Increases own debuff resistance by 17.5%.

Active Skills

Charisma C+ : Increase attack party attack for 3 turns. from 8.5 to 17%

Un Pour Tous: Porthos: Increase own attack for 3 turns from 10-20% Apply Debuff Immune for 3 turns

Un Pour Tous:Aramis: Apply evade to self for two attacks. And apply sure hit to self and gain 10-15 crit stars.

Noble Phantasm

Un Pour Tous, Tous Pour Un: Oath Of The Musketeers Rank A, Type:Arts, Anti Unit

Deals 900-1500% damage to a single enemy that ignores defense. Overcharge Increase NP gain for 3 turns from 20-40% (activates first)

Dialogue

Summon

“I have answered your call, I d’Artagan shall be your sword and your shield. Hehe, sorry that was far too formal. Let me try again. I am d’Artagan, Saber class. *leans down to kiss your hand* “Enchante, My Lord/Lady. I hope my companions and I can serve you well.”

Level Up

“ Ah je me sens déjà plus fort!” (Translation:Ah. I feel stronger already)

Battle Start

En garde! Prêts? Allez! (Translation: On guard! Ready! Lets begin!)

Battle Start 2

All For One, And One For All! (Randomly said in French or English)

Attack 1

“Advance! Hah!”

Attack 2

“Attaque au Fer!”

Attack 3

“Doublé!”

Extra Attack

“Parry! Then...thrust!”

Hit By Noble Phantasm

“Gahhh I must...endure!”

Defeat

Ah! Tou...che.

First Skill Used

Transmettre mes amis! (Translation: Onward, my friends!)

Second Skill Used

Porthos! I need your strength!

Third Skill Used

Aramis! Grant me your speed!

Noble Phantasm Selected

“It is time, my friends!”

Noble Phantasm Used

“Let me show you, the strength of our bond, of our oath. The dream of our legend! All For One, And One For All! Athos! Porthos! Aramis! Fight by my side once more!”

My Room Lines

(If you have Jeanne d’Arc Ruler/Archer) “Mon dieu! Is that Jeanne d’Arc?! I was told stories of her as a child. It is such an honor to meet her in the flesh! She is truly as beautiful and radiant as I imagined.”

(If you have Chevalier d’Eon) “A fellow knight of France! It is a pleasure to meet someone who served the country as I did! To think that there would be future knights as lovely and cute as yourself! Hahaha! No need to blush!”

(if you have Marie Antoinette) *quickly bows* “I can tell just from your beauty and countenance that you are of royal blood. A future queen of France you say? So, I was right! I do seem to have a talent for reading resplendent beauties.”

(if you have Edmon Dantes) “That man... He has a dark aura about him. I feel the pain in his eyes. What must he have suffered to have such eyes?”

(if you have Astolfo) “I’ve been spending some time with Astolfo lately. They are quite the character. On the surface they seem quite strange and lack common sense. However, deep within they truly are worthy of being a paladin of the great Charlemagne”

During an Event

“It seems something exciting is happening out there, master. A festival perhaps? Let us go and see.”

Likes

“Things that I like? Hmmm. Wine, roses, books, and poetry. But the thing I love most, are women. Eh? That last one was obvious?”

Dislikes

“Dishonorable types. Backstabbers, traitors and the like. The worst types like that however, are the ones who make women cry.”

About the other musketeers.

“You want to hear about Porthos? Porthos was a boisterous man, always smiling. He had a hearty loud laugh. He was also a bit of a dandy. Always wanting to wear the latest fashions and look his best. I never knew a man who shined his boots more.”

“Aramis was a ladies man, through and through. Despite being highly religious he always seemed to find time for women. *sighs* More than once I caught him knocking boots with the nuns of various churches. But, despite all that, he was a good and stalwart friend, and he always respected when a woman was not interested in him.”

“Athos... Athos was... He was like a father to me. He was the one who taught me how to fight with a blade. I looked up to him, and loved him dearly. But, he was also a haunted man. I often found him drinking away his sorrows. Curse that Lady de Winter...”

Bond 1 “Good day to you my lord/lady. I hope you are doing well. I’m still trying to get used to this modern place. Its a lot to take in.”

Bond 2 “Walking among these halls of heroes, I feel like I’m back at the musketeer barracks again. Just without all the drills, haha!”

Bond 3: “I was not born a noble like the other musketeers. I was a simple farmer’s daughter. But I dreamed of being one despite all that. I remember arriving in Paris, my eyes wide with wonder, and head full of dreams. Ah, sorry, I’m rambling.”

Bond 4:”Hmm? You want to know more about my childhood? Well, there’s not much to tell. I was a farmer’s daughter, as I said. I grew up in the fields of France, milking cows, collecting eggs, milling grain and so on. It was a simple life. But I don’t think it was for me in the end.”

Bond 5(if male mc): “Master, I wish to offer my fealty again. You are my king, and I your loyal musketeer. You are truly a great and kind leader. I could not ask for a better lord to serve.”

Bond 5(if female mc): “Good day, my lady. I hope you’re well. I have something special planned for us today. I’ve arranged a rayshift to the rolling fields of France. A perfect place for a romantic picnic, oui?~ Shall we, my lady? There’s no need to be shy. Take my hand, ma petite fleur~”

Bond CE: “Note From The King”

Effect: “Party Quick, and Arts up by 10% “

“I remember that day. It was many years after my friends and I had drifted apart. I had been recognized for my accomplishments, despite my common birth. I was leading France’s forces against the United Provinces. During the Siege of Maastricht, I was reading a letter signed with the royal seal. I was to be made into ‘The Marshal Of France’ the highest honor I could ever hope to achieve. I can hear the ringing of the sudden gunshot that followed. The feeling of the musket ball piercing my chest... Blood leaked from lips and I felt my life ebbing. ‘Athos, Porthos, Aramis, adieu forever....’ “

#fate #fate series #fgo #fate grand order #the three musketeers #fate oc #servant oc

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yuanzhous · 6 years ago

Note

Oh could you do some Tim and Damian bonding with number 10 or just the batbros in general

Here you go! Sorry it took so long and thanks for the prompt! I had a lot of fun writing this, Tim and Damian are just Peak siblings constantly bitching at each other and I love it, lmaoo.

Tim was having a strange dream. It looked like he was in a video game, making his way through a castle that looked like a Super Mario level, only he was fighting an army of ninjas. Bruce and the others were waiting at the end of the stage, he knew instinctively, trapped inside a giant man-eating plant. He had to get to them fast, or the plant would digest them and it would be game over.

Then there was an earthquake. Tim cursed under his breath and struggled to keep his balance as he danced away from his opponents, but the shaking only got worse. Above him, the ceiling begun to crumble.

“Drake!”

Tim recognized the voice immediately. Damian. He sounded distressed – but something wasn’t quite right. Damian was trapped inside the plant with the others. Had he gotten out on his own?

“Goddamnit, Drake, wake up!”

Tim spun around, trying to pinpoint where Damian’s voice was coming from, but the ground collapsed below him as soon as he did and he was falling, falling. Tim closed his eyes and waited for the crash – instead, he became aware of some soft material below him, impossibly comfortable. Damian’s voice was ringing louder than ever, now having switched to Arabic to mutter his disapproval of…what? Tim’s general existence, maybe.

Tim rolled onto his back with a yawn and blinked up at Damian, who scowled at him and yanked his blankets away. He did so one-armed. In his other hand, Damian was cradling something small that Tim couldn’t see properly. Squinting a little, Tim sat up.

“What d'you want?” Tim asked, voice groggy with sleep.

Stay in the manor for the weekend, Tim, Bruce had said. I’ll make that chicken pot pie you like, Master Tim, Alfred had said. And because Tim was an idiot who deserved his fate, he had agreed. He had not signed up for being cruelly woken up by his pest of a little brother, thank you very much.

Damian deposited the thing – a small ball of spikes – on Tim’s lap, expression guarded. He shuffled his feet in a way that was uncharacteristic of him, almost skittish.

“I found this hedgehog on the grounds,” Damian said with great dignity. “I believe he is ill.”

Tim was prone to agree. The hedgehog was restless, scratching and licking itself, with its spikes sparser than Tim thought they ought to be, its skin dry underneath. There was something about being handed a creature so small and defenseless that made his chest hum with anxiety. He rested a tentative hand on top of the hog’s back, careful not to spook it.

He glanced at Damian, trying not to look as panicked as he felt. “Can’t you take him to Alfred, or –”

“We’re the only ones home,” Damian cut him off. His tone was curt, impatient, but he wasn’t going out of his way to insult Tim as he usually would. Tim detected a hint of concern. “And – as much as I’m loathe to admit it – I don’t know what to do.”

Tim’s eyes flickered to the hedgehog again, equal parts captivated and terrified. It was so small. Was it a baby hedgehog? Or was this their regular size? Spikes or no, Tim was gripped by the fear that he might crush it without meaning to.

“Alright. Here’s the plan,” he declared, ignoring the part of him that wanted to freak out and denounce all responsibility. “You’re going to do a google search and find out what we can feed this little guy, meanwhile I’m going to call a vet and try to set up an appointment. All good?”

“Very well,” Damian agreed, more easily than Tim had expected. “But the appointment must be for today. I will not risk his health.”

Tim bit back a sarcastic retort and tried to smile instead. “It will be for as soon as I can arrange one, Dames.”

Damian nodded tersely and grabbed Tim’s laptop from his bedside cabinet, plopping down on the bed and typing away at lightning speed. Tim wondered if it was worth protesting that Damian use his own laptop or phone instead, but he shook his head and let it go. Tim lifted his pillow and gave his blankets a shake in search for his phone. It fell out and tumbled to the floor.

It took a few tries to find a clinic that was both open at this time – 7 AM, Damian, what were you even doing outside so early? Tim had only just gone to sleep two hours ago and Damian was already up – and willing to accommodate them on such short notice. Luckily, the name Wayne literally opened doors, and Damian got his wish. They had an appointment for 10 AM. Tim wasn’t expecting so much as a thank you.

When Tim returned to his room, Damian was curled up in bed with the little hedgehog in his hand, feeding him little bites of Titus’ food with great care. Tim stopped at the threshold, mouth quirking up at the corners. It was so rare to see Damian unguarded like this that Tim wished for a moment that he had his camera on hand. He snapped a quick picture with his phone instead and then coughed unsubtly to alert Damian to his presence.

Damian sat up straighter at once. “I have found that we may give the hedgehog cat or dog food as long as it is not fish-based,” he informed Tim. “We may not give him milk.”

“Good job,” Tim said. “We’re going to the vet in a couple of hours. Think you can watch him until then?”

“Of course,” Damian said instantly. “Fetch me a baby bottle filled with warm water.”

Tim’s eyebrows twitched. “Please.”

Damian shot him a puzzled, irritated look. “What?”

“I’m helping you, Damian,” Tim said, as evenly as he could, “but that doesn’t mean you get to order me around. You could say please. Or at least make it a request, not a command.”

“Can you fetch me a baby bottle filled with warm water?” Damian rephrased, this time making it sound like he was doubting Tim’s ability to complete even that simple task.

“You’re lucky your little pinecone is cute,” Tim ground out.

He fetched Damian the damn baby bottle.

“Okay, so they’re doing us a favor seeing us so soon,” Tim reminded Damian as he parked the car outside the clinic. “So let’s not, uh, throw knifes at them, or threaten to eviscerate them if the results are not what you want to hear. Okay? Try it out. Pretend I’m the vet.”

Damian scoffed, but quickly smoothed his expression into something innocent and childlike, eyes wide and pleading. “Doctor, can you heal my pet? And by ‘can’, I mean do it or I’ll murder the town.” He gave Tim a bitter look. “Is that what you expect me to say, Drake? I do know how to behave like a normal human when the occasion calls for it.”

“Of course you – I didn’t mean –” Tim sighed and rubbed his temples. “You’re right. I’m just tired. Being an asshole. Sorry.”

Damian looked taken aback. “Yes. Well. Let us not dwell on it.”

Damian clutched the hedgehog protectively as they walked into the clinic and settled in to wait at the reception room. Tim busied himself with scrolling through news apps on his phone. It was a habit. He had priority alerts for certain terms, of course, Batman and WE and so forth, but it was important to stay informed on a larger scale too.

After a twenty minute wait, give or take, they were called to the examination room. Tim was quietly relieved that it didn’t take longer, because Damian had been growing restless. The hedgehog was asleep in his palm, curled into its side, and Damian was watching it so intently that you would have thought the poor thing would die if he took his eyes off it.

The vet greeted them with a smile and introduced herself as Dr Gleason. She took the hedgehog from Damian – who was reluctant to hand it over – and woke it up gently. She much have sensed Damian’s anxiety, because she took the time to explain each step of the procedure to him as she went about the exam. Tim stood to the side, a little awkwardly, but also marveling at how fixated Damian looked.

“Looks like this little buddy has mites,” she said. “It’s nothing serious, but if you have others pets I would suggest keeping him quarantined. How long have you had him?”

“I just found him today,” Damian said, and then, defensively, “They’re legal to have as pets in New Jersey. I checked.”

Dr Gleason nodded. “Well, he’s gonna need a cage, a hide box, an exercise wheel…you have to keep those all clean to prevent mites in the future, as well as any other toys or items you give him. Okay?”

“I will take good care of him,” Damian declared coolly.

Dr. Gleason prescribed an antiparasitic, instructing them to keep an eye on the hedgehog for a few days to make sure it was working properly. When they were about to leave, she held Tim for a moment longer.

