#but that man on demon time ... is clearly not to be trifled with

[thepatronsaintoffilth]

that tonal shift between Meet The Grahams and Not Like Us is absolutely wild to me in hindsight. Plus it felt like a direct response to all the people sleeping on Kdot's banger/bop credentials. Just picturing everyone crying on the floor in despair from MTG, only for Kdot to burst through the wall like the kool aid man yelling "YOU MUHFUCKAS SAID YOU WANTED TO DANCE, GET UP NIGGAS, LETS DANCE"

[therobotmonster]

The Kingdom of Tiger-Men

A very long time ago and a very far way away there was a small kingdom. Like all kingdoms it had a king, and like all kings he had all manner of lesser nobles and knights and other such important people at his service.

The kingdom, however, was not just like all the other kingdoms. It was small and peaceful and prosperous, but the cathedrals were modest and the borders had not moved in centuries.

The King and his nobles looked at the empires around them with envy, but there was little they could do about it. Until, that is, they had a visitor.

One day in autumn, there was a knock at the great castle door. Before the guards could give so much as a "Who goes there?", the doors flew open, splintering the crossbar and sending the guards to slam into opposite walls.

There, pleased as could be, was a demon, dressed head to toe in a fine silk suit and carrying an iron walking stick.

"What, Oh King, is the matter, that I may aid thee?" The demon sang.

"Why would you aid me at all." The King replied, though he did not order his knights to attack.

"For I was nursed by your grandmother in hell, and that makes us cousins." The demon replied i with a bow in her sing-song voice. "For I am a demon and you are royalty and we know our own."

"Half the things a demon tells you are true." Said the King. It was an adage his grandmother had told him once upon a time.

"And the other half are true as well, though I'd rather you not check." The demon sang back. "What troubles you, sire?"

"It is my people." The King said, warily. "When there are crops to bring in or barns to raise they do not tire but when I ask for monuments they are sluggards to the last one. They rise to defend our borders but are cowards when sent to expand them, and when asked for alms their pockets seem bottomless, but for splendor to impress our rivals they are always penniless."

"Oh, is that all?" The Demon replied. "That is but a trifling little thing, I shan't even lie for the rest of our meeting because of it."

The King could not believe his luck. He knew whipping his sluggish kingdom to action was no trifle. And wouldn't the demon assume he was impressed with her entrance and think any such action easy for her? She expected him to be a rube, not a learned regent. He knew the half-lie game and so she was changing it, to give him whole truths so he'd go mad dismissing half of them. But he was more clever than that.

"How?"

"I will awaken in them a nameless hunger, for which there is no sating. Their hunger will drive them to dance to your tune, and their loyalty to you will be absolute."

"I will accept, but you must not inflict this curse on my line or any of the ruling classes. We must of course see clearly."

"I hadn't planned on that, but you may have it."

And the demon was gone as quick as she came, if not quicker.

It took only weeks for the change to be in the air. Every man, woman and child felt a need, as strong as hunger or thirst yet with no obvious route to satisfy it. Soon the king had no difficulty pushing his people to invade their neighbors, for perhaps the needed thing was in those foreign lands? He had no difficulty getting them to build his monuments, for accolades could distract from the hunger for a time. They built him splendorous palaces in the hopes that the completion of the project or its momentary use would break the curse.

And the King and his priests and nobles dangled every form of bait to pull the people this way or that. Each day they got hungrier and hungrier, and that hunger made them powerful and violent. They were like tigers in the shapes of men, ever-devouring every form of meat and experience in the vain hope of feeling full.

Decades passed, and the small kingdom was now a medium empire. The Emperor's grandson returned from the front, two mighty tiger-men flanking him on either side. He was drunk with victory, having watched his nation's warriors tear apart the enemy with little resistance.

In his haste to embrace his grandfather, the young prince whipped off his bronze helmet and tossed it aside. The nose-guard cut his cheek, sending a splash of crimson across the face of one of his bodyguards.

He hadn't meant to. The bodyguard was a favored soldier, one of the few of his class able to walk among the upper crust. He would never have done something so unbecoming on purpose. Intention did not matter.

He tasted his young master's blood.

And he knew.

The Emperor was too horrified to scream when the tiger-man's teeth sank into his grandson's throat before him him. He could see the metaphor peeling away, and for the first time he saw the truth in its fangs and claw and fur. The smell and sight of it awoke the understanding in the other bodyguard and he too shed his metaphors for the literal.

The Prince tried to beg, but he could not tell the one that annoyed him from the one that he made warm him on the front through the pain and growling and the crunching of bones.

The knights, of course, sprang to their lords' defense, but they were not tiger-men and were barely more than ornamental to begin with. The Emperor fled to his bedroom and bolted the door behind him. All around him, he could hear the roars of tiger-men, and the screams of nobles in their jaws.

And at the window sat the demon, smiling as she looked over the city below.

"You tricked me!" The Emperor said. "Into tricking myself! The bargain was under false pretext! I demand you fix this!"

"I'd love to help you, but I didn't trick you."

The demon sat there, pointedly not helping, so the Emperor knew which part was the lie.

"There is something that sates the hunger, the loyalty isn't absolute, and you planned it all."

"Aw, you're a smart one." She sang. "And I can hardly be blamed. I gave you everything you wanted..."

The door splintered. The Emperor looked through the frame at his subjects, every last one of them a tiger.

"And no one ever eats the rich, literally."

[radi0activesmile]

Something as trifling as his obedience or his mindfulness isn’t something people pay attention to, in fact, some may argue Angel didn’t think at all. However, supposing he did, it’s usually him thinking quickly. Much like Alastor had been learning and catching mannerisms and tells near as fast as they’re spoken: Angel finds he has a collection of knowledge- or more like commands he can access. Especially when he can still practically hear the moth’s voice picking at him in states like this one ‘Yes, what?’ ‘Is that all?’ It’s hardly ever a real question, but a warning. A chance. So of course Angel learns to grab at a hold quite quickly to preserve himself.

Ever the observer, isn’t he? Alastor has yet to be too far off. A congratulations would be an order had it been at all tracked. But no, any marks to be made were currently under review.

Maybe the rapid rise and fall of his chest had attracted attention too, he’d gotten the gift of a count down. He nods a few times to show he understands, though it does make him feel a bit dumb- It did make it easier to brace himself, hold his breath and…

The burn of the disinfectant hits and a muffled yelp passes through his teeth. He likes to think of himself as a tougher type but, he’s already wiped for the night. Some typical thing? He might just wince at, but it’s come to the point where he was indeed broken down. After a certain amount of chipping away and persisting through his fighting? There’s not much left for him to keep together. Like crushing a shell, he’s no longer easily hidden. He couldn’t tell what it was after, but something cool sort of dulled the stinging wounds. Actually reminded him to take a breath himself. Just a little more…

At first the squeeze had made his knee jolt, a reflex made him try to kick. Luckily he was worn down enough, all cold and dizzy- he hadn’t even managed to kick Alastor’s shin. At least he was able to quiet himself down to rather muted whimpers into that pillow after he’d gotten past the freshness of the feeling. This wasn’t nearly the worst stitching job either, he was still stiffly holding still, but aside from muscles twitching in protest, he was able to bear it. And- perhaps he was just hallucinating, but he was nearly certain that he could hang onto a melody. What was better? It was probably quicker than his own handiwork.

Given the cue to open his eyes, he lets his jaw unlatch from the poor pillow. It was rather damp by the end, perhaps a bit damaged by his claws, but he didn’t tear it to shreds at the very least. Though he needed to blink a few times to see clearly (Or about as clear has his body allowed) and remove the build up of tears, he could quickly see the gentleman sitting before him. Using such a sweet soft voice, and taking interest in his comfort- it could move a man to tears..! Oh, make that did move a man to tears. While he doesn’t push his luck, he moves himself a little and takes a look at neat lines of stitching, clean and no longer being an escape for whatever he’d been left with.

“Better- yeh- yeh, I’m ffffeeling better. Thank you- sir. Jus’- jus’ dizzy n’shit, yeh- y’know..? Y-y’real- lly nice t’me..! Helpin like dis.” The spider seems to be swaying, but definitely works on keeping his sniveling self upright, despite it being an uphill battle. “There ain’t muh-much I c’n pay ya back. Issat okay?”

The Radio Demon has a known sadistic streak. He adores the way his very presence terrifies others. He has a tendency to snicker under his breath when someone bolts away from him by crashing through a window or jolting across a busy street, and when he gets a hold of someone who deserves his cruelty... well, there’s a reason he often broadcasts it. It’s quite the show. 

However, the key word there is deserves. He does not pick his victims at random. They are those who, in his mind, due to what they have done, have earned him as their enemy. Of course, he’s aware that there’s some amount of a double standard there. This is hell after all, everyone down here is vile; Alastor himself is vile. Why do some earn his sadistic nature while others don’t? Why does he remain indifferent to some and even almost decent to others? Like the man before him now? 

Because there are certain things Alastor cannot tolerate; certain acts or certain behaviors. It’s demons who exhibit those that he feels called upon to remove. Angel has demonstrated not one of those behaviors. He has done absolutely nothing to earn the ire of The Radio Demon. With that in mind... Alastor feels no joy in causing the spider pain. In fact, he’s doing everything in his power to make this as painless as possible. 

Even still, he’s working with exposed flesh. Outside of knocking the other out, there’s no way to make this completely painless. While his smile tightens when Angel lets out that short-lived whimper, it fades as soon as the spider takes a breath. That’s truly the worst part of this, and it lasted only a few seconds. 

Another rush of anger floods his system when Angel’s knee kicks at the sensation of being touched-- not at Angel, mind you, at those who put Angel in such a position; where a comforting touch is recognized immediately as a threat that needs to be pulled away from or fought off. His next run in with Vox is going to be an... engaging one.

Ah... he’s crying again. Which is quite fair; the man has been put through more in one evening that most could stomach... and he remains standing and coherent. Others would have blacked out long ago. Though, those tears... do not seem to come from a place of pain. No, they would have stopped upon Alastor cutting the stitching rather than growing more steady again. No, these appear to be tears of relief... and perhaps surprise at being treated so gingerly. It’s quite evident from the words he’s trying to squeak out that he isn’t used to being treated with any form of kindness when he’s in need. 

Alastor lowers his volume in order to keep the angered whirring sound from being heard. He will find those who have made the spider believe he needs to grovel at the feet of those who offer him a moment’s worth of decency... and he will hurt them. He then shakes his head. “Nonono, you do not owe me a thing. You are a patron of this hotel. Consider my assistance a... perk.” His head tilts, his eyes growing just a margin softer. “You do not owe me a thing,” he says in a softer tone. 

Ah, he’s swaying... and he’s talking out of his head. Of course. He’s exhausted, and he must be at the end of his rope... staying as steady for as long as he has despite the amount of blood lost. He places his hand on the spider’s shoulder to steady him. “Would you like to lie down on the couch for a bit?” He offers. What Angel needs is to be in bed; however, Alastor isn’t certain he can make that walk... and taking into consideration everything else Angel has been put through (not just tonight) it seems in poor taste to offer to take him to bed. 

@a-hazbin-spider continued from 🎙️

Alastor tilts his head delicately to the side as Angel begins to stammer. What did him putting those bottles back have to do with-- ah. It seems he should have been more specific. He needs no explanation for the bottles nor the pills that are now scattered across both the countertop and the floor. He was addressing the swollen eye-- and, now that Angel is turned to face him, the redness that’s obscured only slightly by Angel’s hand covering up his stomach. 

It seems he’s walked in on a bit more than he expected... Angel returning to the hotel late is nothing new. This isn’t the first time Alastor has seen him attempting to sneak discretely up to his room, and while he was a bit on edge the last time, it was nothing compared to the show he’s putting on now. 

Alastor shakes his head before stepping closer. “Nono, I’ve no intention to tell anyone,” he explains. He’s no desire to bring up Angel’s escapades with their landladies. This fearful look in the spider’s eyes does not incite the excitement within Alastor one might think. Not when his fellow sinner has done nothing to deserve looking so very fear-stricken. 

Alastor snaps his fingers and the pills that had scattered across the counter and floor vanish, reappearing in their bottle. There, no harm done. “I wasn’t referring to what’s in your hand,” he goes on, his eyes falling once more to the redness around Angel’s middle. “Where did you get these wounds?”

[after-witch]

In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Title: In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Synopsis: You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive. Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive, either.

Word Count: 2029

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of illness

You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive.

Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive. Yet here he was, bent over you, hands wringing out a rag he’d just dipped in a pail of river water. You barely register his fingers glancing against your skin, the slight sharpness of his nail edges, as he lays the damp rag on your forehead.

You can’t help it. At the touch of the damp rag, you sigh, soft and pleased. The coolness is blissful, a brief respite from the fever that has been wearing you down for days.

“You are a nuisance,” he mumbles, grimacing at droplets of river water that dribbled their way onto the elevated mat he’d set you on. To keep you away from the cold ground, you supposed, but you hadn’t the ability to care about his unusual generosity.

Once it had become clear that your illness was no minor trifle, he’d sent Rin away with Jaken as unwilling, grumpy but admittedly loyal protector. Where they were, you didn’t know and truthfully, you didn’t have the strength to care. It was hard enough to muster up the energy to care about your own self, drenched with sweat yet wracked with bouts of shivers that alternated with fevers that made your dreams terribly real.