“Is your brother serious about keeping him?” she asked.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Tim said with a shrug. “He has a…thing. About animals. This would be his fourth pet now.”

Dr Gleason inclined her head. “That’s good, but you should know that hedgehogs have a relatively short lifespan. 3-6 years is the most common. Tell your dad too. Before you make that decision, you should all know what you’re getting into – that kind of loss can be devastating to a kid.”

Tim could testify to the fact that Damian had experienced his fair share of devastating things already, but there was no arguing that he’d be distraught if any of his pets were to die. He’d have to find a way to bring it up subtly, or better yet, pass along the information to Dick and have him handle it.

He smiled and nodded. “Will do, ma'am.”

Damian was waiting for him impatiently, frustrated at being left out. He grew even more so when he demanded to know what Dr Gleason had wanted to talk about and Tim gave him a generic response, but Tim didn’t budge. He’d done his brotherly duty for today – he would not be the one to have the conversation about the mortality of pets, at least not right now.

They got into the car and drove in silence for a few minutes, Damian’s anger dissipating as his focus returned to his newest acquisition. Distantly, Tim wondered if they should have asked Bruce before adding another member to Damian’s growing menagerie. He probably wouldn’t mind, would he? The little creature didn’t take up any space, so small that it could easily fit in Damian’s palm.

“I’m going to call him Drake,” Damian announced.

Tim almost crashed into a street sign, earning scornful honks from the drivers behind him.

“Damian, you can’t tell me something like that when I’m driving and operating on two hours of sleep,” he protested numbly. He’d heard Damian’s words just fine, but his mind refused to process them.

Damian bristled. “Two hours? You imbecile -”

“You’re naming the hedgehog after me?” Tim interrupted.

“That was the thought, yes,” Damian said irritably. “But if it’s going to cause you to kill us both in a car accident -”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tim said. “It’s just, you know. Between the two of us, I would argue that you’re the one with the prickly exterior.”

Damian gave him a scowl. “While I suppose you consider yourself to be oh so mellow and approachable.”

Something in his tone gave Tim pause. Had Damian been trying to reach out, to be nicer to him? Had Tim rebuffed him without realising it? They hadn’t had a serious fight in ages, and Tim couldn’t deny that he cared about the little gremlin, but he hadn’t exactly been campaigning to become Damian’s new best friend.

“I’m honored, I think,” he said. “I’d love for this little guy to be named after me.”

“You’re about as ugly as him,” Damian said without missing a beat.

And this time Tim could easily recognize it as banter, not a genuine attempt at insulting Tim, if only because Damian would never dream of saying anything bad about his pets.

He laughed. “Joke’s on you, I think he’s adorable.”

“I already prefer him to you,” Damian informed him grimly. “Drake the second is far less obnoxious.”

“Pot, kettle,” Tim quipped, and found that this back and forth came easily.

#damian wayne #tim drake #robin #red robin #batman #batman comics #batman and robin comics #red robin comics #batman fanfic #batfamily #batfam #batbros #my writing

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Five People's Thoughts on Adore and Bianca: Laganja Estranja (2/5) (Biadore-ish) - doctor bitchcraftt

Yes gawd mawma, it’s finally time to hear from Laganja, okurrrr?

1. Courtney Act

2. Laganja Estranja

3 & 4. Raja & Raven

5. Trixie Mattel

A/N: Laganja isn’t a character I’ve written before, and I wanted to avoid reducing her to a caricature of her own behavior by exploring the deep insecurities exposed by her Untucked outbursts and her version of calculated competition. She’s the quintessential unreliable narrator, and I hope that comes through properly.

Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Laganja had been pleased to find Adore in her group for Drag Race, both as a friendly face and a known quantity: good, but not going to outshine her in the end (she didn’t even cinch). They’d gotten on well before the show, and she couldn’t wait to kiki with her on camera. More importantly, she wanted to find a moment to ask if she’d managed to stash anything for later since her nerves had been buzzing for hours already.

Striding into the workroom, she landed a perfect death drop that hopefully would capture the fans’ attention once the episode aired.

Sizing up the rest of the competition proved more challenging. She almost immediately dismissed Vivacious (what the fuck was that on her head anyway?) and cautiously considered the likelihood that BenDeLaCreme would turn out to be playing the long game behind her sweet persona. Laganja weighed the potential benefit of establishing Gia as an ally, felt a twinge of envy for April’s showy costume and Latin charm, and came up suspiciously neutral in her impression of Kelly Mantle.

After the photo shoot and gleefully celebrating her first win, she sat back and waited for the other queens to arrive, ignoring how much she really wanted to light up to calm her nerves.

Kelly hadn’t lasted long anyway. One queen down, and six new bitches to add to the mix.

********

The first thing she noticed when the second group walked in was how much older Darienne and Courtney looked in person (although she had to begrudgingly admit that Courtney’s fishyness was impressive). Courtney was pretty, but her makeup wasn’t drag-worthy. As for Darienne, well, a queen who couldn’t wear high heels wasn’t a queen at all in her book.

Joslyn seemed genuinely nice, although probably not savvy enough to last long. On the other hand, she would definitely make Laganja seem even more polished by comparison, so maybe she would be worth keeping around for a couple of weeks.

Trinity had faded into the background, and Laganja figured she would stay there. Part of her empathized with the air of someone struggling with their own inner issues, but she couldn’t afford to play nice. Trinity didn’t seem likely to pose a threat, and it was probably safe to leave her to her own devices.

Most of all though, the last two who came through the doors set off alarm bells in her head.

Milk looked like a demented marionnette wrapped in organza, but the sheer outlandish energy coming off her might be a problem as the challenges progressed. She also wondered if Milk had any dance background, watching her assured movement in and out of drag. So far no one else seemed to be able to match her for flexibility and ability to tear up the floor, but she planned to keep an eye on the bearded wonder.

Last across the threshold and sporting neon eyeshadow that badly needed blending, Laganja recognized Bianca Del Rio. The queen had to be pushing forty (Alyssa had mentioned her a few times, calling her ‘established in the business’), but her padding and wig line were flawless. Beyond the packaging though, she recognized the sharp eyes of a fellow competitor. Combined with her sharp tongue, Laganja might actually have some serious competition.

********

Scream Queens

After the first acting challenge, when Laganja found herself laughing along with Bianca’s cutting retort to Adore, she wondered if the other queen might actually not be as much of a problem as she’d anticipated. If she was going to devote energy to taking down all of the girls verbally, then it was less to focus on everything else. Adore rarely played well with other queens in her experience, so why should Drag Race be any different? It meant that Laganja ought to have her undivided support, at least until she was sent home.

Bianca didn’t appear concerned with playing to the camera outside of the challenge, nor did she make an effort to capture airtime in the workroom. Moreover, she didn’t make any attempt to showcase her slender legs (nice, but not as nice as Laganja’s) to take attention away from her overdrawn face, which could only be a serious tactical error. And while the old Hollywood glamour admittedly flattered her petite figure, it wasn’t edgy or exciting for someone who claimed to be a costume designer.

The oversized rhinestoned collar was actually impressive. Not as imaginative as her butterfly fascinator, but definitely interesting.

Laganja had studied the looks on Bianca’s garment rack, and while a part of her coveted the craftsmanship (apparently Bianca made everything herself), her overriding impression was that the queen was stuck too far in the past. People like Laganja, and Adore, were the new face of drag, outside of smoky clubs and bars.

Also, the obsessive neatness and organized rows of identically styled wigs made her supremely uncomfortable.

********

Shade: The Rusical

In the Gold Bar, she struggled to contain her tears when a message from her parents played. Everything was finally coming together, and she could picture the crown on display in Alyssa’s dance studio for everyone to know that Laganja Estranja of the Haus of Edwards was a true winner.

Sniffling, she turned her attention back to the other girls, waiting for their separate conversation to end so they could finish validating her experience. It started out well, and even Bianca was complimentary towards her parents. Who would have thought she had it in her? (She was half convinced that Bianca spent every night off set thinking up ways to insult everyone else.)

And then, right as Laganja felt safe in relaxing just a little, Bianca cut across her moment with a joke. It wasn’t the joke itself - she couldn’t care less what the bitter bitch thought of her - but then all of the other girls laughed and started another conversation without her. Worse, they seemed to be laughing at her, which wasn’t fair at all. The prickling sense of doubt came roaring back full force, and she couldn’t afford to let anyone see it, especially not here.

How could they be so insensitive?

…how dare they?

“This was my moment!” she sobbed, not even hearing what was said after and barely conscious of the words coming out of her mouth.

This couldn’t be happening.

****

Later, when she was calm again and Adore was disappointed in not winning the main challenge, Laganja found herself torn between annoyance on her behalf (Courtney Act was so *pitchy*) and being secretly relieved that one more episode was complete without the judges being drawn under Adore’s charming spell.

The thing about Adore, was that her powerful voice wasn’t going to make up for her thrift store drag budget. Her punk rock rebel schtick was only going to go so far, especially in comparison to queens with professionally made looks. Laganja hated to think it, but Bianca Del Rio’s unclockable hairline next to Adore’s messy shake-and-go Party City closeouts was a point in her favor.

More importantly, she was relieved to unload her frustration at being dismissed on a friendly ear. Adore might be a little slow, but she definitely stuck up for her friends. Bianca wouldn’t catch her off-guard again, and not with Adore now aware of her awful behavior.

********

Snatch Game

Laganja woke up feeling peaky and drained. She panicked for a moment, thinking about the cameras catching her looking tired. The only solution, as Alyssa had taught her, was to put on her biggest wig and blow the other bitches out of the water. Digging in her suitcase, she located her pièce de résistance: a high braided turban that was sure to deflect from anyone noticing the bags under her eyes.

Her tactic seemed to be working, because the other queens were staring with impressed expressions as she showed off her flexibility for the camera.

Crisis averted.

Unsurprisingly, Bianca was the first one in full face and wig while the other queens were still baking and contouring. She moved around the workroom purposefully, offering to help DeLa with her old lady face and brushing out Trinity’s wig. When her black-clad form (why did Bianca suddenly look so tiny?) appeared behind Laganja in the mirror, she steeled herself for more negativity.

“Want me to help?”

Laganja blinked, certain that she’d heard wrong, and tried to continue.

Bianca watched her fumble with her highlight for a few seconds before holding out her hand.

“Give it to me, queen.”

Laganja froze, brush in midair and compact clenched in her other hand.

Rolling her eyes, Bianca made a ‘come here’ gesture before plucking both items out of her hands and tugging her shoulder until she turned around. Gripping her chin gently, Bianca started moving with quick, precise strokes.

“It’s easier if you start near your hairline, and…" The rest of what she said was lost as Laganja’s mind spun into overdrive. There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motive, yet here she was helping her competition.

She zoned back in as Bianca set down the brush and highlighter, and nodded briskly.

"Let me know if you want me to show you how to do it next time.”

As she walked away, Laganja could almost understand why Trinity and Adore seemed to love Bianca and talked about her being great. Sometimes when the cameras weren’t rolling, she even felt a sense of camaraderie. It never lasted long enough to convince her that it was real, because the moment filming started and her anxiety rocketed upwards, everything that came out of her mouth seemed to annoy the older queen.

****

She left the Snatch Game set nearly in tears. Rachel Zoe was an easy part of her repertoire for her friends, but everything had felt so off today.

It took a trip to the bathroom and a five-minute private mirror pep talk before Laganja felt ready to take on the Night of 1,000 RuPauls. What she really needed was to get away from everyone and smoke, but that hadn’t been an option for weeks.

Staring into her own eyes, she tongue popped for luck and resolved to slay it on the runway.

Bianca gave her a curious look when she breezed back into the workroom.

”Everything all right, queen?”

Laganja steadfastly ignored the attention.

Halfway through gluing her lace down, she realized that Adore was no longer perched on the chair beside her. Looking around the room, her heart dropped when she located her friend.

Instead of lingering at her station like usual to keep Laganja company and her mind off her nerves, Adore was off in the corner. Off in the corner with Bianca, who had paused in the middle of piling hair on her head to lace her into a cincher. Bianca’s cincher.

Bafflingly, she was actually being nice to Adore and not sabotaging her, because as far as Laganja could tell, there wasn’t anything wrong with the garment and she had seemed genuinely concerned that Adore was comfortable and happy with the final product.

She didn’t understand Bianca at all.

****

The fragile sense of calm that she’d achieved on the main stage crumbled the moment Adore pointed at her and Gia as being in the bottom.

Hearing Adore laugh at DeLa’s naive question about Rachel Zoe hit like a bad death drop and for a moment Laganja couldn’t breathe.

She scrabbled for something to defend herself with. Bianca was an automatic target - after playing nice with her makeup, she had turned right around and messed with her in the Snatch Game. Laganja wasn’t buying her “I hate everyone equally” excuse this time, not when she was obviously trying to come for her.

Looking across the lounge, she was overwhelmed by the sense of betrayal as Adore claimed that Bianca wasn’t singling her out for attack.

It felt like the floor was slowly collapsing under her feet. Not only had her friendship with Adore been far less of a stabilizing force than she’d expected, but Adore had actually joined forces with Bianca against her.

It wasn’t the only thing, but that was the last heave it took to upend the cart of her control.

“Did you or did you not come for me today?” she snapped, hoping that someone else (Gia? Joslyn?) would stand up for her.

“…hold up girl, I’m not trying to create a moment -“

Her heart pounded in her ears, and she badly wanted to grab the stupid pillow off of Bianca’s lap and throw it at Adore’s bitchface.

“I’m not saying you came for me but I do feel a little shafted by you today.”

The words were spilling out and Laganja gave up trying to hold in all of her frustration and hurt.

”I don’t remember the exact comment you said, but earlier I do feel like you were saying -“

Her breathing was too shallow, but all she could see was Adore’s newly cinched waist.

“I don’t even know, but I felt a little hurt by you earlier,” she finished lamely, unable to articulate the pain and panic welling up in her chest.

She no longer recognized her rebellious good time party girl, always a few steps behind. Adore wasn’t even trying to support her, just offering empty words as she she spent her time cozying up to Bianca. While the person on the other side of the table looked like Adore and spoke in Adore’s voice, she might as well have been a stranger.

Laganja shied away from Bianca’s touch on the way back into the hall. Not five minutes after coming for her, Bianca had to be mocking her with her ‘advice’.

She couldn’t trust anyone here, not anymore.

Why didn’t anyone else see what was going on?

********

Oh No She Better Don’t

“Miss Laganja Estranja. Next time you death drop, reverse that and drop dead.”

Adore’s read felt like a stab in the back and Laganja didn’t even bother to try to smile. Everyone was laughing at her, Bianca’s cackle rising above the others.

********

Glamazon by Colorevolution

Surveying the others, Laganja was certain that her black and white runway look would win the judges over - no one else had anything as edgy. Even Adore was wearing a Forever 21 sweater and a miniskirt, but she could forgive her friend the look because their commercial had gone amazingly well.

Joslyn looked like an extra from a porn about magicians, and Courtney…well, that weird sparkly tuxedo thing was a look. Courtney was blathering on about someone called Clause No Me (whoever that was), but it wouldn’t matter if she was wearing Dior, because her boy legs were on full display. Not to mention, the giant pile of hair that DeLa was pinning up made her think of a butt plug. Laganja was surprised that Darienne hadn’t made any catty comments about it given the palpable tension between them. She started to move closer, but was distracted by the activity in Bianca’s alcove.

Still in pantyhose and corset with her skunk-striped hair, Bianca was helping Trinity zip herself in. The domino dress was well-made, although she ought to be carrying drinks in Monte Carlo in it. Laganja admitted she might even ask Trinity where it came from.

As for Miss Perfect herself, Laganja once again grudgingly had to give her credit for the ensemble as Bianca started to get dressed. The enormous ball gown skirt seemed to materialize from nowhere in a cloud of tulle. How the hell had she fit that in her duffels? It wasn’t even creased, and it must have contained miles of crinoline. Laganja had barely been able to close her five suitcases, but Bianca’s luggage all seemed to be under the maximum amount. Not to mention, she’d only unpacked a bag and a half of wigs.

She started to pace anxiously, balance thrown off after the high of performing. Her feet carried her to Adore’s table, hoping to mend their friendship, but once again Adore was busy talking to Bianca.

********

It wasn’t fair. She had to keep her chin up, because the road to success was never easy, but it also shouldn’t have been this hard.

She’d promised her parents and Alyssa that she’d bring home the crown. Her parents seemed to finally be at peace with her drag, and it would be everything she’d ever wanted to validate following her dreams.

Laganja just had to hold on a little longer, prove to Ru that she deserved to be America’s next drag superstar.

********

Queens of Comedy

The comedy challenge was a disaster.

After seeing Adore perform with shaky insecurity, Laganja’s confidence had risen. All of the other girls were trying for a ten, but she was going to dial her personality up to one hundred.

Except instead of howling with laughter, the old people in the audience stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. She dug deep for the best jokes that never failed to entertain her usual crowd, but nothing worked.

Barely keeping her angry tears in check, she slumped back into her seat and watched the rest with a stony stare.

Witnessing Bianca Del Rio effortlessly work the audience was awful. Every laugh she drew from them hit her like a punch to the stomach, reminding her of how inadequate her jokes had been.

Worse, seeing Adore’s rapt attention made her physically ill. Bianca was now the recipient of the same wondering smile that Adore used to give her when she performed.

Nothing made sense.

Without heels, Laganja towered over Bianca; she couldn’t understand how the queen could still make her feel insignificant without even saying a word.

She was sick to death of Bianca’s clever insults and her perfect white teeth. She hated her stupid dimples and how her voice grew soft when she spoke to Adore.

Adore was her friend, or at least she used to be. If Bianca had to pick someone to be nice to, why did it have to be Adore?

This was supposed to be her moment.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #laganja estranja #biadore #canon compliant #five thoughts #doctor bitchcraftt

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vulpinmusings · 5 years ago

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Letters from Buxcord 1- Christmas Greetings

My RPG group has started up a Monster of the Week campaign that may be alternating with the Starfinder campaign once the current MOTW campaign (that i’m not in) has finished. We did a Session Zero-slash-Christmas Episode yesterday so I could test the waters, and here’s what occurred from my character’s perspective:

Samantha,

I’m addressing this to you because I know you will be the one hounding me the most for the full story once I manage to return, or at least establish contact with Taryn. In the case that I discover how to actually send these letters to you but not how to get myself back across the inter-universe void, I’m giving you permission to publish what I write, just so the world doesn’t think me dead. Again.

This world I’ve been shunted to is remarkably similar to Taryn, both geographically and culturally. It might just be that mysterious translation convention at work, but everyone I’ve met seems to speak Anglish. The strangest thing, though, is that while magic exists in this universe, it’s just slightly out of sync with what I’m familiar working with, just enough that while I can cast spells as I normally would, there’s a good chance of them backfiring if I rely on my muscle memory too much. Most of my Cards got burnt out upon arrival, somehow, leaving me only with the old, reliable Tangler prepped for combat casting.

When the portal spat me out and my senses recovered from the absolute deprivation of the void, I found myself outside a small town called Buxford, Louisiana. That would be approximately the Novo Orleano area back home, judging by the maps. It’s a small town, so walking around everywhere isn’t too grievous. When I arrived in the town proper, I naturally got to work gathering information. Buxford has its share of local legends and cryptoids, but almost none of the locals seems to take such things too seriously. Magic – proper magic – is not widely recognized as real either, which is going to present a hindrance to my efforts to research a portal spell that I can cast in this environment.

I’m hesitant to try my luck in other parts of the world yet, though. I essentially need to start over, find a reliable source of income and build up a reputation for strangeness and problem-solving to try and attract the attention of those who do possess magic ability. I could so that anywhere, I’ll admit, but I sense something… special hiding in Buxcord that may be worth unearthing before I try moving on.

During my initial search around the town, I decided to take a chance that a small “Magic shop” I came across in downtown would have something up my alley and not just prestidigitation. The place was… eclectic to put it mildly, as if the owner had just stocked whatever they could find that is even remotely connected to the concept of “magic.” I considered just leaving after a quick look around, until I caught the eye of the owner. He calls himself Nollthep the Unpredictable, and despite his claims to contrary he is definitely not as human as he appear. Whatever he truly is, he lacks knowledge of a lot of basic concepts, is easily distracted by unfamiliar words, and his manner of speech is stilted and uncanny in the extreme, but he’s quite friendly and not the least bit shy about wanting to learn everything he can. The one thing’s he cagey about is his true nature, but I’m willing to humor him about his cover story both because of his friendliness and because he’s the first hint of the supernatural I’ve found and I’m hoping that associating with him will eventually get me in contact with something more helpful.

I seems that I arrived in Buxcord about a week before the year-end holiday of Christmas, which I’ve gathered is essentially the Yule tradition you’re familiar with, but observed on a single day instead of across three. Two days before Christmas, I was browsing through the local library in a vain search for books on real magic, when I overhead talk of a strange, large figure being seen in the forest just off the nearest highway. It wasn’t much to go on, but at this early stage I’ll take any possible leads I can get, so I set out to walk along the highway. As I passed the local orphanage, I spotted Nollthep at the gates, apparently trying to find somebody but mostly just confusing the poor person on the other end of the intercom with his blunt and meandering questions. The worker hung up before I could make my way over to try and help Nollthep, so I just came out ans asked why he was bothering the orphanage. He just said he was looking for someone, and also needed to pick up some milk (which would be tricky, as the stores in town were all closing early for the season). Before I could press for details, as young woman came out of the orphanage carrying a baseball bat, and Nollthep greeted her like an old friend. She had come out for the same reason I had – to figure out what Nollthep’s business was, and after we all exchanged notes we realized we were all curious about the large thing moving around. Some of the orphans believed it to be Santa Claus, the gift-giving figure of Christmas, but Leanne (the baseball bat girl, as you probably guessed) and I both found that unlikely. Nollthep, in his simple way, was immediately convinced that Santa Claus was real once we’d explained it to him.

Our quarry wasn’t hard to find. Not far into the woods, we came across a clear set of large clawed footprints. I recognized them as belonging to something similar to the Tibetan Yetis or the mythic Sasquatch, strange as that may seem seeing as neither are native to wetland regions like Buxcord. We followed the tracks and quickly came upon a strange sight.

I’m sure you’ve at least seen pictures of Yetis, Sam, if not met one. Imagine one of those, but with its fur patterned to resemble a red winter riding suit with white trim. At its feet lay a man with a wounded leg and a dropped shotgun. Nollthep and I quickly leaped into action, while Lea hung back, gripping her bat tightly. Nollthep reached deep into a small bag as he ran at the yeti and drew out a bust that he proceeded to use as a club. I tried to tie the Yeti up in a Tangler, but the spell misfired and caught the wounded man instead. Cursing my haste, I ran up to drag the man back while Nollthep continued to gleefully exchange blows with the Yeti.

Lea called my attention to something moving among the trees, and once I got the man a safe distance from the fight, I took a closer look. While the Santa-patterned Yeti was weird, the three creatures watching us from the trees were downright creepy. At first glance, they looked like deer, but as looked longer it was obviously that they were not deer, and probably never had been. They had the right general shape and antlers, but their bodies were covered in chitin like an insect, including sheathes for bug-like wings. The three not-deer crept closer, and the nose of the lead one started to glow as they began making noises like cicadas from hell. I managed to weave up a lightning spell that went where I wanted, zapping the lead not-deer in the nose. The creatures fled, followed by the Yeti once it broke away from Tollthep.

I’m not good at healing magic even under the best circumstances, as you know, but the man’s leg was bleeding so much that I had to at least. The process was painful for him, but I succeeded in closing the wound without leaving much of a scar. He introduced himself as Professor Thomas and said he had been trying to capture or destroy the creatures after they’d escaped from the lab he worked in. He said his colleague, Case, had created the things as part of some harebrained scheme to make his daughter’s Christmas more magical. Nollthep became very interested at hearing the name Case and quickly agreed that we should accompany Thomas back to the lab to get more information.

When we arrived, we found found Professor Case in the middle of briefing a local private eye named Jim Burn. Case wanted Jim to try and capture the Yeti and not-deer alive. Jim seemed to share my group’s opinion that Case was a pure idiot for making the creatures in the first place, but he accepted the job and had no objections to us going along with him. Before we left, we interrogated Case why he’d made the things (as opposed to, say, hiring a professional Santa actor) and how he expected to keep them under control. Apparnetly, he’d based the designs on a crayon drawing his daughter had made, explaining why there were only three not-deer instead of the traditional eight from the Santa Claus myths (not that I’m complaining about that) and possibly why the “Santa” was a skvetchte Yeti. As to controlling the things, he claimed they wouldn’t hurt children – and I had to shut down Nollthep’s suggestion of using kids as a living shield – and that Case’s own voice was the only thing that would control them. Naturally, I insisted on Case accompanying us if that was the… the case. The professor resisted, saying he’d hired Jim so that he wouldn’t have to put himself at risk, until Lea somehow managed to put him into a kind of trance with just a few words and a smile. I’m not sure she was even aware she’d done anything special, but I resolved to keep on her in the future for the same reasons as Nollthep.

Professor Thomas, insisting the creatures needed to be eliminated, revealed that they shared a simple yet rather unusual weakness: contact with mistletoe would kill and dissolve them almost instantly.

With our plan set, everyone piled into a Jeep and drove out into the woods to seek the Santa-squatch. We found it and the not-deer with about as much ease as earlier, and Lea gave the enthralled Case a push toward them. Case tried to sing at the Yeti, but his voice failed him and the beast swatted him into a tree. With Plan A a predictable failure, we launched right into Plan B: Nollthep engaged the Yeti in hand-to-hand again while I tried to apply mistletoe to the not-deer. My initial efforts to move the plant around with magic resulted in accidentally zapping Lea with lightning – not a deadly amount, mind you, but enough to knock her down – so I decided that it mgith actually be less risky to just get hands-on about it. After getting the Yeti in a successful Tangler to give Nollthep a bit of help, I ran up and slapped the mistletoe on the nearest not-deer. The results were as Thomas had indicated, and not very pretty. One of the deer went after Lea, and Jim Burn put a bullet through its head. Lea went after the last not-deer, and must have unconsciously tapped into her magic again because the thing fell apart the moment she got a good grip on its hindquarters. Nollthep knocked the Yeti out, and Thomas applied some mistletoe to finish it off.

Case was summarily fired from the lab, and Nollthep graciously offered to take charge of him, all without the man regaining consciousness to give his consent. Thomas drove us all back to our respective residences (I’m currently staying at a hotel). Thomas thanked me personally for my help and offered me a place to stay if I needed it. I didn’t accept right away, but I’ll certainly keep him in mind.

‘Twas an odd night before Christmas, but I think I’ve found myself some folks I can depend on and avenues of investigation to explore on my quest to get back home.

With luck, I’ll be handing this letter and those to follow to you in person, but if not, then don’t you or the others worry too much about me.