It had started small. A tickle in your throat, a bit of weariness. You were tired, more so than usual, more so than you expected. But it wasn’t until the fever came and refused to leave, until your legs became red and swollen and could no longer carry you, until you started to become delirious, that Sesshoumaru had taken direct action. Jaken and Rin were gone, and you were taken somewhere. A cave? It was a shelter, at least, something more permanent than the campfires and group sleeps you were used to in recent months.

And Sesshoumaru had tended to you, quietly, without much in the way of conversation. You slept most of the time, half-awakening to hear him grinding medicine and waiting until it was placed on your swollen legs, or in your mouth mixed with hot water, to fall back into a listless sleep. You wonder how long you will be able to recall the feeling of his hands on you, the unusual way he sometimes bent over you and stared, checking your breathing, feeling your forehead.

It was intimate and uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to fight it.

You were just so sick. You were just so tired.

Yet you weren’t exactly a stranger to fatigue, to stress, particularly since the day you’d been forced to go with the demon. Stress dragged you down, often making you wish you could sleep for days, a luxury that was not afforded due to the frequently traveling nature of your captor. 

That day that came back to you so often in your dreams, and was now a memory that ebbed and flowed with your fevers.

Did you talk about that day, in your feverish ramblings? Sesshoumaru acknowledged what you said sometimes only with passive noises, either uncaring or not wanting to encourage your incoherent words, intent on making you better and resuming the original course.

You really were a nuisance. So why did he keep you? You’d never asked him this out of fear. You’d certainly never questioned his decision to keep you alive, much less questioned why he wanted you in the first place. Why he agreed to the wild offering thrown before him.

Your village elders had begged the passing demon lord Sesshoumaru to lay waste to a band of lesser demons that plagued the village for years. Men, women, children, even animals--taken and slaughtered in unspeakable ways. Sometimes even killed in their homes, partially eaten. It was not unusual to wake in the morning to piercing cries from mothers finding their children mangled in their beds, or hear husbands wail in agony at the loss of much-beloved wives on the way home from fetching water.

You remember the day so clearly. Like the rest of the people in the village, you were watching from your home, peering out the door like a child, as the elders got down on their knees and begged for assistance from a demon who’d passed along the outskirts of the village.

You remember the shock of his long white hair, his luxurious clothing, his imposing presence that seemed strong enough to make you shake even from behind the safety of the doorway.

He didn’t even bother saying no. He’d simply glared at them as if they were dirt and began to walk away. Then one of the elders pivoted on his knees, spitting out words that would turn out to seal your fate: “We will give you one of our women as an offering! Please, o great lord!”

Still, he did not stop, and the elder let out a shaky cry. Then the elder stood on wobbling knees and looked wildly around the village until his eyes landed on your half-open door, your face barely peeking out of it. He was a man who’d witnessed your birth, a man who’d once given you a special treat for free when you tripped and skin your knee as a child, a man who had serious conversations with you in recent weeks about finding a husband as surely someone so dutiful and kind did not wish to remain with her parents forever.

He was also a man who’d run to your home, quick as you’d ever seen him, and yanked you out of the doorway until you fumbled and fell over on the ground. His hands were sweaty with fear yet they clamped around your wrist like a weight.

“This one will make an excellent servant! She can cook and clean and embroider! Or you may have her--or, or kill her! Whatever you wish! Please, please,” he’d begged again, bowing low while keeping an iron grip on your wrist.

You remember the sound of wind in your ears. You remember the feeling of pain in your knees, in your elbow, where you’d fallen hard. You remember the soft scratch of the door opening, the way your neck twisted around to see your parents and brother hiding behind one another, simply watching you. You remember the look on their faces, confused and scared yet saying nothing. Why didn’t they pull you back in?

And then you remember the sound of footsteps approaching. It was the demon. You looked up and he loomed over you, staring impassively at your form. He didn’t bother glancing at the elder, who was now trembling as much as you.

“Very well,” he said quietly, yet with a tone that was unmistakably firm. “She is mine. In exchange, I will kill some vermin for you.”

A sound rushed through the villagers from behind their doors. Sometimes when the wind blows just right, you’re reminded of it. It was a murmur, a gasp, a collective sound that was relief and sadness all at once. They would be saved from the demons at the expense of one of their own. A sacrifice.

You remember pulling on your arm, crying out something. Did you cry for your mother or your father? You can’t remember now. It didn’t matter. They had already shut the door, and the sound of your sister crying from behind it was the only noise that came through.

Someone tied a rope around your wrists. You kicked, and the rope was jerked until you were standing on numb legs. You had no choice but to walk, to be dragged, as the demon held onto the other end and simply left the village without another word. You cried, you begged, you feverishly cried out to the people watching from behind the doors, to the elders who clutched their hands but watched you leave all the same.

He took you. But he didn’t kill you, or have you, or even make you a tireless servant to his demonic whims. He simply expected you to pull your weight, or at least, that’s what the green imp--Jaken, you’d learned--told you was the expectation. So you helped to cook, you helped to mend clothes, you minded Rin. Nothing more or less than the others were expected to do.

You were kept bound when not doing your chores for a few weeks. When he’d taken the rope off, you’d waited for the moment and run--not that you got far or got anything than a few more weeks with the rope for your troubles.

You hadn’t tried to run for a while. It did no good. And the areas you’d traveled through were sometimes riddled with demons or wild animals that would surely kill someone such as yourself with little effort, should you try to make it on your own.

With Sesshoumaru, you were fed. You got enough rest. You were protected. Not that you didn’t wish every day to return home, to sit with your family for meals, to chase your sister around and tease her to get her to laugh when she felt blue. Not that you didn’t hate being sometimes treated like a pest, like a dog, when it wasn’t your choice to be here in the first place. But at least you were still alive, still able to hope you would see your family again some day.

A sigh from lips that weren’t your own draws you out of your memories, sweeping away the memory of that day and every day of captivity since like dirt being beaten out o f fabric.

You open your eyes, grateful for the soft light in the cave, and see Sesshoumaru sitting across from you, his back up against the stone wall. Your head feels clearer, less foggy, less hot, thanks to the rag and you decide to sit up a bit. Laying down all the time makes you feel dizzy. He watches with no change in expression as you wiggle yourself into a higher position, wiggling yourself back on the mat until you’re resting against the wonderfully cool stone.

You stare at each other for a few moments. The sound of the fire he’d set up further in the cave is low, crackling. You try to imagine him gathering wood, crouching low to do the mundane work that you and Rin and Jaken often did, and it seems ridiculous.

You try to imagine these things in order to avoid asking a question that has been on your mind since the moment the ropes had chafed your wrists, the moment you’d been forced to stumble after him.

But you can’t avoid it forever, and finally, you speak.

“Why did you take me?”

You would never dare to ask this question if the others were here, if Sesshoumaru hadn’t been tending to you, intimate and up close, for days. But the fever and the strangeness of the situation has made you feel clearheaded in a bold, perhaps too much so, way.

He simply stares at you for a few moments, and you think that he will choose to ignore you until his gaze shifts almost imperceptibly to the side.

“You were offered to me.”

It is your turn to offer a passive noise. The answer he gives is is nothing. At least nothing that makes sense to you, makes sense of your situation.

“Why didn’t you kill me, then?” Surely there was a reason, since he didn’t make you a hapless servant, either. “I was supposed to be a sacrifice.” Or you were meant to be. Instead he’s made you something altogether in-between. You weren’t worked to the bone or treated terribly, but you couldn’t leave. You weren’t killed, but you weren’t any more useful than his willing companions, either.

You don’t get the answer you wanted. Or any answer at all. Instead, he merely scoffs, and stands up to leave the cave. He pauses at the entrance, waiting until you turn towards him to speak.

“I will not take long.” He gestures towards the mat with one hand. “Go to sleep. And refrain from asking such stupid questions when you wake up.”

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Returning

Principal Samejima knew that something had changed.  It had been a week already since the vast majority of his students had returned from that other world.  They'd told him what they could about what happened.  He knew that Juudai would return, sooner or later.  He had faith in that young man, who had already accomplished so very much. 

His attention dropped to the potted plant that concealed his favored hiding place for the Sangenma.  He'd hoped that when the students returned that so would they.  Yet there hadn't been a sign of them either.  No one knew where they were, though Johan Andersen had given his opinion that they still remained in the possession of Yubel.

That worried Samejima more than he wished to express.  While a human could not play those cards without them draining the life-force of all the spirits in the vicinity, a creature like Yubel had no such limitations.   From what O'Brien and Johan had been able to tell him, Yubel certainly controlled the three cards effortlessly. What could come of that, he had no idea.

But something had changed.  He'd heard a loud noise from outside but by the time he'd reached the window, whatever it was couldn't be seen.  He considered his options, then decided as Principal, he needed to go see what it was himself.  Straightening his jacket, he headed out with a decisive step.

When he stepped out of the main doors of the building, he saw something he truly hadn't expected.  Or in fairness, someone that he hadn't expected.

"Juudai-kun?"  He regarded the young Osiris Red as Juudai approached.  "You've returned?"  He knew what his eyes told him but he wasn't going to rule out the possibility of someone somehow pretending to be Juudai.   It wouldn't be at all the first time that illusions or shapeshifters or what all turned up.

But that brilliant smile told him otherwise - though he thought perhaps it's brilliance dimmed a trifle.  He'd heard what had happened in the other world, and he had a good idea of who else looked out from the world alongside of Juudai. He didn't let his guard down for a moment.

"Hey, Principal Samejima."  Juudai greeted with a wave.  "It's been a while." 

Samejima agreed.  He could see Marufuji Shou lurking not that far away, looking far happier than he had in the last week.  That definitely helped him believe this was truly Juudai.  "It's good to see you again." 

"Glad I got back."  Juudai shook his head for a second, then squared up his shoulders.  "There's something I need to give you.  Well, something someone needs to give you anyway."  His eyes flicked to one side and for a heartbeat, Samejima thought that he saw them flicker in two different colors.  

Then a tall creature stood there, a strange mix of dragon and demon, wings spread out over Juudai, arms folded over their chest. It had been ages since he'd seen even a picture of the card, but he knew who this was at once - Yubel.  The stories the others told had been very clear about what the powerful spirit looked like. 

"Yubel."  He wasn't sure if he said it with fear or respect.  Shou-kun hadn't said much about the final duel, only that Juudai ended it in some fashion and then 'went off on a journey to become a man'.  He'd suspected - but he'd had no evidence until now.

Juudai nudged the spirit lightly, a fond little smile on his lips.  "Go on.  Do it."

Yubel sighed a great and deep sigh before holding out their hand.  In it there rested three cards.  Samejima took a moment before he understood what they were, then quickly took them.  "The Sangenma..."

Juudai nodded, then nudged Yubel again.  Yubel glowered at him, but not in a way that made Samejima fearful for his student.  It really looked more like a pair of old and close friends, or even - even - well, he'd never thought of that before.

He shook his head to clear his mind before Yubel spoke.

"I took them to facilitate finding my beloved Juudai again.  I - should not have."  It seemed as if the words were being wrung out of them.  Samejima had no idea himself of what to say. 

"Thank you,"  he managed, tucking them into a pocket.  He would return them to their hiding place in due course.  For now, he glanced to Juudai.  "Is there anything else that you need right now?"

"Not now.  I just want something to eat and some sleep.  Tome-san's still awake, isn't she?"  Juudai wondered as Yubel faded away, clearly not thrilled with speaking to people.

"I believe so."  Samejima agreed.  Even if she wasn't, she would gladly have gotten up to fix Juudai something.  That was just the kind of person that she was.

Those eyes I saw before.  Those were Yubel's eyes.  In Juudai's face.  He didn't want to think about this a great deal.  He'd suspected something would happen that would bring Yubel back into Juudai's life sooner or later, but he still wasn't sure about all the details of what had happened, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.  He would figure it out later, perhaps.   For now, it was getting late, and he had a very full day coming far too soon.

Juudai nodded and raised one hand in farewell before turning and heading away, Shou joining him before he'd gone too far.  Samejima watched the two of them until they were hidden by the curve of the path, then turned and headed inside.  He could feel the weight of the Sangenma in his pocket and wanted them back into their sanctuary as quickly as he could.  He didn't have the talent to see spirits that others did, but he could feel their regard on his back no matter what.

Sometimes he wished there was someone else who could guard them, but he didn't know if even someone like Juudai could keep their power properly contained.  He didn't want to find out that any number of spirits died because of being in the wrong hands.  It had already come close to happening once before.  Perhaps it had been just as well that when they were stolen this last time, it was when they were in a world where their powers could be contained by other means. It could have been far, far worse.

At least Juudai had returned now.  Whether it were possible for Marufuji Ryou or Amon Garam to do so remained to be seen.  Though also from what he'd heard from Edo Phoenix, few people would miss Amon Garam if he didn't return.

But I will have to explain this to his family.  Garam Finance would not be easy to deal with.  He wondered if he could get Juudai to help with that. 

But that remained in the future.  For now, he headed to return the Sangenma to their proper resting place, and get on to his.  Tomorrow was a school day.