-Ash

#MOTW #Vulpin plays

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jettpacks · 6 years ago

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Nat Wolff + male + he/him + blood manipulation┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear My Petersburg by Derek Klena playing in the distance ? oh, that’s just Jett Hawkins, a 23 year old conman. according to my sources, i heard he can be true neutral and is cunning, but also detached. that’s probably why they remind everyone of worn out sneakers, cheap halloween masks and callous hands so much ! anyway, whether or not they’re neutral towards the supers, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them !

DEATH TW, MURDER TW, BLOOD TW.

Downtown. It is late at night in the low sides of the city (another city) and blinking neon signs can be read from afar on a brick wall: PSYCHIC. LOVE POTIONS. PALM READING. RECIPE FOR SUCCESS.

A black slick Mercedes parks at the front and four men get out. Three of them are brutes, most likely they don’t even know how to count. Then, another man, slightly older, but very well dressed and he shamelessly shows off a bunch of golden rings around his fingers.

A woman inside, sitting on a velvet red chair immediately recognizes the visitors and shoves her kid under a trap door. UH-OH, this is isn’t good. HE DOESN’T OBEY, he is worried about his mother and as soon as he gets out, the massacre start; his mother tries to shield him and he remembers seeing blood drops flying around and then he screamed and a hit on the head left him unconscious. Jett wakes up and two men PLUS HIS MOTHER are on the floor dead, completely drained of blood and staining the walls of the shop permanently. HE... HE KILLED THEM, DIDN’T HE? The boy was only SEVEN.

Nobody wants to be responsible of lil’Jett , there were no other family members known and everybody played deaf and blind to what happened that night; so good boy goes into the system.

Cliché story: foster homes suck, he is the little and weak one, he gets pushed around; naturally he is not gonna make it because of his strength, so Jethro starts TRAINING HIS MIND INSTEAD. He becomes very observant, his thin frame helps him be quick and sly when he needs to and he discovers a particular affection towards poker cards when his caretaker and his friends fall asleep drunk mid-game. The kid sneaks into the kitchen to get some milk and to his foot stuck a Joker card, which he immediately adored.

The card became his token and little by little, snatching coins from under the couch and behind the fridge, Jett managed to buy his first deck of cards; of course they were old and a second-hand acquisition, but it was the first thing ever he got with his own money and OH BOY, he was excited.

Taking little trips very early when the caretaker was still asleep, Jett got the newspaper’s seller trust to take a peek at the Magic Corner, a magazine about basic magic tricks for kids and of course, he devoured all that had to do with cards and coins.

Time goes by and Jett is fourteen, he is tired of living under an iron fist and so, he packed his few things and left the house and the city to never go back. NOTHING AWAITED FOR HIM IN THERE AFTER ALL.

At first, he thought of heading towards Europe, an obvious choice for anybody who wanted to become a master of magic, but some bad decisions here and there caused him to run away to Crystalline City instead.

PERSONALITY & PRESENT

While Jett really enjoyed magic and overall, tricking people, his biggest passion was SURVIVING. Sometimes being a conman wasn’t enough, specially with all the competition around the city, so sometimes, he would have to end up doing some side-jobs like working on delivery ( of illegal stuff of course ) or sneaking in to make a little robbery for someone else. None of this made him proud, even though he always talks loud about his thief abilities.

Y’know, rough past and cynical attitude. Jett didn’t really know kindness through his life and it shows. He doesn’t trust easily and won’t do anything that doesn’t benefit him in some way. A True Neutral at heart.

Sleeping in shelters, couches or alleys, the boy is always on the look for his next gold and the next place he will use as temporary room. He hates feeling like a charity case and so, will rarely accept anything if he didn’t work for it or gained it in a bet.

Long ago, when his mother was still alive, he heard her talk through the phone about him “having the genes” , whatever that meant is still unknown to Jett , but he REALLY hopes is not an illness or something like that.

He is very observant, able to use the deductive method to read you up and down; is this result of his brains? His years facing the streets? Is he actually a psychic unlike his mother? Nobody knows, not even him, but THANKS GOD his good instincts, because that is what has kept him alive all these years. I’d say it is idiot’s luck.

Comrade of everyone and friend of no one, he travels so much that he hasn’t ever really bonded with someone and he says he doesn’t need it, attachments mean weaknesses and he ain’t up for having them.

He tends to accidentally guess stuff about people and to use humor as coping mechanism because he doesn’t allow himself to let the others see him hurt.

At this point he doesn’t really have an objective in life, just the day-by-day life.

His biggest phobia is BLOOD. He can’t see it, smell it or feel it. He can even faint upon the sight of it because it recalls THE tragic event of his life.

He is a good kid, but always prone to cause some trouble if possible AND IF REWARDED.

He can do some America’s Got Talent card shit, but just not AS GOOD, otherwise he’d be famous and rich amirite?? But he’s in the process of learning. He can steal your wallet and watch without you noticing, though.

Doesn’t have a phone, but the largest park during the mornings is a good place to find him, otherwise, he can be pretty much anywhere, most likely running away from something.

Recently he just escaped from the Dove prison and is pretty paranoid, scared and alone.

HE MISSES HIS MOM. Lowkey hates happy families.

Idk there’s a lot and I could go on forever, so next thing!

POWERS

Blood manipulation. He is not keen with it. While his mother tried to train him into it, he never had much of a chance to do something about it and after the horrible experience, he just decided to shut it down for good. His power exploded sometimes in moments of absolute fright or anger, causing his targets to get VERY low pressure or their blood to boil, things like that. Unknowingly to him, he has been using his power on himself to have a better resistance when running or doing parkour. HE HAS WOKEN UP COVERED IN BLOOD MORE THAN ONCE and he doesn’t know why (possible connection right here!) and the situation terrifies him. While under a calm mood he cannot control anything bigger than a rat, let’s see what happens when he gets upset!

PLOTS / CONNECTIONS ( warning, I suck at these )

Friends. He has never had them, it’s time for a change.

The Royal and the Commoner. I am a sucker for opposites. This can be either romantic or platonic!

People he has / is / will work for. Can either be shady stuff or an actual honest job! ( consider he officially just finished middle school, but is very very street smart and actually can be wise?? Has done research on his own about stuff he is interested about )

Mentors. Teaching them to do bad things? To do good things?

Bad influence and good influence. Self-explaining.

Someone that has been using him for his power??

He likes hanging out in the universities and even sneaking into giant classes to pass the time even though he hardly understands a thing.

Let’s brainstorm!

#gloryhqs.intro #violence tw #blood tw #murder tw #death tw

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tiny-winter-cupcake · 6 years ago

Text

I long to hear you sing (beneath the clear blue skies)

Summary: “Don’t.”

Phil lowered his hand almost automatically, the voice like melted honey, soft and smooth. He had never heard anything like it, a voice that made him want to fall to his knees and grovel. Phil wanted to worship this creature, worship its voice. It spoke again.

“Come.”

There it was again. That sweet voice. And who was Phil to deny such a sweet request.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Teen (theres like a bit of unspecified voilence and like, thats it?)

A/N:My @phandombigbang fic, FINALLY. listen i’m super proud of this, and i never thought that I would be able to do this whole thing! a huge shout out to my lovely beta @phinalphantasy7 for putting up all my shit, and to @luisaloveshoney who did the wonderful art HERE. the title is from Marc Anthony’s You Sang To Me. and as always please like and reblog! thank y’all so much!!

Philip Lester, the youngest water witch of the Lester clan, had been living with his family for his whole 31 years of life, and frankly, their old familial home in South Manchester was far too crowded. So naturally, he decided to move out. His family owned a rather nice summer home in Dorset, in a little town called Seaport, named for the large number of water witches that ended up there in the summertime. Much like Phil’s family, all who possessed the kind of abilities associated with the water. Phil could remember taking many family holidays down there, stopping after he went to Uni. Since then, the house had sat unused, and rather than let it go to waste, or worse, be sold, Phil was following his water witch instincts and moving out there. It was strange to leave his parents, but he found that he was oddly happy to move out.

The car ride down to the cottage was long, and by the time Phil reached there, it was well past dinner time, despite leaving after an early brunch. He pulled into the driveway of the cottage and looked at it. Even though it had sat unused for the better part of ten years, the walls were still as white as Phil could remember. The inside, though dusty and filled with cobweb-covered corners, still had its beachy, summer home feel that had made younger Phil and his family feel at ease. It was just as he remembered. He smiled, putting his suitcase down and flopping down into the couch. Looking over at the wood burner, Phil pointed and whispered, “Ignis.” And just like that, a fire started, warming the room almost immediately. Magical fires did that. Phil settled down, before remembering that there were beds upstairs, ones that were probably much more comfortable than this couch. What a pity. The couch seemed heaven compared to the car seat he had been in for the last six hours. The supposed four and a half hours to Seaport took an hour and a half longer than expected, which meant an extra hour and a half in the stupid car more than he had planned for. Phil sighed and closed his eyes. He was just about to drift off when his stomach made an appearance, startling him awake with the echo it made. With a grumble, he got up and trudged to the kitchen.

Thankfully there was no stale food in the kitchen, his family having enough sense to throw away all the perishable foods. There wasn’t much he could eat though, so getting food became his number one priority for tomorrow. For now, Phil would have to settle for the slightly soggy half eaten sandwich he’d gotten at a stop about three hours ago. It tasted like disappointment, but nevertheless, Phil ate it before he went upstairs. He was about to go into his old room when he stopped. He was living here now. He could sleep in what used to be his parents’ room, with their ensuite and all. Phil decided that he wanted to sleep in a big bed, and made his way down the hall to the bedroom. It looked the same as he remembered, with different bedding. He sat down on it with a smile as the memories of sleeping in here when there was a thunderstorm, or when he had watched a scary movie with Martyn, came flooding back. Phil bit his lip, and got up to use the bathroom. Once showered, he made his way over to unpack his suitcase, and fell into bed, utterly exhausted. Needless to say, he slept very well that night.

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

The next morning, Phil was reminded of why his family came here for centuries. The sun streamed in through the windows, golden sunshine that lit up the rooms. It made the bedroom warm, and Phil almost didn’t want to get up. But the rumble in his stomach made him. Yawning, he got out of bed and smiled. For once, he was awoken by his own natural needs instead of people shouting or the neighbors’ babies crying through the walls of the house. Phil got out of bed, stretching as he walked into his bathroom. (He had to keep reminding himself it was his and not his family’s. It was his house now.) A quick shower later, and Phil pulled on a pair of shorts and a teal button up shirt. Perfect. He slipped a pair of shoes on, grabbed his phone and his keys, and headed out.

Standing in the light of day, Phil could really appreciate the house. Thatched roof and all. It was really pretty in the daytime, just around the corner from the high street and right on the beach. A nice village, that had grown a little in Phil’s absence. Small, but pretty. Latching the gate, he tucked his keys into his pocket and walked down the high street.

The village was mostly still familiar. There was the diner, Andersons American, that did the best American style pancakes in the whole of England. Some of the elder residents sat outside, sipping cold waters under the shade of the umbrellas. Across the street, the grocer was outside setting up his fresh produce in the sun. The peacefulness of the main street was disturbed only by the occasional car driving past and the laughter of children floating by as they rushed to the beaches. Police station next to the fire station and the officers gave Phil a nod as he strolled by. There was a kid selling lemonade on the corner of the high street and Beach Road, something Phil remembered doing with his friends so they could buy an ice cream later. Of course, Phil bought a glass, the drink refreshing, cutting the edge off the warm summer air.

There were a few restaurants further down Beach Road, a seafood place Phil remembered from his childhood. As he walked closer to the center of the village, he saw the farmers market surrounded the fountain in the shape of a fish spitting water. People tossed pennies into the fountain, making wishes. There had to be some kind of magic behind it because every wish Phil made in his youth came true. He had had his first kiss on the edge of the fountain, with a local girl named Annie. Annie and her brother, PJ, along with a few other locals and summertime regulars, made up Phil’s friend group during most of his childhood summers.

He walked through the market, seeing some people he used to know and smiling to himself. He had changed quite a lot since he had last been here. But it meant he could more or less fade into the background. He purchased some cheese, bread, and a few different jams from some of the stalls before continuing up the street.

Phil smiled at the memories as they came to him as he passed the church, with the pub (ironically) attached. He had spent many happy hours hanging out upstairs at that pub in the kids’ space with its sofas, pool table, and tv with games consoles. He turned around at the end of the street to walk back down to Beach Road, all the way to the beach itself which was just as pretty as the pictures Phil had kept. The view of the English Channel was stunning, its green-blue waters lapping gently against the shore, leaving smooth pebbles and seashells in its wake.

Phil stood for a moment and admired the long expanse of golden sand before heading back to the grocers to buy food. He walked out fifty pounds poorer, and fifty pounds heavier, it seemed. Thankfully the walk back home was short.

Once in the house, putting things away was quick, and Phil also made quick work of cleaning the house (using magic of course: a simple cleaning spell go rid of the dust and cobwebs and made everything so much nicer) and putting his clothes away. He had a quick bit of toast for breakfast, although it was nearer to lunch now anyway, before he was heading back out to get milk and juice. The shop owner seemed a little surprised to see Phil again, and he smiled sheepishly as he explained he had just moved back to town in his family's house and he needed food and drink quite desperately. The man smiled, saying something about how he remembered that family, and he seemed to recognize Phil, but didn’t say anything if he did. On his way out, however, Phil ran into an old face. Quite literally. The two full-on smacked into each other, causing both to let out a few choice words that made the old lady walking by tut.