The End

Notes: I actually do not find Samejima to be the useless idiot fanon likes to portray him as. I could go on and on why he does what he does, but the gist of it is, he’s fully aware of who Juudai is and always has been, and wants him to be a mature person capable of fulfilling his destiny to save the world. A destiny that he would have regardless of what Samejima did.

[sunnywritesstuff34]

Found

(Working on my wips??? never heard of it. Hears an entirely different au then the other one I posted, which I will write more of. At some point. For now, Boruto brain rot has gotten to me, so here’s a weird au where Hinata had the two kids and then died and then Naruto took the kids and left the village under mysterious circumstances. Have fun, try to follow it as best as you can. You don’t need to watch Boruto to know what’s going on here. Just know that Naruto left the village with his kids in tow and they have no idea that they’re from Konoha. Oh and just like everything else this will probably be sns at some point because I am weak. Tell me if you like this one)

TW and CW for: potential parental death, implied past parental death, cursing, death, blood, children navigating traumatizing situations, probably medically inaccurate but its a fanfiction about gay ninjas so sue me, tell me if I miss anything this one isn’t too bad. 

His father is dying and Boruto can't think. 

He should do something, say something. Come up with a funny, stupid one liner or whatever. But he can't. He can't do fucking anything at all. Sometimes his brain feels like it's made of jelly, sloshing around uselessly in his head when he desperately needed to use it. The rain was coming down in torrents, a downpour that they hadn't expected. The giant trees stretch out above them and form a canopy as they stand at the forest floor, but the canopy isn't enough to stop the rain from reaching them. Boruto’s clothes are soaked through; sticking to his body. Thankfully the storm was warm, a summer downpour rather than an icy tsunami. But he didn't notice the rain, and he probably wouldn’t have given a damn anyway. His father was laying in the grass, the wound on his chest staining the green with crimson. Boruto desperately tried to use every healing technique he could remember, funneling chakra into his hands in a desperate attempt to close the wound. He was sixteen years old, his father had trained him in almost every technique he knew (mostly for defense), but truthfully, Naruto had never been good at healing jutsu either. So, Boruto’s skill was lacking in this area, and it was going to get his father killed. He couldn't weasel his way out of this one like he usually did, and that was becoming abundantly clear. His father had gotten nervous, Boruto was aware of that when they went there. They needed to draw close to Konohagakure to get across the Land of Fire and back home to Wave Country before winter set in, and that had immediately set Naruto on edge for some reason. Boruto didn't bother questioning it, he knew he wouldn't get any answers. Everything had been going fine, they were making good time, but then they got ambushed by bandits, and everything had happened so fast. It was all Boruto's fault, really. If he hadn't kept his father up so late the night before, he would have realized something was wrong earlier and managed to fend them off easily. Typically any opponent was no match for Boruto’s father, but none of them had been paying attention and the ambush was almost perfectly timed. Naruto scared them off and nearly got himself killed in the process, and now Boruto was here, stuck in time. He dimly felt a tug on his sleeve and vaguely registered Himawari talking to him. 

“Is he gonna die?” she whispered. Boruto didn't even think about the question.

“No,” he answered immediately, letting the chakra fade from his fingertips and opting to just stop the bleeding manually instead, pressing on the wound. He was running out of time, there was so much blood and he could hardly get it to slow down and what would he do if- he felt the presence of ninja before he saw them, and that fully snapped him back to reality. Boruto forgot about his father for a second and whirled towards the other side of the clearing, shoving Himawari behind him. He had to protect her, that was the prerogative. He threw kunai blindly in that direction, three of them. The shinobi dodged the blades easily and then began advancing. 

His eyes settled on the squad of shinobi standing in the grass as they assessed him. He grabbed another kunai from his pocket and flipped it into his hand, angling it outwards. Boruto narrowed his eyes. Ninja were never good news, rogue or otherwise. These didn't seem rogue, and that was probably for the best. Still, loyal shinobi could be just as dangerous. Could be even more so, and he had Himawari to think about. The clouds in his head seemed to clear. There was a woman heading the group, with platinum blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were light blue, a different color from theirs, and she seemed… welcoming, almost. Still, she had the scrutinizing gaze of a shinobi. Boruto watched her movements, careful.   

“Don't come any closer,” he growled, trying to sound as threatening as he could manage, well aware of what he looked like. The hand holding his kunai was shaking. Who was he kidding? He’d gotten injured before while his father was fighting, he couldn't protect himself in this condition, let alone Naruto and his little sister as well. Still, he had to try. “Hear me? I said- I said stay away.” He gripped the kunai tighter, waiting for them to strike, make a move, do something. His father didn't trust ninja, they were to be avoided at all costs, even if he never seemed to have any necessarily malicious feelings towards them. Still, they were never to be trifled with under an circumstance. Never let them see what I taught you, he’d tell them, the few times where Naruto was serious. Ninjutsu are considered very dangerous, especially by shinobi. If they see you using ninjutsu it could get us in serious trouble. I mean it, Boruto. God, he wished Kurama was here right now, but by the looks of it, the demon was doing everything it could just to keep Naruto alive. Fine, they could do it on their own. Of course they could. The leading woman put her hands in the air and started edging towards him slowly. Her smile looked warm. He still didn't trust it. He gritted his teeth. What was she playing at?

“Hi there. My name’s Ino. What's your name?” she asked calmly. He didn't answer. 

“It looks like something bad happened. You have someone injured behind you, it looks like they need help. If you let me I can heal them. What’s your name, kid?” Boruto hesitated. It was too good to be true. This was a trap, it had to be. She had two people behind her, two men. Someone with black hair pulled into a stark ponytail and a frown. The other looked a bit more kind, he had brown hair and welcoming eyes. He still didn't trust them, he couldn't trust this-

“Please!” Himawari shouted. Boruto blinked and before he could do anything about it, Himawari had ducked past him and was running towards the woman. 

“Himawari! Get, get back here!” he shouted desperately, mind racing. They were going to kill her, what was she thinking? Himawari was usually more cautious, smart about these things despite her age. But the shinobi seemed surprised, not angry or poised to hurt her. She ran to the woman and tugged on her sleeve. Boruto froze. 

“He’s- he’s hurt and Boruto can't help and there's blood- I, I mean i've seen blood before but this- he’s- he’s going to die, please-” the woman crouched down and smiled again, clasping Himawari’s hands gently with hers. 

“Don't worry, I'm a medical ninja. I can help your father, okay?” She glanced at Boruto as if asking permission, and he found himself stepping aside, silently urging Himawari to come back to him. He moved out of the way and she ran into his arms. He should have been thinking about her more. She was clearly terrified, and he had been too psyched out to think about it. He scooped her up easily, suddenly more at ease now that he could confirm she would be safe. Boruto watched the medical ninja like a hawk as she moved over to his father, letting the other two approach as well. When the woman got a good look at him she gasped. “By the sages! What the fuck?” she demanded, sounding more juvenile all of a sudden.  

“What? What is it?” the plump man asked, trying to get a better look. 

“It's… it's Naruto.” Boruto stiffened, holding Himawari closer to him. 

“How do you people know my dad’s name?” he demanded. He felt lightheaded, and the indignant shouts of ‘what?’ from the other ninja weren't helping. The woman ignored him for a moment, checking Naruto’s wounds. It didn't take her long to stop the bleeding and close the wound, and she stood right after and turned her attention back to Boruto.

“Listen kid, it's… it's a long story. He’s going to be alright but he needs further treatment at the hospital. We can help him if we take him back to the village.” Boruto hesitated again, but concluded he didn't have a choice. He was outnumbered and if he didn’t accept the help, whatever the ulterior motives were, Naruto would die. So Boruto nodded mutely.

“F-Fine. But you better answer me when we get back to… wherever you're taking me. And- and she stays with me,” he said, nodding at Himawari. The woman smiled shakily, clearly rattled by some realization about Boruto’s father. The larger man picked him up and carried him easily. So Boruto watched, hopeless, as they took his father away, and followed close behind, arm still wrapped around Himawari. He would lecture her about rash actions later, now wasn't the time. The man with long black hair was studying him, and he didn't like it. Boruto glared. “What?” he snapped. The man raised an eyebrow. 

“I'm Shikamaru Nara,” he said. “What about you?” Boruto looked away. 

“I… B-Boruto… Namikaze,” he said with finality. Boruto Uzumaki, he wanted to say. Descendant of Uzushiogakure, grand daughter of Kushina Uzumaki. But he didn't trust these people to share his real name, instead going with the one their father used occasionally. Shikamaru snorted.

“Original name,” he muttered. Boruto only frowned. “Well, alright. Your sister, it looks like she has Byakugan. Does she?” Boruto blinked.

“Byaku- Byaku… what?”

“Hm. Nevermind. C’mon, while your father’s in the hospital, i'll take you to see the Hokage.”

[trashystar420]

Babysitter Maribat reverse age AU

“No Grayson DO NOT TOUCH THAT!!!” Shouted the eldest Brother in the mansion, as his youngest baby brother, Richard Grayson pressed a mysterious red button that was actually linked to a near by explosive.

Explosions ensue

“EAT SHIT DEMON SPAWN!!!” As the second youngest, Jason Todd fires at the ex-assassin with rocket launchers.

“Can you two please not make so much noise, I’m trying to work on the current case with Joker!” Shouted a tired Tim Drake, second oldest son of the Wayne family.

Followed by the explosives from the rockets launched by Jason.

“Todd I SWEAR I will not hesitate to use my katana!” Shouted a rather pissed off Damien Wayne. Somehow, the young lad had sliced one of the rockets in half and redirected the other towards a nearby chair.

In all the chaos that ensued, a rather, stressed Bruce Wayne collapsed on a hard-wooden table, lookin utterly done with life and all that is his family.

“Where did I go wrong.” He muttered to himself. His faithful and only sane adult in the family standing near his side placed a comforting hand on the older bat’s shoulder.

“Perhaps we hire a babysitter for the two troublemakers?” He suggested.

“Who is going to babysit those two? They don’t even act normal, they are a hazard to themselves and everyone else in Gotham!” He whispered shouted, so utterly done with the drama of his demonic boys.

...

...

...

“Hey Mari-Dear, would you please help me dress for my date tonight, Brucie and I are going out to a late-night dinner and I really want to make this extra special.” Selina Kyle asked her favorite designer.

“Don’t worry Miss.Selina, I’ll make you so beautiful Monsieur Wayne won’t be able to take his eyes off you!” The Young woman replied confidently. An elegant dress the shade of midnight, that reveled her clients’ left leg and thigh. A very mature look, but one Selina could strut in. It was rather time consuming getting all the intricate designs into her dress, but nothing impossible. Not for Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of course.

On the table was Selina’s phone and it was buzzing. The elegant, older lady picked it up with her dainty hand, only to read that it was Alfred, usually not a good thing. Especially on the day her and Bruce planned for a romantic getaway. Usually meant something terrible came up. Selina answered the phone.

“ Alfred dear, what went wrong now?” She sighed. This has been the FIFTH time Bruce stood her up. FIFTH. She was starting to feel lonely at night.

“Afraid the little ones cause some explosions to go off in the mansion, and Bruce is not feeling so confident in letting Master Damien handle the babysitting, as they don’t listen to him” the butler delivered. Selina gave a questioning look.

“Explosives?! How the hell did that happen?!” She nearly shouted, but it was loud enough for the Bluenette to hear.

“Is everything alright?” The worried Bluenette asked. Selina gave her a reassuring nod, before listening to more of Alfred’s rambling.

“So your telling me that Bruce needs a babysitter otherwise he can’t come?” Summarized the anti-hero. Alfred on the other line gave a nod and confirmed her statement. Selina made a ‘tsk’ sound, clearly displeased by the events that unfolded. She couldn’t find fault in her beloved Bruce, it’s not his fault his kids are uncontrollable, mostly. He can lack in the emotional department.

Marinette perked up at the mention of needing a last minute babysitter, and when she listened in on the conversation on the phone, suddenly felt bad for her client. Selina didn’t deserve to be stood up like this.

But then Mari had an idea.

“Hey Miss, what if I could babysit? That way you and your boyfriend can actually enjoy yourselves?” The young lady offered. Selina perked up at the offer, but quickly shook her head. Covering the phone as to block the sounds of the conversation.

“A-Are you sure darling? The boys tend to be a bit, on the destructive side. They might actually destroy half the mansion in less then five minutes, trust me, I’ve seen and been there first hand.” Marinette placed her hands on her hips and gave a confident smile.

“I‘ve babysat before, and trust me, I KNOW how bad they can get, but with enough experience under my belt, I assure you that I can handle it, though if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need to know who I’m to babysit and what do they like?” And with a simple nod, Selina told Alfred the plan. The butler reluctantly agreed.

...

...

...

The sounds of the doorbell ringing echoed throughout the mansion, as Afred opened the door already well aware of who the guests would be tonight.

“Alfred dear! It’s so good to see you!” As the older woman kissed both sides of the butlers cheeks. Then she scanned the mansion for her dear.

“Where is he?” She asked innocently, but was seething inside. Marinette gave Selina a look. Selina was an impatient woman, one you don’t want to trifle with. Whoever the Bruce guy is must really be worth all the wait, Mari thought.

“Ah you must be the babysitter Selina talked about on the phone?” Asked the butler, and said babysitter gave a nod to confirm his inquiry.

“Alfred, show Mari Dear around the place, while I go look for that poor excuse of a fiancé of mine” as Selina stormed off towards the one place she knew damn well he’d be at. The clacking of the high heels fading into the background. Mari gave a nervous smile as she offered a macaroon to the family butler.

“Macaroon?” She offers, and he accepts. After taking a bite, he pauses, and is surprised to find just how good this simple treat was.

“I must say Miss Dupain-Cheng, I am surprised to find this macaroon exquisite. Tell me where did you get these?”

“ oh I um baked them myself.”

Alfred had to do a double take, because did he hear that right, she BAKES!?!? Just how many talents does this young lady have?!

“I must say Miss. Dupain-Cheng-Marinette.” Interrupted the Bluenette, before giving a sheepish smile at him.

“Please call me Marinette, I don’t exactly do well with formalities, and my last name can be a pain to say every time, so please I’d prefer if you would call me by my first name” Alfred gave a smirk.

“ only if you call me Alfred” the Bluenette giggles at his antics and agrees to the butlers demands.

“Do you think they will like them? The macaroons?” She asked pensively.

“ oh definitely! Just be sure they won’t eat too many.” He warned playfully. Mari nods. The two continue the tour of the mansion, while the rest of the family have a serious meeting down in the batcave.

...

...

...

“ Todd if you don’t put down that gun right now I’m gonna -you’re gonna what Demon Spawn? Shove this up my ass?” The barbaric Jason Todd shouted at his prissy, and totally a bitch, older brother Damien Wayne. Dick was currently snickering at his older brothers antics, while Tim looked ready to fall asleep.

Bruce gave a defeated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve some stress. And then Selina bursts through the door.

“BRUCE!!!” Said man gave another defeated sigh as he was pulled away by the well dressed woman. Everyone else followed suit.

Hey everyone, thanks for readying this, this was the first fanfic I’ve ever done, so yeah.

[earthnashes]

LAST OF UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!

I started playing the very second it was made available to play and just finished it last night at like 4 in the morning. And of course it destroyed me. I love this series man so much man. ;w;

SO! I don’t usually do this but I’m like, fuckin’ dyin’ to talk about it a lil bit so if ya have plans to play it, SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT. <:

-Aight so lemme just say right off the bat that this game is fucking. Gorgeous. The environments, lighting, visual design, the level design, everything was spot on. And don’t get me started on the CHARACTER MODELS. AND ANIMATION. Like bro that shit was lifelike in not just appearance, the characters emoted and carried themselves with so much life they felt legitimately real. They were all so unique too; characters had unique special ticks to just them (Like Ellie pinching her fingers when nervous or upset, or Joel standing taller and squaring himself when talking about hard subjects like he’s bracing himself for it, or Jesse giving his stunted headtilt when he talks) and expressed in a way that was just. Bruh. Aight I’mma stop but fuckin hell what they pull off with the characters in specific in LoU (both part 1 and 2) is just somethin’ outta this world.

-For anyone interested in playing it, the game is roughly 22-30 hours long if you’re just focused on the story, and much longer still if you take the time to explore and find all the little secrets. Some secrets include unique cutscenes and dialogue that are well worth the look; I haven’t found all of ‘em yet but I’m considering trying a completionist playthrough.

-Joel’s death fucking destroyed me. I’m in no way surprised he died, but it hurt regardless, just how quickly things went south for him and Tommy there. And ELLIE. FINDING HIM AND WATCHING HIM GET REKT WAS PAIN INCARNATE. Set the tone hella hard and I’m fuckin’ here for it.

-I’m not gonna lie I fully expected to dislike Abby given she rekt Joel, even though I figured it was for a pretty good reason before it was revealed her pops was the doc Joel killed. But damn. I really enjoyed Abby, a lot actually. From a gameplay standpoint I dare say I enjoyed her section more than Ellie’s since you were BLASTING ENEMIES with those fuckin’ GUNS of hers. And by guns I mean her arms’, jesus she was shredded. As a character, she felt a lot like Ellie from a different perspective and mindset, and I really appreciated the reflection the two of them had. Two sides of the same coin, basically. Also I really, really liked how killin’ Joel brought absolutely no peace to Abby at all, and you caught her beginning to regret it. And it kinda sorta acted as the catalyst to her shift in how she viewed the world. I think that’s a good portion why she latched onto Yara and Lev so hard. Perspective is everything, and there is always more than just one side of a story.

-In the same vein I had a blast learning more about Abby’s friend group, dynamics, how she lived, who she worked for and her past and everything. Of them all I think I liked Nora the most, but Mel and Manny were both reaaaalll close seconds. O:

-Speaking of, DOGS. DOGS DOGS DOGS. So many dogs man and you got to play with and pet them! Fuck yeah. That should be a rule in gaming; if you have a cat or a dog in the game, you should have a button to pet it. Also good gorl Alice is best doggy don’t fight me on this. uwu

-Jesse and Dina were the beez knees I fuckin loved them man. They were exactly the sort of folks I can see Ellie being best friends with. ALSO, this one isn’t major, but I really appreciated that there was no love-triangle here? Dina and Jesse dated, smashed, didn’t work out but they still remained good friends. Ellie’s first reaction to seeing Jesse is to confess that she and Dina kissed, and Jesse readily accepted the fact that Dina moved on (and he had too). It’s just refreshing. No bullshit love triangle there, just three people who really understood each other. Also jesus christ, I really didn’t want Jesse to die. Goddamnit. But I’m so glad they didn’t kill Dina too like, I was fully prepared to see her get fucked up. Base rule of LoU: anyone you like has a high probability of dying. ;w;

-BRO THINKING OF JESSE, ELLIE, AND DINA MADE ME REALIZE THE PARALLEL OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO MEL, ABBY, AND OWEN. Ellie’s triangle was essentially non-existent; no feelings of betrayal or anger, just understanding and love, like there was a deep-seated bond here that would weather anything. If Jesse had lived, I wouldn’t doubt he, Ellie, and Dina would have lived together to raise the baby together. Meanwhile Abby’s triangle had Owen seeming to unable to let go of the past he and Abby had together, that poor bastard was still in love with her, and how that supplemented the slow deterioration of all three’s friendship. I was sad to see Mel turn on Abby the way she did but like. I mean.  Dude was ready to leave Mel in the dust for Abby despite HIM GETTING MEL PREGNANT. Abby also kinda did drag everyone into this, even if it was of their own violation. Oof. Though it did feel like she was angry at both Abby and Owen equally, not just blaming Abby for everything there... or at least the romantic relationship part. Honestly probably one of the few times I actually enjoyed a love triangle in a story, or at least of this caliber.

-Isaac, the leader of the WLF? He was cool as fuck. I love how much character they packed into him without even showing him too much. Like there was a scene where Nora mentions she tried to question Isaac about Owen and she said “he gave her that fucking look and told her to drop it”. Hell, when he was talking to Abby, he isn’t that much taller than her but he felt like he outright dwarfed her with the way he carried himself and how they reacted to him. I love shit like that man. But anyway fuck Isaac. uwu

-Not gonna lie I kinda wish I got to see the leader of the Seraphites, but it was hella cool to learn that she had been dead already and how the Seraphites operated with and without her. I don’t think I found everything regarding that specific point in game, but it sounded a lot like a peaceful religious leader who’s words and teachings were twisted to suit the goals of corrupt members of the tribe. She was essentially an equivalent to Jesus, at least to the Seraphites.

-I honestly really loved all of the characters introduced but I have to admit that Lev and Yara were standouts. Yara’s one hell of a big sister, lemme tell you, and the lengths she went through to make sure Lev was safe really shooketh me. AND LEV. MY CHILD. MY SON. To those of you who are familiar with the LGBT+ controversy around the game, he and Ellie are what people are complaining about. Ellie because she’s gay, Lev because he’s trans.

Lev in particular was heartbreaking. His tribe were outright hunting him for who he was, as well as Yara because she chose to protect him. The mindset the tribe had was pretty much isolated to them though.

And jesus. That scene with him and his mother? Fuck.

-YARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA :( BRUH that scene pissed me off, fuck you Isaac, you bastard.

-THE SCENE. WHEN YOU PLAY AS ABBY. AND YOU FIGHT ELLIE. WAS SO FUCKING COOL. AND SCARY. Ellie man, that section really showed how efficient and smart she is. She legit tricked me a few times not gonna lie, like I thought she didn’t see me but she’d pretend she wouldn’t, only to ambush me with a FUCKING MOLY. Also the fact that the game outright says “hey uhhhhh you can’t actually take her head on, she’ll fuck you up in a heartbeat bro”. Welp. A really strange mix of horror and sadness and pride there. Hm. :/

-Mom!Ellie was so fucking sweet to see. And it made me catch a glimpse of hope that Ellie actively tried to soldier through for her fam’s sake. But she clearly had demons she had to confront and I’m angry at Tommy for disrupting her and Dina’s life, but it felt necessary. Still made me sick to my stomach to watch her go after Dina fucking BEGS HER TO STAY. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-Speaking of Tommy, it was so sad to see how much he fell after Joel’s death. It really showed just how much he was like his brother though; underneath a gentle man is someone you best not trifle with, and is very familiar with doing horrific things to reach a goal. Because fuckin hell, Tommy is legit a badass. That sniper part was SO. COOL. Aaaaand terrifying. RIP Manny. :/

-Bro, I’m very curious to see more about the Rattlers but. They were fucked up in a special kind of way. There’s no telling what they did to those people they captured and enslaved. Seeing Abby in the state she was in after seeing her throughout all the game in tip-top shape was painful. That poor girl was literally skin and bones and... just beaten down.

-ELLIE AND ABBY’S FINAL FIGHT WAS SO SAD. I HATED (but I loved) EVERY SECOND OF IT. I was so scared Ellie had fully lost herself there, when she threatens an unconscious Lev to force Abby to fight, who at that point, very clearly didn’t want to. Honestly. Ellie clearly didn’t either, far as I could tell, but it felt like it was the only way she knew how to confront everything. Fight it, until you kill it, or you die. It also felt like Abby understood that since she was in Ellie’s shoes once upon a time.

-I don’t care what anyone else says I’m so happy Ellie let Abby go. I’m so glad she chose not to go through with it. For so long Ellie has been angry and resentful about a lot of things, and she never got a choice once throughout the majority of her journey. As much as I will 100% agree with Joel sayin “fuck this supposed cure, fuck the Fireflies”, it’s not fair of him, or the Fireflies, to just outright take that choice from her, that she didn’t really have one to begin with. She was justifiably angry with Joel and the moment she chooses to try and forgive him, he dies. Another choice stolen away from her. The fact that she chose mercy despite everything, and it was prompted by a memory of Joel, the very reason she was doing this, is profound to me. Like she finally understood why he did what he did, and why he said he’d absolutely do it all over again. Hell, she probably even reached the understanding that her and Abby really aren’t that different from one another in that aspect.

-Ellie returning to an empty home, with Dina and JJ gone, was heartwrenching. I fully understand why Dina left and she honestly had every right to, but it still hurt man. :C AND ELLIE. PLAYING THE SONG JOEL MADE/SUNG FOR HER. ALWAYS KILLED ME. But this instance in particular was something else man like fuck I balled like a baby. Especially when it was followed by the fact that Ellie and Joel were on the cusp of mending their broken relationship only for it to be ripped away man. Goddamnit.

-ELLIE AND JOEL DUET NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. FUCKIN HELL I love this game.

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

So, this isn’t really a review more than it is me just sharing some of my thoughts on the game, but if ya want me to give it a rating? 10/10. If not a perfect score? At least a 9/10.

The Last Of Us as a series is one that’s moved me more than any other game I can think of honestly (outside of Telltale’s The Walking Dead), and just like the first one, LoU2 left me thinking about it for hours after. It’s thought-provoking, it’s compelling, it’s fun as fuck, aaaaand it’s made me cry like a baby a good number of times. I also really appreciate the fact that, in this game, they actually show the consequences of your actions. Like, they made you consider the fact that you aren’t just killing grunts to get to the next enemy or mowing through mindless drones. You’re killing people, who have lives, and friends, and families.

We got to see Joel for who he was: a very broken man, with a very dark past, who has done very horrible things in this shitty post apocalyptic world, but he is a father, and protective, and loving and thoughtful, who will do anything, anything, to protect Ellie. Blood or not, Ellie is through and through his child. But Abby only saw a monster, and could you blame her? He killed her father, and countless others, and she never got the full story. Just that a man came in and killed the entire hospital, put an end to even the smallest possibility of finding a cure, killed her dad in cold blood, and walked away no problem. And then it cycles right back to Ellie, where Abby becomes her monster.

It’s just some grade-A storytelling as far as I’m concerned, and I’m someone who usually prefers happy endings. LoU always leaves me feeling bittersweet but goddamn do I love this series. I’m kinda hoping for a DLC, to be honest? Like LoU part one, where you found out about Ellie and Riley. I wanna see what happens to Ellie; I get the distinct feeling she returns to Jackson and hopefully scrounges out some semblance of a decent life there, after confronting Tommy and (hopefully) making peace with Dina. But we’ll see! uwu

[thewhumperinwhite]

Teaser: Winter Kings Ward

Thorne Part 1: The Winter King’s forces make themselves at home, and Thorne receives a gift.