“Oh fuck, mate, I’m so sorry,” Phil apologized, rubbing his chin where it had hit the other person’s face. He looked down at the man he had collided with, before asking, “PJ?” PJ was more than startled.

“How do yo-Phil? Phil Lester?” PJ’s face cracked into a smile, and he pulled his old friend into a hug, which was hard on Phil’s end to reciprocate since he was holding a gallon jug of milk and a bag with apple and orange juice cartons inside. PJ didn’t seem to care, he instantly grabbed the milk from Phil and started walking towards his house. Phil laughed, and shook his head, following him.

“What are you doing back here, Phil?” PJ asked once they were settled on Phil’s deck, glasses of apple juice between them. He hadn’t changed much, still tall and lanky. His hair was shorter now, a mop of curls that fell over his kind green eyes. He was still as kind as ever.

“I moved. The family home was getting too crowded, and I wanted a change of scenery. You know my family, loud and rambunctious as ever,” Phil smiled, taking a sip. He really did love his family, but now that his aunt was living with them after her husband’s death, and Martyn was engaged to his girlfriend Cornelia as of last month, not to mention the twins his sister was having, the house was simply too crowded. And that was saying a lot because the family home in Manchester was a seven bedroom, seven and a half bathroom building. But Phil had a few older siblings, and one younger sister, all of whom seemed to be moving back in, rather than leaving like most children did. And Phil just couldn’t stay anymore, not because he didn’t love his family, but because he did need his own space, and it was bad enough he had to give Martyn his room because his fiancee was moving in and Phil’s room was bigger. Here, he was free, and he had his own reputation to make, now that he was all grown up.

“Oh, yeah, I get that. I saw Martyn got engaged, you’ll have to tell him congrats from me and Annie. She got married a few months ago, to Chris of all people. No one saw them falling in love ever happening. They wanted to invite you, but we couldn't find your address. Say, I’ll tell her you’re back, and we can get dinner, get the old gang back together!” PJ grinned, a smile so infectious that Phil started to smile too. He nodded.

“Alright, sounds like a plan. Wish I’d made the move earlier, if it meant coming to the wedding. But I’m glad they put the past behind them,” Phil smiled, and PJ was showing him pictures of the wedding. Of course, he was best man. Chris was like Phil, in more than one way. One, he was a summertime regular, and Phil assumed Chris and Annie were living in his family’s summer house on the other side of town. Two, Chris was a witch, an earthy type, like his mum. As PJ showed Phil the pictures, Phil smiled at how happy they looked, his two childhood best friends. Annie was very much like PJ, long, curly brown hair, an infectious smile, and a glint in those Liguori green eyes. She looked really pretty in the pictures, Phil had to admit. And Chris looked good too, very much in love with his wife. Phil could remember how he teased her, pulled her hair and stuff that little boys did because they were idiots. As they grew up, Chris stopped being such an ass, and one could see the beginnings of a crush when he looked at Annie.

They talked for what seemed like hours, and soon enough PJ was heading out. He was going out to dinner with his family, but promised to text Phil with a date and time for a dinner. Phil smiled, waving him off with a smile. Once gone, he sighed, looking at the dirty cups. With a flick of his wrist, the water turned on and the dishes started to wash themselves. It was honestly his favorite spell, and one that he had learned quite early on to make his chores easier. The dishes even put themselves away, a modification that Phil had added himself. With everything put away, including his clothes, Phil put his shoes back on, and decided to walk to the beach and get dinner, maybe even an ice cream.

After a comforting dinner of fish and chips, Phil walked down the beach with an ice cream in hand, humming softly to himself. He had walked so far down that he was by the caves, an old childhood haunt of his. He was almost done with his ice cream when he heard something. It was faint, and carried a melodic tune. Someone was singing, he realised after a moment. Someone was in the caves, singing. Singing beautifully. Phil felt like he was under some spell, as he got closer. The song was sad, almost eerily so. But Phil kept walking toward it, unable to stop even if he wanted too. He had to find who was singing this song. He was near the entrance of the caves when he was tackled to the ground by something large and very wet. He opened his eyes, having closed them when he was falling, feeling fur under his hands. A dog, a large sheepdog to be specific, was licking at his face. Phil laughed, trying to push him off. At that moment, a wave crashed into them, saltwater going in Phil's mouth and up his nose, making him cough and splutter. Someone pulled the dog off him, and Phil scrambled to his feet, wiping his eyes. He groaned, spitting on the ground as the dog's owner apologised profusely. He waved them off, smiling a little. He needed to change, and wash these clothes before they got stiff. Phil glanced back to the caves, and he swore he saw something move in the darkness. Something ducked behind a rock, and if he hadn’t been covered in grimy, salty water he would have gone to explore, to find out if this was the same person who had been singing.

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

Phil couldn’t sleep that night, his mind thinking about the song, and how beautiful it was. Who, or what, was singing it? And why were they in the caves? There were so many questions he needed answers to, and he resolved to find out in the morning. That thought helped to lull him to a semi-comatose state, half asleep, half awake, for the rest of the night. He ended up not going back to the beach that day, sleeping and shopping for most of the day instead. In fact, he didn’t end up back at the beach for another few days. After all, the boxes weren’t going to unpack themselves. (Actually they were but they wouldn’t be put away by themselves. That unfortunately was a job that Phil had to do by hand, by himself. It almost made him pack up and leave. Almost, but not quite.)

It was raining by the time Phil did end up back at the beach, this time determined to find out what it was that had been singing such a haunting, beautiful song. After speaking to the locals, all who proved to be little to no help, apart from one old lady at the cafe this very morning, Phil decided it would be better to just go explore for himself. The lady this morning had told him that the thing in the caves was territorial, and a savage. But apart from that, she didn't have any answers to what it was. With this in mind, Phil was walking towards where he had seen something move that first time. As he got closer, the song started to form in his ears, quieter but still just as powerful. Phil felt his heart clench, and he once again felt under a spell. He couldn’t stop walking even if he wanted. It was like his legs were locked, forcing him forward towards the mouth of the cave. The song got louder, and Phil realized that he didn’t actually understand it, although he thought he recognized the language. It was an ancient language, one that he probably should have learned from his parents. As the song carried him into the cave, he saw a fire in the distance, and a figure huddled behind it. A very human-like figure. Phil stopped himself just before the fire, the song dying in his ears as the...creature looked up at him, the fire illuminating round, rather brown eyes. The reflection of the fire in them made them seem almost golden. Or maybe Phil was just seeing things, because how could eyes be golden? The rest of the figure was shrouded in shadows; Phil could only see human-like arms hugging human-like legs that were pulled into a chest. He couldn’t see the face, or anything for that matter. He raised his hand to cast a spell to light the cavern they were in, when the person (?) spoke.

“Don’t.”

“Come.”

There it was again. That sweet voice. And who was Phil to deny such a sweet request. His legs carried him across the room. He fell to his knees in front of this creature, having never felt so calm in his life. The creature reached out and touched Phil's cheek with a surprisingly warm hand. A human hand. Phil leaned his head into its palm, smiling a little.

“Will you help me?” The voice was tentative, and Phil nodded slowly. The creature moved its hand, and the room seemed to get brighter, like millions of tiny candles had been lit. And Phil couldn’t contain his gasp as finally, he saw what was in front of him. His hand came up to cover his mouth, and he scrambled backward.

Sitting in front of Phil was arguably the most gorgeous creature that he had ever seen with his two eyes. The creature had long, slender legs, which were pulled up into its chest. Its skin was a light copper, and its eyes were golden brown. It had brown hair, curls that tumbled down to the base of its neck, and Phil had an urge to bury his face in them. Gold feather tattoos covered its legs from mid-calf to foot, and the same on its arms, ending just below the elbow. But what was even more spectacular than the rather heavenly creature in front of him were the wings of gold and black feathers spread out behind this being. Phil was stunned. He had never seen such a beautiful being. A siren, his mind supplied helpfully. The creature in front of him was a siren. The most feared sea creature, luring sailors and pirates alike to their watery graves. Phil was speechless, so much so that he almost didn’t notice the problem. A wing was broken. No wonder the siren was singing so sadly, it was lonely, and hurt.

“Help me,” the siren whispered, in that sweet voice that made Phil melt. He nodded, dumbfounded, and shuffled closer to the siren, who tensed up, then relaxed when it realised Phil meant no harm. Carefully, Phil raised a hand, and set to work fixing the siren.

The whole process took about two hours. Phil had to take regular breaks, and he was still exhausted by the time the siren took off into the air of the cavern with joy. Phil smiled, leaning back on the rocks of the cave, watching. He started to think of what he knew about sirens. Vicious, generally travelled in packs, or flocks. Very territorial. Cast magic with their voices, manipulating others to do what they wanted. They--wait, what? Phil’s smile fell, eyes widening as he realized what this siren was doing. It was using Phil! He looked up at it, chirping happily as it flew around the cavern. Phil scooted towards the exit. Just as he thought he was going to be able to escape, the siren called out.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Phil froze, stopping of his own free will. “Please,” he whispered, begged even. “Please don’t eat me.” He braced himself for the siren to somehow kill him. That didn’t happen, and the siren reached out to him, placing a hand on Phil’s cheek. “I won’t….Just please don’t leave me…” Phil found himself nodding meekly. This wasn’t how he wanted to go out, death by siren was hardly respectable. The siren chirped, and Phil looked up at it. The large wings were gone, instead replaced by a tattoo spanning the entirety of its back. For the first time, Phil took in what the siren was wearing. A short tunic, in an olive green, tied in place by a gold rope. As the siren turned, Phil saw its back, the large tattoo of its wings, the open back of its tunic. He bit his lip.

Phil couldn’t do much else than follow the siren to what he presumed was a nest of sorts. It was filled with shiny objects, and plush blankets that had quite obviously been stolen. It wasn’t small, by any means. Sirens attracted mates with large nests filled with shiny, soft objects. Phil remembered from a book he had read that sirens mated for life, and were extremely possessive of their mates. They also never let anyone else in their nests but said mates. The nest in which Phil was currently sitting, letting the siren play with his hair. He frowned at that. Maybe this siren’s mate didn’t mind. But if this siren had a mate, where was it?

“Daniel.” The siren had chirped with a smile as they sat down. At first, Phil thought he was calling to his mate, maybe that he had found them dinner, but he eventually realized that the siren was telling him his name. Daniel. It suited the creature. Phil smiled a bit, and leaned back into the siren-Dan’s hands combing through his hair. If he was going to be a prisoner, at least he could be one in semi-comfort. He smiled a little. “Where’s your mate?” He asked softly, but regretted it as he felt sharp claws dig into his scalp. “Ow! What the hell!” He scrambled away from Dan, turning to look at him with a glare.

“Don’t mention them.” Dan growled, his eyes dark, murderous even. Murder Birds, Phil’s mind supplied. Sirens had that nickname for a reason. Either way, any protests had died in Phil’s throat as soon as they’d started. It was so strange, how a siren could have that much of an effect on him. Wasn’t he supposed to be some great and powerful witch? Regardless, Dan seemed to settle down, preening himself lightly as he did so. Phil bit his lip, staying on his side of the nest. No thank you, Phil did not want to get on Dan’s side and be ruthlessly murdered. He stayed on his side, holding his knees to his chest and sighing, letting his eyes slip closed.

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

Phil looked so peaceful sleeping. It would almost be a pity to kill him. Almost, Dan decided. Besides, he needed to eat one way or another, and he really didn’t want to have to steal another dog when such a beautiful treat had wandered right in. Dan had wanted to eat him as soon as his wing had been fixed, so he could take him and go and find his mate again. But the way in which Phil had begged for his life had been so cute, Dan had decided to play with him a little. Now, he was unguarded. And he looked delicious. Dan licked his lips, settling closer to Phil and preparing for the blow to kill the human, when Phil sneezed. Dan frowned, tilting his head curiously. That was strange. He’d never seen a human do that before. Was it broken? Dan was about to look up Phils nose when it happened again, and he scrambled back, having been sprayed with something clear and wet. Ew. He sat cross legged and observed the human. He’d never seen one this up close before, never regarded them with much thought. To him, humans were simply stupid creatures, who didn’t deserve to be alive. Dan bit his lip, taking a blanket and covering the human. He was strange, and kind. But scared. Dan could sense the fear that came off this man, and he didn’t like it. He looked towards the cave entrance, remembering how Phil had tried to leave. He was selfish keeping this human here with him. He had to let Phil go, despite his appetite-now-turned-curiosity. Phil would forget about him, anyway.

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

When Phil woke up, his first thought was wondering where on Earth he was. Then he remembered. The siren. Dan. He got up, looking around for any sign of the creature, then slowly made his way to the exit. He expected to be pounced on as soon as he was at the exit, some sick joke of cat and mouse. But no, Phil made it to the exit and outside relatively unscathed. He hurried home, desperately in need of a shower, and a nap. He was somehow convinced that most of this was a dream. After all, why would there be a siren in Seaport? They were native to warmer waters. However, Phil couldn’t seem to get the beautiful face out of his mind. It plagued him when he closed his eyes, the honey-sweet voice singing softly in his ears. Fuck. Phil was trapped under a siren’s spell. And he loved it. It was intoxicating. Realistically Phil knew that he shouldn’t be head over heels with a creature that basically gets off on killing humans, but it was hard not to be. This ethereal creature was the center of his fantasies.

That night, PJ invited him over for dinner, with Chris and Annie. The house was the same as he remembered, and Phil smiled a little when he saw his friends. Annie was practically radiating when she saw Phil, giving him the biggest hug he’d ever had from her. Chris hugged him, too, which was comforting because Chris rarely gave out hugs. “What brings you down here?” Chris asked as he poured Phil a glass of wine, while PJ and Annie were out on the back porch, setting the table.