TW for: captivity whump; noncon touching (brief and nonsexual); referenced minor character death.

----

Morden wastes little time in establishing the dead King’s office as his command center. The lower levels of the castle are cold stone, and anyway there is blood and a few bodies that have yet to be cleaned, and Thorne is happy to follow the captain of Morden’s guard up to the higher levels with their carpeted hallways and lush staterooms, and this fairly grand office, in which some thoughtful orderly has already lit a fire. As soon as Thorne enters the room the blaze gets to work drying the damp southern air hanging thickly in the room.

 “The White Crane wants to see you,” Raptor says. Raptor is the largest of Morden’s Falconers, invaluable to the invasion, which at the moment means he is not happy to be running messages to Thorne. “Says to wait for him here. Finishing other work.” And he’s gone in a swirl of the black cape all the Falconer’s wear. 

“Good talk,” Thorne says after him, and then he gets to work.

First thing is the carpet. Morden likes luxurious pile in his private rooms, but in a command center like this he’ll want to hear his boots click on the ground, and make sure everyone else hears it too. Thorne rolls the carpet up as tight as he can and then opens the slats covering the window. The courtyard is below. Thorne tosses out the carpet.

The desk, next. There are few personal touches, though he has it on good authority that this was the dead King’s personal study. There’s an inkwell, mostly empty; a few identical quills; a few notes in shaky, laborious handwriting. The paper on top is unfinished, as if abandoned in a hurry. 

Thorne flips through the notes to ascertain they contain no useful information--they seem to be largely expense reports--and then he tosses them into the fire.

The walls, then.

There is a large painting on the wall behind the desk, just beyond life size. It shows a man who can only be the Lion of Colomur, his one baleful brown eye blazing from the canvas as though the painter had personally insulted him. The woman seated beside him must be the Queen, then; her expression is mild enough to border on vacuous. The King has his hand on the shoulder of the older Prince, who has his mother’s blue-grey eyes--though Thorne suspects the clarity of the color is flattery on the painter’s part--and the waist-length sweep of blonde hair Craetan custom demands. The younger Prince is beside him, looking fidgety and uncomfortable.

It’s far too large for the fire. Thorne has levered it mostly out the window when he hears his Master’s low chuckle behind him and startles enough that he nearly overbalances and launches himself out with it.

Thorne spins to find Morden leaning in the study’s doorway, studying him with cool amusement, his cigarette-holder perched in one black-gloved hand.

“Don’t stop on my account, darling,” Morden says, waving him onward. “I was enjoying watching you work.”

Thorne lets the painting fall to the stone courtyard below with a crash and a few shouts, and bows hastily. “Master,” he tells the now-bare floor. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Evidently not,” Morden says, straightening to glance around the room appreciatively. “You made quick work, my dear,” he says, running a hand over the desk. “Not bad furnishings in here. A little decoration and it will be nearly workable.” He smiles at Thorne. “You know my taste, darling. Good work.”

Thorne feels almost light-headed. “Yes, Master,” he says breathlessly. “I’m pleased I could help.” He waits, fidgets, tells himself to be happy with this and not spoil a moment of praise.

Morden rolls his eyes. “Go on, my dear, if you’re going to make your dissatisfaction so obvious you had as well spit it out.”

Thorne shakes his head rapidly. “No dissatisfaction, my Master,” he says. He bites his lip. Morden is beginning to look impatient, but it’s hard to stop. “It’s only that I feel I could be of more help to you,” he says finally, unable to help himself.

To Thorne’s knee-weakening relief, Morden—smiles, raising a black brow slyly. “Do you,” he says, amused. “An interesting coincidence, my dear. It happens that I’ve brought you a gift.” 

Thorne blinks at him, startled. “A gift, Master?” It’s not that he isn’t used to gifts from Morden— everything he has is one, down to the shirt on his back. But Thorne hasn’t done anything particularly impressive during the capture of Colomur City, so it isn’t as though he’s earned anything. 

“Just so, dear one,” Morden says. “Something valuable. Something I may need in the future, darling, and you must remember that when you break it in.” His grin widens, apparently at some joke Thorne is missing.

“Break it in,” Thorne repeats, feeling he is missing the joke.

“Hold, now, my parrot,” Morden says, nearly laughing, “the men should be along with it presently.” He raises his voice toward the study door. “Come now, gentlemen, don’t dawdle.”

The soldiers who have apparently been waiting in the hall know better than to test Morden’s good mood, and crowd into the study so swiftly that the white figure between them, shoved abruptly into the room, stumbles and would fall if each guard did not have a firm hold of one of his arms above the elbow.

Thorne stares at the stranger. He is more clearly Craetan than almost anyone Thorne has seen in the palace, with pale southern skin and a proud straight nose, though his eyes are an unlikely stormy-sky grey. And, Thorne realizes, the Craetan nobility wore their hair waist-length or longer, and this boy’s ash-blonde hair was shorn messily around his ears— there was a nick in the shell of one, actually, as though someone had been overzealous with the scissors.

This thought combines with the sight of the boy’s right wrist, with bandages and an iron-covered stump where the hand should be, and Thorne knows who the boy is.

When Thorne gives a visible double-take before he can stop himself, Morden laughs, his silken voice almost merry.

“Quite right, darling,” he says, striding over to lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The boy doesn’t move away, but Thorne sees all of his muscles tense. “I’ve brought you an important chess pieces,” Morden says, smiling widely at the boy, who watches him warily. “Not a king or queen, certainly, but he may make a suitable rook, at least.” Morden turns his grin on Thorne. “It’s a pity there’s no piece for a Prince.”

Morden nods at the soldiers holding the Prince of Craetalia’s arms, and they release their respective grips and take a step back to hover behind his shoulders, looking ready to leap back on him at any time. Thorne remembers vaguely that the Craetan Prince was difficult to catch. Right now he is shivering slightly in a white smock and trousers that are badly torn at the knees. Someone must have made the manacles he is wearing specially to account for his newly missing hand. He might weigh half of what Thorne himself does, but even that seems generous.

The guards hover. One of them has been holding the boy’s arm so tightly that Thorne can see a large bruise already purpling through a tear in his sleeve. Thorne feels something when the boy shivers— amusement, presumably.

Morden leaves the boy standing suddenly alone, and crosses to stand with Thorne, before the fire.

“You were ready for more responsibility, I believe you said,” Morden reminds him, and then says, loud enough to carry, “I’m only lending him to you, now darling. I expect you’ll find some use for him in the meantime.”

The boy’s face doesn’t change, still mostly blank. Thorne is about to be impressed when an explanation occurs to him.

“I want him cleaned up before I address my new city, darling,” Morden says to Thorne in a lower voice, with a private grin Thorne isn’t sure he understands. “Think you can handle that?”

Thorne has no idea where any of the facilities for cleaning the Craetan Prince might be, but he knows far better than to ask Morden about the particulars. He bows deeply instead. “Of course, Master. I will treat your gift with great care.”

Morden’s eyes fairly sparkly with mirth. “See that you do, darling,” he says into Thorne’s ear, then he clicks out of the room in his heeled boots, snapping once on his way past the guards, so that they scurry to follow him out, leaving Thorne alone to survey the Summer Prince, standing stiffly just where the guards have left him.

After a moment of silence besides the fire crackling in the grate, Thorne smirks and asks the Prince, a trifle sardonically, “Do you speak Leisevan?”

This is something of a joke, though not one he expects a Craetan to understand. The people of the Continent don’t call Leisevan “the demon tongue” solely as a judgement on its speakers, though that’s certainly part of it; the language is notoriously foreign to any tongue not raised on it.

The Craetan Prince looks at him with eyes like smoky glass; Thorne has a moment of doubt that he can even see with them. Then he blinks and seems to become animate (though just barely) before Thorne’s eyes.

“Very little,” the pale Prince says, and Thorne’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. No one would mistake him for a native speaker (even without the help of his very Craetan face), but his pronunciation really isn’t bad, all things considered.

“Your accent is less hideous than I might have anticipated,” Thorne remarks, generously, and also using somewhat more syllables than are strictly necessary.

The bound Prince blinks at him, with no change of expression. “Thank you,” he says after a moment.

Thorne laughs at the blank expression on the boy’s face before he can stop himself. “That was a guess!”

The boy frowns very slightly, and doesn’t respond, which is as good as an admission.

“I’ll take my turn now, then,” Thorne says, in Craetan, grinning. “How fits my tongue to your Summer words, Your Highness?”

The boy releases a breath visibly, seeming to hear his own tongue as either a relief or a blow. He blinks a few times, as though reordering his thoughts.

“You speak very well,” he says tonelessly. Thorne waits for more, but none seems forthcoming. It occurs to Thorne that the set of the boy’s shoulders has not relaxed and it may be only partly fear, and partly the posture of one so exhausted he is keeping himself upright through stubborn will alone.

Upon examination, the boy is— worse than filthy. There is blood dried in his messily-cropped hair, and visible on the collar of his shift where it must have run down from his nicked ear. And when Thorne steps closer he can see that the shift itself is clinging to his narrow chest and partially transparent with sweat and grime. The boy sways slightly at Thorne’s approach, and closes his eyes.

Presentable, his master said. It’s a bit of a tall order— but Thorne is ready for any task his Master gives him.

“Come on, Your Highness,” Thorne says briskly, in his workmanlike Craetan. There isn’t any real reason he should worry about avoiding bruises when he takes hold of the Prince’s pale arm— but there isn’t any real reason to make them worse, either. “Which way to the washroom?”

[c-atm]

A Gems Djinn One-shot.

The 18-year old chest burned as he continued to run further into the temple. They were invaded by monsters, not gems..Monsters of earth...He didn't know what type but they were humanoid and they were able to match his mother; Onyx, and the gems. The face she gave him, when she was tossed into the sand on her back. The enemy blade meeting and struggling  against her midnight octagon barrier. 

"Steven! Get the cobalt chest in the temple flame, now!"

Never did he see such a look of reluctant defeat on his mother's face. The mighty Onyx. Leader of the Crescent gems. Nor did he ever see the gems look so shocked and fearful.

He was a hybrid bearing a gem imprint instead of a true gem, and only exhibited gem physicality. He knew he couldn't help against these...demons...Not against their magical prowess. Not without whatever was in that chest.

So he ran fast, following his mother's order. Deep down the stairs, through corridors, round corners  after corners. Why did this place have so many corners?

"WHERE ARE YOU LITTLE HYBRID! LET SEE YOU POOF POOF POOF. LIKE THAT OF YOUR MOMMA."

His eyes widened as he heard one of the invaders' voices. He didn't  have time to think about how the invaders got in or the status of his family, though. He could feel the energies  of the flame close by, urging him to run towards it.

He soon found himself in large a circular ruin, with a blue flame both rising and falling within its center through two openings on the floor and ceiling, it's only light. Rune and glyph covered the area completely. Six sections lined up against walls, four on each side, in each was a stone body part. At the very back on a stone bench..

"The chest!" 

[[MORE]]

He ran towards it with a smile, the chest shined the same color as the flame, outlined with black and gold glyph. He stopped to stare at the box, His heart pounding into his chest as he did. It had no latch, no keyhole. He laid a single fingertip on it, 

“”Huuuuu-haaahahahaha!”

Brown femenine kissable lips flashed within his mind; a seductive gasping laugh resounded within him causing him to back up in caution…  Whatever was in there..Was not to be trifled with..and yet he can feel his cheeks heat up.

“COME ON YOU SKINNY COWARD! IT'S TIME TO POOF POOF POOF!"

He looked towards the entrance  before turning back to the chest. He held the top of the chest and tried to force it open.

"Fuck!"  It was a no go, probably magically sealed. How the hell was he supposed to open this box. He gripped the box and squeezed trying to shatter it...

Nope.

"WELL WELL WELL..LOOK AT THIS PLACE." 

Steven, froze at the horrendously gravel voice, before turning towards the entrance. 

a questionably hunan of snow white skin and lips, gray hair straggly hair, tall bone thin body, red eyes, inhumanly large hands and feet with yellowish rotten nails sharpened to claws and talons, and crooked, fanged, diseased teeth. 

Dressed in a tattered red and black body suit, with a long crooked tie. Bangles on their wrist and ankles, made of bone gold and skull.

“THIS IS SUCH A COOL PLACE. CLASSIC MYSTICAL RUINS. YOU WOULDN'T KNOW SUCH A PLACE EXISTED  IN THIS DAY IN AGE…

It scratched the top of it's head, making a sound like stone scratching a chalkboard, as it yawned revealing a large, green, viper like tongue. Its breath smelled of rotten flesh.

"WELL, GUESS YOU WOULD KNOW, BEING A GEM AND ALL. THOUGH, FROM WHAT I HEARD YOU GUYS ARE FROM THE STARS, RIGHT?"

Steven gulped as the creature took a step towards him, a look of aggression on its face.

"YOU'RE QUITE RUDE, LITTLE SHARD..I'M TRYING TO HOLD A CONVERSATION AND YOU'RE NOT ENGAGING! HAVE YOUR MOTHER TAUGHT YOU NO ETIQUETTE!" 

Steven watched in horror as the demon's stomach swelled, it's abdominal muscles pressed tightly against its skin. The monster reached and plunged one its entire hand inside its swollen midsection, before ripping out a thin malleable bone half as tall as Steven, dripping with cream colored blood. With a flick of the wrist the bone hardened, and glistened in the flames light it swung it against the rune wall, cutting through as if it was flesh. 

"....NOW THEN. LITTLE SHARD. SINCE YOU DON'T WISH TO TALK, HOW ABOUT YOU GIVE ME THE CHEST, YEAH?  WE KANARAKAS, LIVE UP TO OUR VOCATION; AND AS SUCH I, ANTIQUARIAN MUST COLLECT THAT CHEST...AND YOUR HEAD"

Steven gripped the chest harder at the claim, glaring in defiance. He had no false hope of actually  beating this 'Antiquarian'..but he wasn't gonna make it easy for them. Though he really had no idea what to do.. Watching as the monster crouched low before dashing forward ready to run Steven through. 

Instinct took over as Steven intercepted the stab with the chest. The energies of chest and bone created a small implosion, slamming the boy back to the eastern wall and his opponent to the opposite wall.

"Ow!" Steven winced as he stood feeling a bit of stone fall off his back. He didn't have time to survey the damage as Antiquarian was already striking down towards his skull, attempting  to split him in half. 

"Face Up!" Steven complied, intercepting the bone again with the face of the chest. A different result occurred this time, as Steven was unharmed and Antiquarian was electrocuted by a stream of supernatural lighting running through the bone blade to the demon. The monster pain of agony was silenced after a few seconds as its body crumpled  over.

Steven stumbled back on to the floor, the smell of burned flesh getting to him. He sighed as he turned towards the chest in his hands. He breathed deeply as he turned towards his opponent, seeing that it hadn't made any movement but was clearly breathing.

"I don't know how I feel about that?" Steven groaned as he relaxed, looking up and zone out a bit. He took a shocking deep breath as the scent of jasmine, chai and bluebell hit his nose...and a gentle weight hit his left shoulder. He turned his head towards the weight and for a split second, saw an azure blue silhouette of a girl his age leaning upon his shoulder. 

"Who are…?"

She was about to turn towards him when they heard the growl of Antiquarian as he stirred and sat up in pain.

Steven gulped as he reached for her hand only to meet ground. He turned to her to realize she was gone. 

"What the fu.."

Antiquarian roared as, turning towards Steven, hate in its eyes. Steven stood his ground chest in his hands, his determination meeting Antiquarian's hate and wounded pride as the monster stalked forward swinging a clawed hand at the young man's skull. 

Steven stepped under the attack and moved in close. He slammed the chest, hard into the stomach of Antiquarian.

Antiquarian loomed over Steven, as he bent forward in pain.

"JUST A BOX."

Steven's eyes grew in fear before he was snatched and skipped along the floor by Antiquarian into the southwestern wall, hitting his chest and landing on his side withering in pain. He struggled to breathe let alone move, as he clenched the chest closer. Struggled but did so. 

He felt the box glow one last time as speckles of magical energy flowed towards him healing his damage, leaving the chest dull in color. He still couldn't open it though.

"Oh come on!" That was the only lamentation Steven was allowed as Antiquarian was already mid punch.He was able to narrowly dodge the hook, watching it crack the stone wall where his head was. 

"Ok..Now what!"Steven thought about running for the exit, only to realize he would literally go  over, under or through the monster. All seemed impossible. It was hopeless.

"GIVE ME THE BOX!" Antiquarian roared as he took another swing at Steven, this time at the boy's ribs. Steven leapt back, but the blow glancingly connected. It was enough to get the point of cross as he felt a bruise forming. He winced but held his ground as he lifted the box up over his head, a threatening look in his eye. He was poised to slam the boxed towards the floor.

"You want the box!" 

He watched as Antiquarian froze in it's movements, eyes trained on the box.

"The flame. Burn me, emblaze me, RELEASE ME!"

His eyes widened as he heard the voice of the chest again. He turned his eyes towards the flame and breath deep. 

"Go get it!"

"NO!!!"

Time seemingly slowed as Steven tossed the chest into the flame.They watched as the flames encased the chest in an orb that crushed and burned the box. It wasn't long until the chest broke and burned away, the flames kept moving as it was.

Steven didn't get a moment to feel defeated before he was slammed to the stone floor  unconscious.

"BASTARD!" Antiquarian snapped at the hybrid, its hands ready to shatter Steven windpipe for costing it its treasure.  

Just as Antiquarian hands enclosed around Steven's neck and lifted him from the ground, a sound coming from the flame stole their attention, it was that of a giggling girl.

Antiquarian snarled as it didn't see anyone, but heard the giggling resound all over the ruin.

"Well, what do we have here, a Kanaraka? I thought you single minded fools were all destroyed. What do you call yourself, what's your purpose?"

""I AM ANTIQUARIAN! SHOW YOURSELF!, I KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO WAS DEFENDING THE BOY... COME SO I CAN COLLECT YOUR HEAD AS WELL."

"If you know that..You must know that I'm  already here."

"SHOW YOURSELF!"

"OR WHAT!?" 

 The force that came from the yell, knocked the Kanaraka away from Steven and onto the wall, pinning it there. Unable to move, the monster could only watch as the flames began to swirl and twist around themselves, as a microscopic, dim azure wisp like orb enlarged itself in the center of the flammes, second by second. 

Steven groaned feeling the heat of the area, fluttering his eyes he looked towards the flame and fell in awe at what he was witnessing.

As it grew, the orb seemed to take basic human shape, floating within the flame. First, of an infant, a toddler then a child. After that the shape became identifiably feminine as it ‘aged’ to that of an older teen. A swell of breast, the curves of hips, the softness of the shape, the lack of anything phallic.

Soon, the stone body parts began to hover from their pedestals and fly towards the flame attaching themselves to ‘her'. First her arms and legs, followed by her torso, and finally the head. The pieces melted and melded together in a nice skin of magma in the form of 'her' as the flames continued toward dance around 'her',caressing her in a gentle embrace. 

It was at this moment that the flames no longer swirled around ‘her’ but flew within her; illuminating her form, energizing it and giving her body heat...Giving her life as 'She’ began to move within the flame. 

"huuuhaaaa." Her chest began to rise gently as 'she' took her first breath. Her fingers began to twitch, her toe curled, her lips quivered and finally her eyes slowly opened.

She moved her head up looking straight, ignoring the flames that found their place within her as they restitched her existence to the living. 

Steven's heart skipped multiple beats as he gazed into her very human eyes. Powerful...Alluring...Charismatic.. The most illuminating pearls of black he ever saw, locked with his own brown eyes.

He watched her descend to the ground as if led by the very flames entering her, appearing as a goddess of molten earth and azure light. ‘She’ landed in a kneel, still as the stone she was encased, the flames finally dying out as she began to stand. 

Her movements were slow and steady, as if she was afraid she would break otherwise, She turned fullt toward Steven and slowly stepped forward, leaving melted footprints on the stone floor. She watches as his eyes widen towards her….

“Watch out!!” 

She felt the fist connect with her skull, the air as she sailed across the room, and the destruction of her body as it broke through and was buried by the western stone wall.

Steven's bottom lip quivered in shock before he felt the sparks of rage flicker within him. Ignoring the pain of his body, he stood glaring at the Kanaraka, who stared readily at the crumbled wall.

“Bas-”

“Bastard, don’t you Kanaraka have any basic manners.”

Steven froze at the sound of ‘her’ voice, before turning towards the whole in the wall.

“Holy..”Steven was left breathless as she stepped out into the dim lighted ruin, completely bare, and without shame.

 A slim, curvy and tone build,with long legs. Skin of dark mahogany, small yet full lips, prominent nose, thick umber eyebrows with mid-back length hair of the same color, and those black eyes. On her wrist were azure color markings, in a language he couldn’t make out. 

If Steven hadn't seen her release, he would have thought of her as a slightly taller nineteen year-old human girl, with an exotic air about her. Watching her as she cracked her neck and stretched her back, sides and legs, with a fire engine face.

“YOU..NO NO YOU D-.” Antiquarian growled objectionably, it’s eyes narrow  as it clenched it’s fist tightly, drawing a bit of its own blood due to the pressure.

“Djinn..I’m a Djinn, Kanaraka.” She retorted in the same fashion, before chuckling. “You said your name was Antiquarian, right?” She shook her head mockingly “That’s too good of a name for something like you. How about ‘Collector, or ‘Scavenger’ those seem more your taste.”

The Kanaraka charged with a screech ready to run the girl through, It shot  it’s long clawed hand forward a direct course for the girl windpipe,

“GRRROOAAAAGHH!”

The loud crack of bones breaking resounded in the ruin, as the girl’s fist met with the palm of Antiquarian, breaking it’s thin hand; tearing the bone through its pale flesh.

“What was that you said about taking our head?” The mocking question was followed by the slamming of her left knee into the chin of the demon, making it stumble and fall to its back; it’s jaw loosened by the blow. She looked down at the monster before turning her gaze to Steven, her eyes softening at his red face, despite him not looking towards her , 

“I’ll be right with you, keematee” Cheerfulness in her voice as she gave him a small smirk, it quickly changed  to annoyance when she skipped over a sweeping kick from the demon, She watched the demon somersaulted back to its feet, near Steven.

Antiquarian glanced at the hybrid for a quick second,contemplating taking him hostage, only to be forced to duck and move away as the Djinn girl attempted to strike with her fist; landing in front of Steven and giving the Kanaraka a cool deadly glare. 

“MAHESWARAN! DEVIL OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE!” Antiquarian snarled, anger and dread vibrating in its throat. Picking up its bone sword  ready to defend itself 

"Huh? Oh My! How informed you are." Her smile and voice was gentle and almost admiring...It never reached her eyes, they remained unchanged.She placed the tips of her index and middle finger on her chin as she walked forward, causing the monster to step back.

"But..I think you’re missing some vital information. Let’s start with the “Fire and Brimstone-” 

“GET BACK!” 

“I understand how one such as yourself could come up with such a conclusion..Seeing how i was brought back..But I must correct you, I am not an elemental of earth or fire. I am not an elemental at all, though I have dabbled in using those two..”

“STAY AWAY!” Antiquarian swung the blade towards the girl's torso, ready to slice her in half, Both human and Kanaraka was stunned as she halted the weapons path right before it landed with a palm size vortex from her left hand. The bone weapon shook against the wind. .

“But truly, I admire that of wind.” She enclosed her hand around the blade. “And lightning.” 

Antiquarian was quick to release the weapon, seeing the streaks of blue magic based electricity run up the blade like a crackling livewire. It watched with unease as the girl twisted  the all too large blade around like a baton before resting it on her shoulder, before returning to her stroll towards it

“Second, the ‘Devil” comment. I take offense to such a thing. I’m a Djinn. I bear no imp tail, or horns. I serve no, nor have I ever served, a fallen angel in hell...Though.” She glanced at Steven from the corner of her eye. “I can be devilishly delightful, depending on the mood.”  She teased the boy.

The Kanaraka crouched low, its talon scratching the stone floor, Its mouth tight in rage, baring its teeth. Ready to strike her down at any given moment.. Until, she turned her sight back toward the kanaraka and showed it her eyes...Those eyes warped in wickedness … and felt the strangulation of reality...She would be Antiquarian final visage. 

”Three, and this is very important.”Her voice held an aura of pure sugar, as her smile began to hild the same wickedness as her eyes. She was just a half foot away, looking up at the lengthy monster who looked like he wanted to beg for forgiveness.”Who gave you instruction, allowance to speak of my blood? Do you understand the affornt of your actions?” 

She didn’t give the monster a chance to respond before,heating the bone sword up until it glowed azure and using it to stab it's right shoulder, watching the arm drop off and simultaneously cauterize the wound.

 Antiquarian screamed in pain as it dropped to its knees, it reached for the dropped limb. 

"Well?" She asked as she sliced the fallen  limb a couple of times, scorching it before Antiquarian could reach it. 

The light of the blue flames gave the Djinn visage, a horrifying light. The Kanaraka could only look at those eyes..Those deep black, half-lid eyes illuminate in hellish blue looking down on it. Too afraid to speak.

"Not going to answer, such bad etiquette." She grabbed Antiquarian by its jaw and squeezed.  'Ok answer this..Those gems, do you have them?" 

The Kanaraka shook its head the best it could. 

"You were bragging about my mother being poof..Dissipated." Steven chimed in, his back towards the scene. 

"That's true...So were you lying?"

The Kanaraka sneered in response.

"Oh ho! You did lie. I figured they might still be fighting correct."

As if to answer her answer, a tremor from outside was heard. 

"Sounds like they're about to end their bout. So how about it, Kanaraka? Why come here, huh?"

"I WOULDN'T HAVE COME IF I KNEW YOU WERE HOUSED, MONSTER!"

"But you did know and you did come."

"ALL I KNEW OF WAS THE BOX AND THE HYBRID.."

"You threatened to take my head."

"I WAS UNAWARE OF WHAT THE BOX HELD.." The pleading sorrow in Antiquarian's voice, fell on deaf ears.

"You threatened to take his head."

She received a growl in response. 

'She' sighed dully, tapping the blade on her shoulder as she spoke in its ear. "Antiquarian..That's your name and vocation. To collect ancient treasures...Treasure as he maybe, he's only on the cusp of adulthood. Seventeen-"

"Eighteen." 