“The house was getting a little small, and there’s, like, three babies on the way. I wanted to live by myself for a little,” Phil explained, taking the offered glass and sipping.

“Well, it’s good to have another one of our kind around,” Chris smiled. “Oh, and Annie and PJ know I’m one, so you don’t have to hide it. I know you really came down here because you want to be by water. It’s only natural for a water kind to be drawn down here.” Phil smiled at that.

“You got me.” He laughed, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know about a siren being here, would you?”

“A siren? In Seaport? Well if there is, I should think it must be crazy. I wouldn’t imagine why it would be here. Unless it was abandoned by its family on a migration?” Chris smiled a little. “I have a book on sirens you might find useful. If you want it?” Phil nodded, and Chris went to get it. It wasn’t huge, and Phil thanked Chris as he put the book in his coat pocket.

Dinner was fabulous. Annie made pasta with some kind of amazing seafood sauce, and Phil practically melted when he tried it, begging her for the recipe. Dan would like it, he thought to himself. Surprisingly, even though Phil had left, he wanted to go back to Dan, to help him. If Chris was right, he had lost his family, or his family had left him. Either way, his heart felt for the siren. Phil helped with the dishes, and the four friends sat on the porch and talked.

“Do you miss your family, Phil? I know your brother just got married, and isn’t your sister expecting? Aren’t you lonely?” Annie asked while Chris and PJ went to refill the drinks. Phil smiled.

“I suppose. But I knew that I was going to be at least a little alone when I came here. I’m not really that alone, y’know? I’ve got you guys, and I’m starting to enjoy just relaxing. Maybe I’ll get a proper job. Or I could just keep leeching off my parents. Who knows?” He laughed, and poked her in the side. “Maybe I could babysit, once you and Chris start your little family.”

“That would be lovely Phil. Thank you,” Annie said softly, looking over at him. “You seem off, if you don’t mind. Almost like you’ve met someone.” Phil laughed a little at that.

Chris and PJ came back out with the drinks, and Annie smiled, touching his arm gently. That same featherlight tough that Dan had touched him with while he had painfully worked to fix his wing. He blinked, the look of sheer joy on his siren’s face making him smile. His siren? Oh god. Abruptly, Phil stood up. “Listen, this has been wonderful, really. But I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything later!” He smiled as he rushed out of the house, stopping only to make sure he had the book from Chris. Phil could only hope, as he sprinted towards the same cave he had been glad to see the back of earlier, that Dan was still in there. He burst in, startling the siren as he was chewing on something-oh god was that sheep?-and causing his feathers to shoot out of his arms and legs, as he jumped into attack mode, honey golden eyes flashing red.

“Dan!” Phil panted, hands on his knees. “Dan, I’m not leaving you.”

The siren frowned, before lunging at Phil and silently pinning him against a wall, finger flying frantically across Phil’s chest. It took Phil a minute to understand that Dan was drawing letters to make words. He caught some phrases, like “What are you doing?” and “How do you remember me?” It was strange, trying to piece together the messily written words, but eventually he grabbed Dan’s flying finger and held it in his hands. “Slow down, slow down. It’s okay, I have plenty of time. Just, slow down.” Dan led him back into the nest, sitting down across from Phil, knees touching, with Phil’s palm facing up.

‘How can you remember me?’ Dan traced onto Phil’s palm. Phil smiled.

“I’m a water witch. Surprise…!” He smiled a little nervously. Dan had to assume that Phil was a witch, otherwise how did Phil fix his wing? But the look on Dan’s face was adorable when he realized that water witches weren’t affected by most water creature spells. And sirens were inherently water creatures. Dan placed his finger on Phil’s palm again.

‘Why are you here?’

“Because I want to be.”

‘Go away.’

“No.” Phil laughed softly, shaking his head fondly. They sat like that for a while while Dan asked questions, and Phil dutifully answered them. It didn’t occur to Phil until later, while he gently combed through Dan's hair, the siren fast asleep with his head in Phil’s lap, that he hadn’t asked Dan any questions about his past, yet had somehow agreed to let Dan stay in his house. This would certainly be odd. Good thing he had that book.

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

Phil didn’t think his life could really get any weirder, then he tried smuggling an angry siren into his house. Dan was not only grumpy because he was awake early, but Phil had forced him into a coat, something that irritated his wings. Apparently he could still feel them, even though they weren’t there, something Dan had written onto his palm as Phil had struggled him into the coat. In retaliation for wearing something so irritating, he nipped at Phils bare skin all the way home. To say Dan was uncooperative was an understatement. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the pair as Phil was unceremoniously shoving Dan into his house. Dan practically tore Phil’s coat in half to get out of it, and as soon as the garment was on the floor he was spreading his wings and preening himself. Phil was still amazed by those beautiful wings. Black and gold feathers, lush and full, spread out before Phil. Without thinking, Phil reached out to touch, gently stroking the softness before him. Dan looked mildly annoyed, but that soon melted away and he was grinning and making a noise almost like purring as he let Phil run his hands through his feathers.

Adjusting to life with this creature was odd. Firstly, Dan didn’t talk, he mainly wrote his replies or scribbled them into Phil’s skin. Dan didn’t want to trap Phil back under his spell, and Phil almost thought Dan might be growing fond of him. And secondly, Dan had taken over Phil’s bed, piling it high with pillows and soft covers, as well as hiding some of Phil’s shiny trinkets in amongst the softness. It was like his nest back in his lonely cave, and he insisted that Phil sleep in the nest with him. And finally, Dan was used to eating raw fish, or whatever other raw meats that he could find. It took Phil a while to condition him into eating cooked meat, even if it was only just barely cooked. Despite all this, Phil still couldn’t think of anything else apart from his Dan. His siren. It was odd, really, that he could be…in love with such a creature, yet here he was, silently smitten with Dan.

The next few months passed by, with no surprises. Phil became extremely well educated on sirens. However, it was too perfect, for too long, and his little bubble of bliss was broken one stormy day. They had been out on the cliff-top at Dan’s insistence for fresh air when all of a sudden he froze, as if sensing something. He motioned for Phil to stop, and walked a little further. He stopped, and for the first time in months, Phil heard his siren singing again. Well, not literally singing. But he was talking. And that alone was enough to make Phils knees buckle, and he fell to the ground. Because another voice had joined the mix. Another silky smooth, buttery sweet voice, adding to the harmony.

“I’ve been looking for you, and this is where I find you? In a human village, with a human. Daniel, you should know better.” At another thought, the second voice wasn’t like Dan’s at all. It was sickly sweet and unkind, where Dan’s was soft and kind. It was mocking, and left a bitter taste in Phils mouth.

“Go away. You know I left for a reason. I will not go back with you!” Dan’s voice cut through the air, followed by laughter, condescending laughter.

“You and I both know that’s not true, Daniel. You’re my mate. We’re meant to be together. It’s how it works.” Phil gasped at that, biting his lip. Dan’s mate. He was here. But why? Phil always assumed that Dan’s mate was dead, and he was merely seeking comfort with Phil. Never did he think that Dan would be with him instead of his mate. That thought was absurd, because after all, why would a siren pick a human as a mate? Phil shook his head, looking back over at Dan, where he stood, a whole head shorter than his mate. Phil got to his feet, dusting himself off and rubbing his eyes. It was hard to make out the conversation over the whirling of the wind, but Dan stood tall, and Phil smiled at that. Dan had courage, and Phil felt something in his stomach, a gut feeling to do something.

“Dan!” he yelled, starling both sirens out of their stances.

“No! Phil, stay where you are, it isn’t safe!” Dan yelled back, and for once, the command given didn’t seem to hold any meaning. His mind stayed remarkably clear, while his body remained frozen. He frowned, shaking his head to clear it and ran to Dan, grabbing his face and kissing him squarely on the lips. At that point, the heavens seemed to open and Phil had to pull away to laugh at the irony. A water creature, and a water witch, kissing in the rain.

“I thought I told you to stay?” Dan asked, smiling just as wide, leaning back in when all of a sudden Phil was shoved away, and oh shit a very angry siren was marching towards him. Dan’s mate was tall, and his wings were fully spread, and the teal feathers on his arms and legs were at full attention. Phil had never seen a siren like this, his eyes flashing a deep red, readying to attack and oh god this was it, and Phil hadn’t even told his mum that he loved her. He hadn’t even told Dan that he was loved. But that final blow that he was waiting for never came. Instead, there came a squawking, and Phil opened his eyes.

Dan was fighting. He was attacking his mate, using claws, teeth, feathers, everything. And his mate was fighting back, but clearly caught off guard by Dan’s sudden attack. And while physically his mate may have been stronger, Dan fought with a passion that Phil had never seen before. Almost like he wanted to protect Phil. They ended up in the air, a skirmish of feathers and growls. Phil heard something snap, followed by a screech and he prayed that it wasn’t Dan. But Dan was flying back to Phil, bruised and bloodied, scooping him up into the air and kissing him again, while Phil clung on for dear life.

“I told you to stay put!” Dan scolded lightly, swooping lower with Phil and making him scream. He laughed and held onto Dan tight, his legs wrapped around his waist and arms clinging around Dan’s shoulders.

“Water witches are immune to water creatures spells, goof,” Phil smiled, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to tell you but you could’ve been talking this whole time.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

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

Halfway between Tunisia and Sicily, there is a little island called Pantelleria, part of the Italian province of Trapani. Along the coast, away from the small towns that dot the island, there is a house only accessible by a dirt driveway, so inconspicuous that you would never notice it at a first glance. Down this driveway is a modest villa that has housed many great witch families over the years. Now, it belongs to an older witch, in his fifties. Sometimes people see him on his beach while sailing by, and more often than not, they are invited to have some wine and a light snack. If you get close enough, you hear his accent, British. If you have the chance to ask him why he is here, he will simply say “I followed my heart and it led me here”. People believe that he lost his wife, others simply say he is an artist. But often, you will see him glance up to the sunny sky, and if you are lucky, you will see a shape pass over the sun. A great winged creature, soaring high. No one knows what this creature is. All people know is that sometimes this strange man is seen sitting on the cliffs next to another man, who is clad in a tunic. Many locals say he is an angel, for they claim that he has giant gold wings that transform into a tattoo impression on his back. But you can tell this man these rumors, and he will simply shrug, and walk back up to his house. For how are the people to know whether a siren chose a human as a mate, all those years ago? Sometimes fate makes pairs in the sky that are simply meant to be. Sometimes a siren’s order simply cannot hold back the tide of love. And sometimes, just sometimes, it all turns out to be just right.

#ppb2018 #phanfiction #dan and phil #siren!dan au #witch!phil au #my fic #7k #phan #daniel howell #phil lester

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bibleteachingbyolga · 4 years ago

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His eyes became bright. Jonathan put his sugar-coated hand to his mouth and displayed the power of one of God’s good gifts in his created world. It’s a power we all have known, indeed tasted, and yet many of us have grown so accustomed to it as to hardly recognize it anymore.

At that moment, what the weary, hungry army of Israel needed was fast energy. They “had been hard pressed that day” as they pursued the fleeing enemy, but their king, Saul, Jonathan’s father, made a rash vow: “Cursed be the man who eats food until it is evening and I am avenged on my enemies” (1 Samuel 14:24). In hot pursuit of their foe, the men entered a forest and found themselves surrounded by God’s provision: “behold, there was honey on the ground” (1 Samuel 14:25). Golden, viscous, liquid sugar — like the manna, which tasted of honey, that covered the ground for God’s people each morning in the wilderness (Exodus 16:14). God had provided. But Saul had made his foolish oath.

Jonathan, however, had not heard his father’s words. So he walked into the forest, received the divine gift, and “his eyes became bright” (1 Samuel 14:27). Just the quick energy he needed to finish off the foe. Just what the whole army needed.

Saul’s army did catch the enemy, and overcome them, but because of Saul’s rash vow not to eat, “the people were very faint.” In victory, they lost self-control, and “pounced on the spoil and took sheep and oxen and calves and slaughtered them on the ground. And the people ate them with the blood” (1 Samuel 14:31–32). What pain and misery they would have been spared if only, like Jonathan, they had “tasted a little honey” (1 Samuel 14:29, 43) to brighten their eyes and revive their strength.

In the end, their victory is not without grave and unnecessary difficulties. The people do redeem Jonathan from falling victim to the vow, and he declares his father’s folly:

My father has troubled the land. See how my eyes have become bright because I tasted a little of this honey. How much better if the people had eaten freely today of the spoil of their enemies that they found. For now the defeat among the Philistines has not been great. (1 Samuel 14:29–30)

Twice Jonathan says “a little honey.” Just a little did the trick. Too much would have made him all the worse for war. Yet, here, in this seemingly minor episode in the history of Israel, we have what might be an unnerving peek into our modern world, where we are surrounded by honey and have great difficulty limiting ourselves to just a little.

Spoonfuls of Sugar

From a historical perspective, it is stunning how much sugar we consume today. What came in a golden, sticky ooze in biblical times comes to us today as refined, white, granulated table sugar, already baked and boiled in excessive proportions into many of the foods and drinks we commonly consume. According to Jay Richards, “In 1700, Westerners ate very little sugar — say, four pounds per year. Even in 1850, we averaged only a few pounds per person per year. Now, each of us, on average, eats well over one hundred pounds of sugar per year . . . much of it in processed foods that don’t even taste sweet to us” (Eat, Fast, Feast, 42–43).