"Eighteen years, so far. Not what you would call an antique...You went against  your vocation...What's the punishment for that again?"

"DEATH."

 She nodded as she released its jaw. "You wanna tell me who sent you?"

The Antiquarian said nothing waiting for the blow. 

"I commend your loyalty." 

It was a simple strike of her hand that ended the demons' existence. It didn't scream, howl or roar. It just let it be. It didn't groan when she grabbed it's  heart, didn't wince when her nails punctured it, didn't give any type of negative emotion when it felt itself being added to her existence. All it felt was a gentle, welcoming, warmth of blue. 

"BETTER DEATH THAN MOST, I SUPPOSE."

'She' left no burn, no ash, no smoke. There was no trace of Antiquarian, except  for it's bone blade, which she made vanish in a streak of azure. 

"It's done, you can turn around now. There's  no body."

Steven clenched his fist at the statement, she said it so indifferently. "Right"

He turned his head and quickly turned back around.. He forgot she was still nude.

She saw the red on his ears and smirked an impish smirk before gliding silently towards him. She leaned forward so her head was on his shoulders before giving him a warm held peck on his cheek.

"Gah! What!" Steven yelped before turning towards the girl, getting an eye full. He quickly turned away before taking off his jacket and handing it to her.

"Wear this."

"Hmm?" 'She' blinked as she looked at the jacket, holding her head to the side. "Why?"

"Because, you're nude!"

"And. I think I have a very attractive body."

"That's not the point!"

"I feel nice too, wanna see."

Before he could answer, she pulled him into a hug, placing his head just above her left breast and squeezing him, almost adoringly.

"'What. What are you doing!?"

Thump-thump...Thump-thump

His eyes widened at the sound. A heartbeat, a very strong human heartbeat. From there his body started to acknowledge other aspects. Such as the human warmth of her body, the supple softness and comforting firmness of her flesh. He held her back around the  small of her back..just in curiosity. 

She smiled as she tussled the slightly  smaller man's hair. "Feels nice, right? Just like a human."

He hummed in content unaware of his hands.

She shivered as she felt herself palmed. "Hey hey. You're a little low!"

"Wait, no! I didn't mean to!" 

'She' laughed as the apple red hybrid tried to struggle out of her grasp. "You're so precious! Such a gentleman, my bonded is."

"Bonded?!"

"Well..not yet, I suppose."

Steven was going to retort, when she caressed his face and placed her lips upon his. Steven was stunned at first, his muns telling him to try to break it..but his subconscious..His instinct and heart drove him to do the opposite and so he did…And returned the kiss.

In doing so he felt a heat rise in him, a power and knowledge he didn't have flowing within him, a connection he didn't want to lose.

She broke it gently before stepping back, waiting patiently. Her legs crossed as she bent forward looking up at him.

Steven blushed before taking in her image, feeling his stomach and heart heat up, and not because she was still in the buff. Though he'd doubt  he would ever get used to it. The giggling lips, the shillolute, the voice… All had a face, form and figure. More so than that..

"Connie, get dressed."

It had a name and identity. 

"You see the modern derivative." Connie chuckled before giving him an adorable smile. "Well, if my bonded requests it."

Connie stood straight before looking around the room glyphs with a smirk. With a wave of her hand, the glyphs peeled off the walls like sickles before hovering around her in an illuminating cocoon. A few moments was all that passed, before the cocoon dispersed, revealing Connie.

A blue short jacket with dark green trim, Light blue low-rise short pants, brown cross lace sandals. golden anklets, green elbow length, mid finger gloves, black choker with charms of the sun and moon, one glyph earring in her left ear and a royal azure, cross front bodysuit. Her hair was still out but it now had a star clip in the middle of it. All the 'cloths' were printed with glyphs, though it was nearly impossible  to tell.

She watched his stunned look and felt her cheeks burned a blueish brown, feeling a bit shy at his sight. "I..I try to match the knowledge of cultural modernity I received from our bonding, with my own preference… Am I acceptable?"

Steven shook his head before walking up to the djinn, rubbing the top of her head. " More than acceptable...You're extraordinary."

"Hehehe...Thank you, Keematee." She gave him an appreciative smile. Before she clapped her hands in slight excitement. "Oh..can you lift up your shirt for me?"

"What?!"

"I wanna see your imprint. Please?"

Steven arched an eyebrow before lifting  up his shirt, revealing his birthmark.

Connie beamed at the mark.

"All right."

His mark as a hybrid; A tattoo shaped like a gem in deepest onyx ink with twelve facets with his naval acting as its face. Usually it was a simple design with an unusual hardness in that particular  area...not anymore.

While everything was the same, there was a new addition. upon each  facet and on the face was an azure glyphs. The same one on Connie's wrist. Evidence of their success in bonding.

"Interesting place for the bonding mark but.. I can't dictate where they go."

Steven's eyes widened in surprise at her comment. "What?! Hold on, what's gonna happen  to me?"

Connie chuckled bashfully as she scratched the back of her head. " Nothing bad.. I think?"

"Huh?!"

"I mean..I've never bonded or... At least, I can't remember last time I've bonded..."

Steven groaned. "What the hell,Connie?!"

Connie scoffed in anger. "Hey hey, don't get mad at me for not knowing."

"You're a Djinn! This is a practice for you. Your people do this! How don't you know this?"

"Excuse me, I've been dead for awhile. Sorry if some information got lost during the whole returning to life thing!"

Steven rubbed his temples feeling his anger flare. While Connie turned her back on the hybrid, arms folded..

'Stars, I should've just ignored it when you called out to me.' They both thought silently.

"You called out to me!" They both yelled at each other.  They both stopped, as realization hit.

'Holy, crap'

'Oh my'

'We can hear each other thoughts!',

The two remained silent as they waited for the other to speak or think…

'So..I called out to you..You say?' Connie thought as she played with her hair, glancing at Steven, who looked quizzically.

"You ok Connie? you look a bit blush in the face?"

Connie flushed as she growled. "I'm ok just answer the question!"

"What Question!? You didn't ask anything!"

Connie sighed as she placed her head in her hand.."This. We might have rushed into this."

"I would agree.."

The two looked towards the entrance  and saw a large full figure woman walk in. Hair was long spiked curls down to her ankles, a gray halter top body dress. Her skin was a dark tan, her eyes were a deep black, as were her lips She was Onyx leader of the Crescent gems, Steven's mother..Black diamond..and one of the perpetrators of Connie's murder.

"Steven..Kahanni."

She gave the two a prideful yet knowingly sad smile. Especially when  Steven instinctively grabbed Connie close by the waist and held her hand, while Connie took a protective step forward.

"It's Connie, now."

Onyx smiled a bit more at how in sync they were. "Of course."

"Why did you kill me?"

Onyx scratched her head "You're as blunt as ever…"

"I wanna know too, Black."

Onyx eyes widen at that. Before she settled into a snarky smirk.."Well..guess there's  a lot that needs to be discussed. Come on up to the house when you're ready." With that, she turned on her heels and left the two teens on their own.

[princesscharliemagneofhell]

*Request* Angel Dust X Oc

Eeeekkk! I am so so so sorry fellow anon for this taking so long! T^T I wasn’t sure on exactly what you wanted, so I had to wing it the best I could, I do hope you like it though! ^^

Oc P.O.V.

A long tiresome day of work, you were exhausted and needed a drink. Luckily, there were hundreds of bars to choose from, getting your pint of booze would be no bother at all. 

Slowly, you make your way down the hell filled streets, casually stepping over rotting corpses and wiggling through fight crowds, nothing out of the ordinary. If anything, it was a quite calm..silent day. 

You manage to finally enter the bar, relieved you weren’t mugged at the entrance as you usually were, instead greeted with drunken, flirty ladies, whistling and cooing towards your direction. 

Despite being not much more than bones with clothes, you were quite the handsome demon. Not to mention your slick Hispanic accent that made the girls melt. You were used to this. 

Though, you never appreciated it. You were never interested in what the ladies wanted, or what they had to offer. No, you were much more intrigued in something...else. 

You were always attracted to men, and you accepted this. The era you were born in...however..was not on the same page, thus one of the many reasons you were down in hell. 

None the less, you proceeded to ignore their trifling and continued to the bar counter, in which you were greeted by the bar tender. 

“What’ll it be?” He asked in a deep gruff voice, gripping tightly onto an empty pint, cleaning the glass with a cloth. 

You shrug, hunching over on the counter, muttering out. “Espíritu...full pint.” 

He nodded, disappearing behind shelves of alcohol, leaving you in silence. There wasn’t much else you could do. 

In the corner of your eye, you hear loud laughter from what appeared to be..a tall..surprisingly sexy white spider? At first, you couldn’t tell what gender this loud boastful spider was, for it had a very large...bust..

Entranced by this seductive figure, you find yourself unable to take your gaze off this demon. 

Amongst the yelling and laughter, you hear a small voice from the crowd speak out to the spider. “Angel Dust..you’re too drunk! Maybe let’s head back to the ho-”

Though the voice was cut off with Angel’s slurred tone. “ChArrLiiee~~ baby~ sugar, I luv ya, but I ain’t leavin’ until ya quit treatin me lik’a baby~” He then picked up his pint of booze, chugging the rest of it down, slamming the glass onto the counter, the force shattering it into a million pieces, earning loud laughter and jeering from the crowd of other demons. 

The bartender groaned, placing your drink down in front of you. “Every time that stupid kid comes to my joint, he gives me more crap to clean. I swear once day Ima shoot him in his slutty ass.” 

“Who is that chico anyways?” You asked, taking a sip of your booze, not breaking contact with Angel. 

“Folks call em Angel Dust...he some gay..flamboyant jackass. All the kids are doin’ it knowadays.” The bartender shrugged, turning his attention to another customer. 

Angel Dust, that was a new name. Though he could understand where the bartender was coming from. He most certainly caused a disturbing scene. And yet..

You simply can’t look away. Everything about this new demon was graceful, seductive, hypnotizing. It felt as if you were fall deep under a spell, and didn’t have the strength to wake up. 

Though, clearly the bartender had had enough, and grabbed a pistol, firing a shot through the roof. 

“If you ain’t hea to drink, get out!” He spat, watching in satisfaction as many of the demons scrambled out, startled by the gunshot. 

Angel Dust, however, stayed behind. 

Woozy from the amount of alcohol he consumed, Angel swayed over to the bar counter,flopping himself down onto the stool next to yours, leaning his upper torso onto the counter, groaning softly. 

“Damn bartenda’ gonna ruin the fun like dat, whatta jackass..” You heard him grumble. 

“In his defense, you were trashing his place tipo-” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink, hiding the smirk behind your pint. 

Angel averted his gaze towards you, narrowing his eyes. “Wanna run dat by me again sugar?” 

You shrugged once more, resting your chin on the palm of your bony hand, pressing your elbow firmly against the counter. “Not saying it to offend you, los siento, but you really should mindful.” 

“Ey ey listen ‘ere spanish boy, do I gotta remind ya we livin’ in the pitts uv hell? ‘Mindful’ ain’t exactly the reason we’re down ‘ere.” He snickered, running his pink gloved fingers through his fluffy white hair. 

“Whatever..” you mumbled. 

About to respond, Angel was cut off when a deep voice spoke out, catching Angel’s attention. 

“Hey gorgeous~” he purred, brushing up against Angel Dust, who smirked, fluffing up his chest. “Normally I’d be in da mood, but I’m kinda tired..maybe anotha time, ey toots~?” He responded to the demon, who clearly wasn’t satisfied with this. 

The demon roughly grabbed Angel’s wrist, jerking him forward. “You ain’t gotta choice.” 

“Ey! No means no! back off!” Angel spat, attempting to yank his arm free. 

You set your drink down with an annoyed huff, standing up next to the disgruntled demon, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“ Disculpe senor, but he did say no, it’d be wise to listen.” 

The demon quickly let go of Angel, yanking harshly at your collar, dragging you close. “What’s it to ya spanish boy? I’ll beat your ass harder than yo momma did. HA!” 

You attempt to struggle free, but no such avail, you were going to die..again!!!

Squeezing your eyes shut, you prepare for the worst, only to hear a loud POP, then the demon slowly letting go of your shirt, collapsing face first onto the ground. 

You open your eyes, staring in shock as blood oozed from his skull, painting the wood floor red. You look up, only to see Angel with a small pistol in one hand, blowing out the excess smoke, smirking to you. 

“I may be drunk, but I ain’t lost my aim~” He snickered, nudging you gently. “Thanks for the help Diego.” 

About to respond, the bartender burst though, grabbing both of your collars, throwing you out the door with a gruff. 

“Makin more messes? I see ya asses around here again and next time you’ll be the man bleedin’ on the ground!! Beat it!!” 

He slammed the door shut, leaving you and Angel sitting dumbfounded on the ground. 

“Ugh, great. I didn’t even finish my drink thanks to you!” You snap, standing up, brushing the dirt off your bony thighs. 

“Awww, come on! Dat.was fun! Ya gotta admit it!” he laughed, then jumping slightly at the sound of his phone buzzing. Digging through his floof, he pulls out his pink cased phone, groaning. 

“Damn..it’s Charlie. Ahhh, I gotta go toots.” he shrugged, then stuffed his cell phone away, reaching for a slip of paper and sliding it to you. 