Estimates do vary. “Americans consume as much as 77.1 pounds of sugar and related sweeteners per person per year, according to the United States Department of Agriculture data” — but still — “That’s nearly twice the limit the department recommends, based on a 2,000-calorie diet” (“The Barbaric History of Sugar in America”). But what no one questions is that objectively, demonstrably, and almost without exception, we consume far more sugar today than humans have throughout history, barring only the last century.

Obesity among Americans has grown nearly 30 percent in just the last three decades, while the rate of diabetes has almost tripled. It would be naïve to consider sugar the only cause. And perhaps just as naïve to not consider the overconsumption of sugar to have played a significant, if not the major, part. And of course, none of us wants to hear that, because it just tastes so good.

Heavier, Slower, More Unhealthy

For many readers, this is not news. For more than a generation, a growing chorus of voices has been suspecting that “we are consuming way more sugar than our bodies are equipped to handle” (“What’s Wrong with the Modern Diet?”). “Equipped” — don’t miss that. By whom?

When dealing with the human body, it’s difficult for even the most ardent of evolutionists to avoid words like “equipped,” “built,” and “designed.” The human body and brain, with its abilities to move and adapt, is the most impressive masterpiece in all of physical creation, the crowning jewel, and culminating creation, of those first six days (Genesis 1:26–31).

God’s good design comes equipped to handle sugar — both the slow-release of glucose as digestion breaks down complex carbohydrates and its fast release from simple carbohydrates (none faster, and more difficult to handle, than when we drink sugar-water — soft drinks and juices).

Glucose, from sugar, can be a source of needed energy to the muscles, but it is toxic in the bloodstream. Our brains summon insulin to the rescue to remove it from our blood, and when muscles, which have little storage, are already well supplied, the sugar is converted to fat and stored in a nice central location — the waste and hips. Despite the popular myth that eating fat makes our bodies fat, it is the overconsumption of sugar, for most of us on the modern diet, that contributes far more to our undesired fat stores.

Tragically, generation by generation, those commissioned to image God in his created world are becoming heavier, slower, lazier, and more unhealthy, while a growing train of maladies like obesity, heart disease, high blood pressure, type 2 diabetes, stroke, and cancer shorten and encumber this vapor’s breath of our lives even more than they already are.

Little Theology of Honey

Many today might be surprised to find that the Scriptures have timeless truths to speak into our modern malaise about sugar.

Sugarcane was rare in the Middle East in biblical times, and may receive an obscure reference in one or two texts (“sweet cane” in Isaiah 43:24; Jeremiah 6:20). But what was not obscure, and is one of the great concentrated sources of glucose still, with the same essential sweetness as table sugar, is honey. There is “a little theology of honey” in the pages of Scripture — and those of us confused today about what to do, and not do, for ourselves and for our children, might get some fresh help and orientation from the biblical principles.

Good: Eat Honey

The Proverbs give us two key orienting words. The first is Proverbs 24:13:

My son, eat honey, for it is good, and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste.

Sugar, and its being “sweet to your taste,” is God’s idea and good design. Not only do we have the story of Jonathan’s eyes becoming bright — characterized as a good thing — but again and again, beginning at the burning bush (Exodus 3:8), God promises to give his people a land, he says, “flowing with milk and honey” — which is emphatically and manifestly a good gift.

Honey is identified with sweetness, pleasantness to the taste (Ezekiel 3:3; Revelation 10:9, 10), as a lion with strength (Judges 14:18). God provided not only nourishment for his people in the wilderness, but manna tasted good — “like wafers made with honey” (Exodus 16:31).

God’s first-covenant people treated honey as a valuable product and resource: among the “choice fruits of the land” (Genesis 43:11), fit to give a king (2 Samuel 17:29) or prophet (1 Kings 14:3), or God himself as firstfruits in worship (2 Chronicles 31:5). Honey could be a mark of prosperity and abundance (Isaiah 7:15, 22), even royalty (Ezekiel 16:13). “Honey” even became an endearing name a husband and wife might co-opt for each other, as did the lovers in the Song of Songs (4:11; 5:1), and still today.

Not Good: Much Honey

However, honey is powerful enough to come with user warnings. This should be no surprise to Christians who have learned elsewhere — with marital intimacy, for instance — that God’s most precious, and sweetest, of gifts can be prime targets of our sinful world and flesh and the devil. Again, Proverbs sounds the orienting word:

It is not good to eat much honey, nor is it glorious to seek one’s own glory. A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls. (Proverbs 25:27–28)

Not good to each much honey. The pronounced good of honey calls for the virtue of self-control, the absence of which will soon destroy the benefit. So also, another warning proceeds it, earlier in the same chapter: “If you have found honey, eat only enough for you, lest you have your fill of it and vomit it” (Proverbs 25:16).

Professor Slughorn’s warning to his Hogwarts students about “Liquid Luck” potion might just as well be applied to sugar: “Too much of a good thing, you know . . . highly toxic in large quantities. But when taken sparingly, and very occasionally . . .”

Sugar-Coated, Growing Fat

Just as Jonathan did well in the forest to have “a little honey,” and not much, so do we today, surrounded as we are by the forest of sugar that is modern life. As with sex and alcohol, we learn to take some of the greatest care with God’s greatest of gifts because they are so potent. Honey is good — so good that it’s not good to eat much of it.

Consider what that momentary sweetness in the mouth, whether honey or sugar, has come to represent in common speech. “Sugar-coated” is no compliment; sugar has become symbolic for “empty calories,” for a momentary pleasure with a “crash” soon to follow. Proverbs 5:3 even warns that “the lips of a forbidden woman drip honey.” There is a paradigm here: feeling good in the moment, with great regret and disgust to follow (Proverbs 9:17; 20:17; Job 20:12).

Even before God brought his people into that “land flowing with milk and honey,” he warned of what such luxuries would produce in them because of their sin — warnings we too should take seriously today. Over time, they would forget to handle his gifts with care:

When I have brought them into the land flowing with milk and honey, which I swore to give to their fathers, and they have eaten and are full and grown fat, they will turn to other gods and serve them, and despise me and break my covenant. (Deuteronomy 31:20)

In sin, God’s people came to presume his gifts and eventually forsake him. Even the “honey out of the rock” he provided to keep them alive in the wilderness (Deuteronomy 32:13; Psalm 81:16) they came to take lightly: “But Jeshurun grew fat, and kicked; you grew fat, stout, and sleek; then he forsook God who made him and scoffed at the Rock of his salvation” (Deuteronomy 32:15).

What We Learn from Sugar

Honey is indeed a divine creation and gift. Sugar is a good to handle with care. A gift from God to delight our tastes — and teach us of himself. Taste honey, he says. See how good it is, and ponder how the one who made it is every bit that good, and far better.

Not only is our God one who provides honey for his people in the wilderness, sweetness in the midst of our grueling times, but his words are “sweeter also than honey and drippings of the honeycomb” (Psalm 19:10). “How sweet are your words to my taste,” celebrates Psalm 119:103, “sweeter than honey to my mouth!”

And unlike honey and sugar, you cannot have too much of the sweetness of God. And our desire for more of him just might help with our penchant today to swing from overconsumption to overreaction and back.

A biblical theology of honey speaks a chastening word to both sides of today’s sugar divide. Apart from the guidance from God’s word, we are prone to gravitate to extremes: misusing God’s good gift through presumption and overconsumption, or misguided avoidance and overreaction, treating as evil, or simply toxic, what he has given as good.

Enjoy “a little honey” — it is good — so good that it’s not good to eat too much.

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tryingtofindthestories · 6 years ago

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Even Demons Have Ethics

An unlucky demon who continuously possesses terminally ill people. To make the possessed body work to their needs, the demon cures the illness. The newly cured bodies are then strong enough to kick out the demon, and the cycle repeats.

(I deviated a little from the prompt, sorry. Also, I don’t remember where I got this, so if anyone recognizes where this comes from let me know so I can give credit where credit is due. Thanks)

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There is a running bet going on in Hell among all the demons, young and old, as to what could be the cause of my bad luck. Because at this point, they have decided, it cannot just be that I’m unlucky. There must be something or someone who is cursing me. Some argue that I must have been born under a divinely blessed sign. Others swear up and down that I must have cracked too many mirrors during that painful exorcism back in 1467 and that all those bad vibes got bottled up until they finally exploded. The majority whisper that Satan, the man we’re all supposed to work for, yet like God is never seen by us mere demons, must hold a grudge against me or something and that is causing all this. A few crackpots actually think I was cursed by a witch or something, but nobody ever listens to them. It’s none of that I’m pretty sure.

Oh, wait. I’m being a bit rude. Should explain what I’m talking about, shouldn’t I? Yes, well... you see, I’m the Terminal Demon. Mother demons tell their little ones that they’ll get stolen away by me and tossed into the pit of eternal happiness if they don’t practice their shenanigans and monstrous skills. A most terrible fate I reassure you.

When I say I am the terminal demon however, I do not mean I kill my host or anything, that would be unprofessional. No, my name comes from the people I possess. Ever since that weird trip in 1894 I only ever possess terminally ill humans, the ones determined by doctors to be incurable. Honestly, you would think that would be great and all. People so close to the grave should be easy to turn in favor of the devil. Eh, but that’s not how possession works you see.

I know what you thinking, you’ve seen all the exorcism movies, you know what happens. Tie ‘em to a bed, chuck some holy water, shout some Latin, and you’re all good. Only thing is, that’s not how it works. We demons try to keep it real hush hush, even spread a bit of misinformation around too. The kind you see in Paranormal Activity for instance. So I’ll let you in on the little secret.

You don’t need anything to have an exorcism. All those bibles and chants and holy water and crosses. Nah. You don’t need any of those things. And if you do? I’m sorry to tell you, but the host doesn’t want us leaving. That’s the kicker really. The demon can only stick around as long as the human wants them there, whole bodily autonomy thing. Even Satan doesn’t allow his minions to violate someone else’s space, we need explicit permission to stay. So trust me, if you need a whole intervention whatnot, that person wanted to do all that stuff and we just gave them the power to follow through.

That also means that our ‘victims’ need the ability to consent. Like they need to be able to kick us, so it’s actually a choice for them. Otherwise we’re violating the rules and that ends with a great big mutual smiting from God and the Devil himself. Permanent extinction, no comeback for anybody. One of the few collaborations they ever do.

So we demons get real good at figuring it out, if a person can make those kinda decisions. Like if the person possessed is in an abusive situation. Well, they’re too consumed with survival to be able to think through our propositions, can go asking them.

So we got to fix that problem. There are a couple ways to do this, but the most popular one is a little DOPE. Demon Out of Possession Extermination. You know, step out of your human for a little bit, send that abusive shit to where they’re going a little sooner than planned. Cause demons can walk the Earth just fine without you folks, we just don’t have a corporeal form then. Which can make some things a little tricky, like pouring a glass of milk or robbing a bank. You know, the usual. So you go and play a little DOPE and wait a couple months for them to get a little used to their safer environment, then you make them a deal.

See what they do.

It might surprise you how many abuse survivors don’t want to perpetuate that cycle on others. Go figure.

The same goes with my guys. Terminal cases. The incurables. They’re spending so much effort trying to fight for life, well they don’t have even a moment to go looking over the kinds of long contracts we have for possession. Nothing super complicated, just long. Gotta cover all the different situations that we could go through. Are you will to commit mass murder, does this willingness extend to children. Do you want to be conscious during this or unconscious for more plausible deniability. Is cannibalism agreeable with you or are you vegetarian/vegan. Are you willing to make an exception for human flesh or is that a solid no. You know, the typical issues.

So what’s a demon going to do when stuck in a terminally ill patient who can’t make that kind of decision right now? Well, I cure them of course. Those out of the blue miracles you might have hear of? Yeah, at least a few of them are my doing. I get in there, fix up whatever needs fixing, makes sure nothing can come back that would be bad for the person. Then once that happens and they get back in their own homes, I go and ask them a question. A couple of questions actually. Got to see if the demon and host is compatible after all, possession is for life you know. Or, at least your life. I tend to last a little longer than you guys.

A lot of the patients don’t want to do that kind of thing. Causing pain and death and destruction. Not everyone’s cup of tea. And with them being so good at fighting things, they knock me outta them real quick and easy. Though they’re usually nicer about it then plenty of other hosts I could mention. A few of them though, the ones that got knocked around in the hospitals, that didn’t get treated right. Well, they’re the ones who like keeping me around, to get back at those folks who might be harming others now that they’re gone. But that usually only lasts for as long as that person’s still around. Once they’re gone, well the host usually kicks me out real quick.

And contrary to popular belief they’re allowed to do that too, part of the contract you see. Consent can be revoked at any time. Then we go through our version of divorce and bata bing, bata boom I’m on my way back to hell to look for my next assignment.

Now, most of the demons think I must be real sour about all that. Always getting knocked out of my people like that. My mom is all upset, lamenting why her little demon just can’t find a good host to settle down with for a couple decades and how all the younger demons just play fast and loose with possession now. I can almost hear her right now, complaining how they don’t make hosts like they used to anymore and back in her day. Well, part of that problem is that I don’t go dispelling the idea that I’m unhappy about the whole situation. It makes things easier at home you know. But really, I don’t mind. I even kind of like it. It’s nice seeing folks like mine get what they deserve and I’m really too young to go settling down with just one human for that long. Maybe when I’m older. Until then, I’m happy to stay the Terminal Demon. Just don’t tell my mother.

#original writing #originalwriting #writing prompt

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imaginetonyandbucky · 8 years ago

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Helping Hands

Chapter Seventeen: Hands in the Air

It was strange, Bucky thought, riding up the elevator, the things that a man could get used to. He was used to thinking certain ways, doing certain things. But it hadn’t taken him long to adjust, and now he hardly wondered at doing things like riding up sixty floors in a glass-backed elevator. (It was actually faster to ride up the central elevator that had a keyport and opened into Tony’s foyer, but Bucky liked the glass one, even though he had to climb the last flight of stairs and go in through the housekeeper’s entrance.) He was sleeping in when he wanted, and eating whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted. He was going to have to start using the building’s private gym pretty damn soon or he was going to get fat.

Which was why, when J had come by the penthouse that morning to drag a protesting Pietro out to the studio to re-record “Order and Chaos” because J hadn’t liked the way the guitar sounded, Bucky had impulsively decided to tag along. Steve was at the new school for orientation and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, Tony was at the office, Wanda was… doing whatever it was Wanda did when she wasn’t with J or at college.

Bucky had never been in a recording studio before, although it had been a dream of his, once upon a time. Before money for college got so scarce that he’d decided to join the Army to cover tuition. Before he’d lost his arm and with it, his ability to play the guitar. Friends from high school, he and Jim and James (there was a reason Bucky had stuck around as a nickname; too many goddamn Jameses in his circle of high school friends) and Tim (whom they all called Dum Dum for reasons no one could really remember), they’d formed a garage band with dreams of becoming the next Nirvana. Like most kids, he thought, looking back on his younger self with a certain degree of exasperated fondness. It hadn’t happened, of course, and Bucky couldn’t even remember anymore why they’d gone their separate ways.

They had arrived at Cherry Hill around ten, and J had immediately gotten into it with the sound director -- a burly, short man named Logan who reeked of cigars and had excessively righteous sideburns -- about the backing chorus, and something about the session singer, Jean Grey. Watching them, Bucky was left with the impression of a whirlwind talking to a boulder. Bucky mostly stayed out of it, though he’d taken J’s guitar away from him when it looked like the young singer might be tempted to go after Logan and use it as a blunt instrument.

While everyone split to their corners to nurse their wounds -- Logan had stomped off and come back with coffee and doughnuts, claiming that J’s low blood sugar was the problem, a clever move for someone who called people ‘bub’ and acted like an angry weed whacker -- Bucky had found himself with a guitar in his lap for the first time in most of a decade. The silver Les Paul was a beautiful instrument.

He hadn’t played in so long all his callouses were gone. He’d gotten new ones, learning how to do a number of chores with his good right hand, and then again when the prosthetic came along, but neither set was going to keep him from bleeding out his fingertips if he practiced on a steel-string. He’d poked around in J’s stuff until he came up with a guitar pick. The new metal hand was so much faster and more responsive to his thoughts. The feedback from the fingers was so good he could feel the minute vibrations in the strings.

Without entirely deciding that he was going to do it, Bucky had found himself plucking out an old melody, a song he’d learned from a friend in Afghanistan. He had to go over it several times -- he’d never had sheet music for the piece, and it had been years since he played it, but as it was the song he’d used to sing Steve to sleep for years, he was pretty familiar with the melody.

The elevator opened, interrupting Bucky’s replay of the moment, and Bucky ran up the stairs at a quick jog, and used his key and thumbprint to open the door to Tony’s penthouse.

“Why do you always come in the back door?” Tony said as he came in. “You’re not one of the staff.”

Bucky shrugged, not thrown off by that at all, although he might have been, if Tony had said it earlier. “I like lookin’ out over the city,” Bucky said.

“In another life, you were a dictator with your own little nation?” Tony suggested.

“No, you’re mistaking your past life for mine,” Bucky said. He darted forward and kissed Tony’s cheek, feeling a little more daring than normal. They’d sort of had sex a few times, if Bucky could call a few quick hand-jobs and getting blown twice sex but Tony kept shying away from anything that Bucky considered a normal part of intimacy, the stuff that wasn’t sex but that happened in the spaces between a couple.

They were living together, dating, and yet… there was this distance. He couldn’t decide if Tony didn’t want to get closer, or if he didn’t have the slightest idea how. Or even, perhaps, that he didn’t know it was possible at all. Bucky had picked up a bit of that from his old man; Big Jim hadn’t been the sort to ask for things; when he wanted the potatoes at dinner, he’d just stared at them until Bucky’s ma had passed them over. The first time Bucky had tried that with Sarah, she’d laughed at him and moved the rolls further away. You want something, Jamie, you ask for it. You ain’t Big Jim and I ain’t your mama. With that in mind, Bucky opened his mouth to say something -- he wasn’t even sure what, yet, but Tony interrupted him.

“You seem in a good mood, today,” Tony said.

“Hung out with J and Pietro a bit,” Bucky said. “Wanted to see what trouble they were up to with the recording.”

“Yeah?” Tony said. He moved to the bar and Bucky couldn’t help but check the clock: a little after three.

He grimaced; Bucky had been watching Tony’s behavior slip, rolling backward like Sisyphus’s stone, a little bit at a time, but inevitable. He pushed it aside for later; it was too nice a day to get into it now. “Aside from nearly coming to blows with some little sound guy --”

“The Wolverine?” Tony asked, eyebrows going up. “Brave kid, if he’s yelling at Logan about making a record sound perfect. You do not fuck with perfection, and you do not tell Logan what to do.”

“Well, no one told J that. They seem to be working it out when I left, though.”

“If J gets a single note through and the record sells, I guarantee you that in five years, J will be producing and mixing, not singing,” Tony said, leaning back against the bar with his whiskey in one hand. “Logan’s a tyrant, but he recognizes talent.”

“That’s a bet I’ll put money on,” Bucky said. “I left because J was about ready to murder me for touching his baby. Doesn’t matter how talented he is, J’s not going to give up singing. Not for anything.”

“So, you were playing again,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together. “Any good? The arm’s working out for you? That’s great.” And Bucky watched with delight as Tony’s eyes lit up, the smile that came to his lips softening into something more natural, and he actually put his drink down to come closer and run a hand lightly up the cybernetic arm. He turned Bucky’s hand over, inspected the fingers. “You can play with your hand like this? I mean, it sounds okay? I’m not much of a musician, but I imagine --”

“There’s a rough edge to the notes,” Bucky admitted. “It’s got a kinda Steve Reynolds sound going on, not bad, though.” He pulled out his phone. “Pietro recorded some of it, if you want to listen.”

Bucky tried not to wince too badly when the music came up; he’d been running scales a bit, trying to get the feel for J’s baby when his fingers wandered into the opening notes and he’d gone ahead and played it. He was so out of practice, it started out really rough and not quite at the right tempo, but once he’d finished the opening and gotten to the lyrics, it started sounding like music.

The song had been a favorite of Steve’s when he was a baby.

The first few months after Steve was born, Sarah had sung to him every night. Bucky remembered lying on the sofa, turning the volume down on the television so he could hear her voice, and it soothed him as much as it comforted their son. Then Sarah had stopped singing. Bucky had thought she was just tired; her milk had dried up, and she was back at work again. So he’d done what he could, taken on what duties he’d been able to manage with one hand. Rocking Steve to sleep and singing, that was something he could do.

After the first verse, Steve himself came in through the door, Tony’s driver right behind him, and Steve stopped just inside, dropping his backpack and staring at Tony with Bucky’s phone as if shocked into stillness.

When missing her is all I do, the days all pass me by like these dreams of Mississippi and these ghosts who cannot lie. Oh, this ring rests on my finger like a veve on a wall and whispers gather 'round me, come to dance when darkness falls. Everything I see adds up to say the tale is tall, but back into her arms is really not that far to fall. There is moonlight on the river where I never thought I'd go. There's a dream of Mississippi that I never tell a soul.

“No, no, no,” Steve yelled, running at Tony suddenly and snatching the phone away from him. “That’s Mama’s song!”

“Steve!” Bucky said, shocked at Steve’s unexpected behavior. The music died as Steve managed to stab at something on the screen that stopped the video.

“That’s Mama’s song,” Steve insisted. “You’re not supposed to sing it for anyone else!”

“Stevie, no, honey,” Bucky squatted a bit, listening to his knees pop and thinking he was getting too damn old for this. “Music is for everyone .”

“But that’s her song, Daddy,” Steve said, tears starting, his lip quivering. “You sing it to me because she can’t, anymore.”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky said, and drew his son into his arms. “I sing it to remember her.”

For just a moment, Steve’s body stiffened and Bucky braced himself to deal with a Steven Grant Barnes temper tantrum; he didn’t have them often, but when he did, they were legendary, the sort of thing that made single women swear off child-bearing for the rest of their days, and made Bucky wonder if people could hear his kid all the way in Jersey.

Instead, Steve hitched in a breath, looked up at his father, “Do you still love her?”

“Of course, honey,” Bucky said around the ache in his chest. “I will always love your mama. Always.”

Steve sniffled, loud and wet, but he seemed convinced of Bucky’s sincerity. “Sorry I yelled at you,” he said.

“You’re forgiven,” Bucky said. “You should probably say sorry to Mr. Tony, too.”

Tony, who was trying to sidle out of the room unobtrusively, looked a little guilty. “No, it’s okay,” he said, holding up one hand. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Bucky nudged his son. “What do you think would be a good way to make up for it, Stevie?”

Steve hitched in another breath, looked a hair’s breadth away from rebelling, then let all the air out of his chest with an exasperated wheeze. Bucky knew telepathy was a thing, because he could clearly hear his son thinking God, DAAAAAAAAAAAD. “We could watch it together?”

“That’s a very good idea, I think,” Bucky said. He picked his phone up off the floor and made a get over here and act like an adult glare in Tony’s direction.

Telepathy. It was a thing. Because Tony was clearly thinking I do what I want.

“Don’t make me call Darcy, Tony,” Bucky threatened.

“Unfair,” Tony said. “You are a dirty cheater.” But he huffed and came back into the living room.

“Yep.” And Bucky sat down on the sofa, and his two favorite boys curled up, one on either side, to watch the damn video.

Bucky opened the magazine that Darcy had thrust at him, looked at the close-up of his own face, biting his lip, an expression that made him look younger and more uncertain than he’d like, but also kinda like a young pop-star.

Hero in Paradise, The Story of “Bucky” Barnes

-- Christine Everhart

Anthony Edward Stark and James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes‘ unique displays of affection make them seem like a perfect match. It would be hard to find two people from more different backgrounds, but reporter Christine Everhart got a good look at what goes on behind the scenes in Tony’s penthouse. In the wake of Barnes’s tabloid introduction to the glam world of Tony Stark’s playboy lifestyle, Barnes opened up to Profile, Weekly about his past in the military, current hardships, and plans for the future.

Barnes, 37, revealed that although his and Stark’s relationship started off with a casual date, he was pretty serious about seeing where they could go, despite their different interests and lifestyles. “Tony’s a great guy, you know,” Barnes said. “I wouldn’t call him down-to-earth, no, but he makes me laugh. I haven’t had a lot of that in my life, and I can’t tell you how much I missed it. Being happy. It’s pretty miraculous.” When asked if he thought Stark’s vast fortune was part of what was making him happy, Barnes was pretty adamant, “To be honest, the money thing… Well, it makes me feel a little inadequate.” “I never quite feel good enough for him,” he shared, adding that he’s “real uncomfortable around rich and important people.”

Certainly, Barnes isn’t taking into account his heroic and distinguished military career. Although he never ranked higher than Sergeant, Barnes was responsible for saving the lives of half his unit, when they encountered heavy fire during the offensive at Baluchi, in July, 2006, the battle that cost the sergeant his left arm. Granted a replacement limb in Stark Industries’ early testing for their cybernetic prosthetics, Barnes found the quality of his life greatly increased. “Taking care of Steve -- my son -- was a lot easier once I had two arms again.” He laughed, those stormcloud-blue eyes of his bright. “To all the single parents out there, I salute you. And imagine, if you will, trying to change a diaper with one hand. Stevie was the youngest kid I knew who was toilet-trained, just to make my life a little less -- well, you know.” “I like how I am,” he said. “Some people give me some side-eye about the arm, but I love it.”

Despite losing his wife in 2010, Barnes says that he has hope for the future. “Sarah gave me the best gift she ever could. I have regrets, sure; everybody does, but Stevie makes everything worthwhile.”

Barnes’s young son seems well at home in Stark’s palatial penthouse; he came in about halfway through our interview. Barnes’s heroic actions and determination are echoed in Steve Barnes, who apparently got into a playground tussle when one child used a slur against one of Steve’s friends.

These days, Barnes is spending his time working with his niece and nephew, singer and guitarist for the up and coming new band, Vision.

Bucky eyed Darcy over the magazine at the last photo in the spread, one of the shirtless pictures he’d let Christine take. “This--”

“Is gorgeous,” Darcy interrupted. “Seriously, girls will swoon over it and Ty will have a lot more trouble making bad news stick to you. Everyone loves a broody hero.”

For just an instant, Tony looked up from his own copy of the magazine and met Bucky’s gaze, which did something interesting to Bucky’s stomach, but then Tony was looking down again.

Well, maybe some people do.

Notes:

(inspiration picture for the news article)

Dream of Mississippi, by SJ Tucker is actually one of my favorite songs. I find both the lyrics and the melody haunting, and thought it was an appropriate piece for Bucky to sing about his dead wife. You should really take the time to go listen to this talented lady; my particular favorite songs of hers are Dreams of Mississippi, Cheshire Kitten, Ravens in the Library, and Wild River Child. Also, Truth about Ninjas is hilarious. Go… go support indie musicians!

#winteriron #prompts #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #tisfan #helping hands au

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