“Call me~” He winked, gently grabbing you arm, yanking you close as he gave you a sweet smooth on your cheek, then pulled away, swaying his hips down the sidewalk with a whistle. 

You watched, you entire face flushed a dark red, clutching the slip of paper. You open it up, your eyes widened in surprise. A phone number. 

You attempt to shake off whatever you were feeling as you walk away from the scene, heading back home, deciding whether or not you should give him a call...

Ack!! This was sooooo rushed >~< I am so so SO sorry!! I do hope you enjoyed though! ^^

[fence-macabre]

Death of a Salesman Pt II: Dirty Business

(The following is an excerpt from the ongoing campaign within the Fence Macabre, continued from Part I: Field of Screams...)

Our heroes approached the Varok Saurfang Memorial Conference Center to find that it had been deserted for quite some time. The doors were locked (seemingly Goblin-proofed), and scaling the walls would be a bigger giveaway than a dead fish in a flower shop. As they considered their options, Remington noticed hoof-tracks that led to behind the large dumpsters in the side alley… hoof-tracks belonging to none other than Bumpo the Forsaken Goat, Billy’s trusted steed and business partner! 

Remington attempted to see if Bumpo could track Billy by showing him Billy’s Missing Poster, only to provide the goat with an impromptu snack. The gang then reasoned that if Bumpo has been here and gone without harm all this time, another half-hour or so wouldn’t be much more trouble, and set about breaking into the nearby emergency exit with a smelly, rusted crowbar Remy had found in the nearby dumpsters (not as cool a find as Ratbit’s Perfectly Edible Tuna Hoagie with Extra Pickles, but more useful in this instance). With a group effort, the trio triumphed over this trifling tribulation, traipsing towards the troubling trials ahead...

At last: Inside the Varok Saurfang Memorial Conference Center, into what appeared to be a standard boardroom repurposed for holding coats, luggage, and miscellaneous storage, and performing as an ad hoc office. The seminar was in full swing by the time disaster struck, it seemed. After some careful combing for clues, they found a familiar face in a strange place (along with the lad’s trademark rolling-pop-top-suitcase):

Ratbit pulled a paper out, "Billy's running for ... what?" She sounded out the name, "Braaa-zelll-ton. I thought his name was Billy." Starships: "Who's Brazelton?" Stars raised an eyebrow from the other side.  Remington: "Runnin’ for President 'a the Forsaken. Some kinda prank from last year, No idea who the hell Brazelton is though." 

From there, the crack team of investigators determined that it was time to split up and cover more ground. Starships went forward, into the Atrium. It was never cleaned up from the raid performed on the Vigor & Morris™️ Employee Seminar and its attendees, as dozens of tables being prepped for meals were overturned, silverware scattered, blood and ichor on the tablecloths, a great dishonor before the majestic Varok Saurfang Memorial Fountain. 

While Starships stood Starstruck, Remington uncovered a conference room with Vigor & Morris™️ New Product Demonstrations, formulas and patent designs on a whiteboard. The items tested were clearly absconded with as the scene laid in disarray from aggressive extraction of pencil-pushers. Though the three of them tried their best to make more sense of it all, they were left stumped, and so pressed on. 

The lobby, perhaps the bloodiest and most damaged scene of them all, left our heroes with deeper concern for everyone involved. How many made it out alive? And how many made it out alive and free? Ratbit found none of these answers at the apparently smash-and-grabbed Snack Cafe, where she did the only Virmane thing she could, and grabbed what snacks remained un-smashed. Remington found a schedule for the Seminar’s events, and resolved to figure out the date and time of when this raid took place...

Starships, meanwhile, experienced the struggle of a lifetime in the lock on the opposite boardroom, labeled “VIP Room.” Knowing full well that there’s absolutely going to be something worth while in any room with that letter combination on it, she set about infiltration. Despite assistance from Remy, the lock proved nigh-invulnerable (and her “Goblin” Army Knife quite useless) for quite some time… But not forever! Brute force won the day as Starships poured all her rage into fatally stabbing a door handle to death, a feat previously thought unimaginable! 

 And there, within, Starships found the damning evidence: Meeting notes from what must be the proverbial Higher Ups withing V&M™️… 

 “--impossible to do with the Horde Authorities breathing down our necks, and so this staged raid will be the perfect cover to abscond our best employees and researchers to somewhere where our work can continue safely, in the name of the Banshee Queen...”

“Said Horde Authorities apparently plan to obfuscate the destinations of our underlings using third party caravans and couriers. Luckily, with our wide net of interests, we already own many of the groups in the area, and will be able to track their movements so.” 

 Among those listed, three were circled in red pencil: Silverpine Package Services, Demon Deliveries, and  Boot-Jack’s Skeleton Crew… But there was more: 

“...--the perfect candidate for us to back in the no doubt inevitable elections to decide leadership of the Forsaken community. It will be easy to win him over to our side, as he already trusts Vigor & Morris™️ as a whole…” 

“We will give him all the funding he needs, and a running mate in Tom Brazelton (one of our up-and-comers from Accounting, a loyal numbers man to back our Charming Figurehead). When he wins, he will serve for a time, ‘disappear,’ and Tom will be in charge.”

Starships could barely contain her excitement as she gnabbed the papers and trotted off to find Remington, upstairs. Ratbit, having examined the opposite conference room, found an equally violently disrupted meeting on the topic of Keeping Up With The Competition, and obtained some interesting tidbits herself (but then again, when doesn’t she?): 

“--important to maintain watch over lesser competitors even if their reach does not hold much impact on our own numbers: Their experiences are useful data for our future experiences, and there is no reason to allow them to gain an edge…” 

“Even the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow must be observed in this, for they are still in the habit of giving away services we provide at no fee using their magicks. Local service providers such as Gold Cap Dentistry should also be edged out of the market if possible.” 

The two cheered each other on for their excellent corporate espionage as they found Remington, above, in the Amphitheater. The least distrubed out of all the areas, presumably there were not many people in this area at the time of the raid… as Remington read over the secrets uncovered by her squadmates, she knew immediately where their next move was, thanks to Loira's corroborative investigations elsewhere: tracking those caravans. Ratbit, ever the curious, uncovered a prepared shower of balloons and a banner to unfurl: 

“HIGHMAN/BRAZELTON ‘34!” 

It was clear that Vigor & Morris had every intention of launching the new campaign at this Seminar… but were obviously foiled... but by their own hand? Nothing was adding up.

Just then! A noise from downstairs! Who could it be?! The trio trod trepidatiously down the stairs and found a quartet of Orgrimmar Guard… The Patrol began, and our heroes needed to get out unseen! Using a mysterious ancient Virmen technique known as Gastromancy, Ratbit was able to lure away half the guard by Belching Her Voice into the Lobby… They tried to slip out on the other side of the matching stairs, but one of their pursuers approached! With quick thinking and comical timing, Ratbit had this situation in the bag… or should we say… in the banner? She trapped the guard under the recently unfurled banner and they zipped off to their exit... 

But not before Remington was spotted by a patrolling guard! With cat-like reflexes, cat-like precision, and cat-like ruthlessness, she threw the crowbar from the dumpster into the guard’s face! The impact, and stench, dazed him long enough to get out through the (now, more than ever) Emergency Exit. Ratbit used her Gastromancy once more to plant the rumor that the spotted invader was a disfigured human in a cowboy hat… which seemed to be believable enough for the guard, as they started shouting around to find exactly that.

The Fence Macabre uncovered a great deal of incriminating information... but can they use it to find their missing Billy, and whomever is behind all of these heinous, evil acts? 

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING ADVENTURE WITH...

THE FENCE MACABRE!!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Alternate Ending: War is the death of Honor

Humans are such curious creatures when you think of them in the grand scheme of the universe. We are beings with a dark history. A history of war, of violence. A history of acts of cruelty and insanity. A history of ignorance and betrayal of all that we preach to hold dear.  Yet for all the wrongs we have done we have also done even greater good. What wonders of majesty and magnificence we can create, what acts of bravery and courage we can perform, what simple acts of kindness can comfort the lost.  Sometimes an act of malice or of virtue is decided in but a moment, yet the choice can have ripples that echo outwards across time for ages to come. One can only imagine the possibilities should a person change paths at their crossroads.  One can only imagine....... ---------------- Xiaon stood before massive doors depicting some sort art work. The doors parted and Xiaon saw a massive room. An entire side of the room was a reinforced window showing the Combra homeworld below. Xiaon saw a group of figures huddled around the window and he assumed they were the leadership. Some turned to face Xiaon as the doors opened, others glanced in his direction before resuming conversations they were already having, one figure Xiaon noticed had not appeared to react at all and continued looking out the window at the planet below. “Presenting General Xoon as requested.” One of the security guards spoke. “It’s General “Xiaon” actually.” Xiaon said to the guard. The guard turned to him and leaned in close and whispered “I don’t give a fuck what you call yourself. If it were up to me I would have blown your ass out the nearest airlock the moment you entered this ship-” “Thank you master of arms.” The new voice came from the seated figure who had not risen when Xiaon entered. The guard saluted the figure without hesitation and stepped back several paces. Xiaon recognized respect when he saw it and clearly this human guard held the figure in high admiration. A slender Slimpton stepped forward from the group. “Would you please come closer General, we can hardly discuss such  important matters with you so far away.” Xiaon looked around the room and then back at the guards. “Do you not think I would not use my arms to strangle the lot of you were I to get close to you?” Xiaon responded. Several of the figures took a step back in fear but the seated figure merely chuckled. “I’m sure you would try, but I have faith that my security team would be over you in a matter of seconds and break your legs and arms without hesitation.” “You would not kill me?” The figure chuckled again. “Unlike your kind, we do not shoot the messenger here.” Xiaon stepped closer to the group and was now at the base of the window. He could all of the Coalition species here. One by one they introduced themselves until only the sitting figure remained. “Who are you?” Xiaon asked. The figure finally stood up and turned to face him. They appeared as a human female. Youth radiated off her dark skin like the heat of a sun yet Xiaon could see some grey strands of hair making him unable to properly judge her age. She had a strange cloth wrapped around her head revealing only her face, but this concerned Xiaon little as he had never bothered with human fashion. “You may call me Admiral Amara, leader of the retaliatory fleets.” Xiaon snorted. “Were it not for your victories I would have laughed at the idea of a female leader of war.” Without warning a guard stepped in behind Xiaon and brought the butt of their rifle hard against the back of Xiaon’s knee causing him to fall to the ground. “YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO THE ADMIRAL WITH SUCH DISRESPECT!” The guard shouted. He raised their rifle again to strike Xiaon when Amara held up a hand to stop them. “Thank you master of arms. You don’t need to worry on my account over such trifling thins as insults. They are the signs of a poor loser which only makes the general’s situation all the more laughable, wouldn’t you agree?” The guard saluted again and stepped back into position. Xiaon rose to his feet unsteadily. From the reactions of the surrounding leaders it was clear that even though it was a coalition, humanity played a larger role when it came to handling matters. None had sought to stop or censor the guard or the Admiral for their actions. Admiral Amara returned to her chair and looked at Xiaon. “I believe you came here to discuss something did you now?” She spoke with a smile. Xiaon nodded. “I have come before you as the leader of the Combra Empire to discuss a cessation of hostilities and lay the ground work for a better future for our children.” Many of the delegates nodded and smiled at the words. Xiaon could only imagine that many had longed for the day to see the Combra people defeated. Xiaon eyed Amara as she sat in silence. Were it not for humans the Combra would have won the war and these fools would be at his feet begging for mercy. “Do you have children General?” Amara’s question took him by surprise. “Excuse me?” “Do you have children General Xiaon?” Amara asked again, her head cocked to the side as she smiled at him. “I have two sons who both serve alongside me. They are still on the planet below.” Amara nodded at the answer. “With a reputation such as your I imagined so. Females of you species must be lining up to bear the great war heroes children.” she chuckled. Xiaon was unsure how to respond to that and shuffled in place. Before he could answer Amara turned to the other delegates. “Anyone else here have kids?” They all rattled off varying answers, Xiaon was suprised to hear that the Morbith member had some 500 children back on their homeworld. With each answer Amara smiled and nodded her head until she was the last one. She pulled a picture from her pocket and showed it. “This is my daughter Gabi, I carry this picture with me every day so I can see her smile.” Amara flipped the picture around and looked at it. “One of the smartest kids at the academies back on Earth. Aced all her classes, never got into any trouble, always willing to help her friends when they needed it. The size of her heart would make any parent proud.” Amara stared at it for several seconds more. Xiaon was confused by the situation, this was not what he had expected when he had decided to surrender. From the looks of the other leaders Xiaon knew they were just as confused as he was.  “I wonder if she can see me even now.” Amara said softly, cradling the picture, running a finger over her daughters smiling face. “I wonder what she would think of me accepting the surrender of the man who murdered her.”  The surrounding delegates gasped and took a step back from Xiaon. Behind him the clatter of the guards could be heard as they brought their weapons up but did not aim them at the general.  Xiaon glanced around the room and saw only faces of surprise, fear, anger. “There must be some mistake Admiral.” Xiaon began. “I have not taken any field of battle since this conflict begun. I have led my warriors but I myself have not killed anyone.”  “You are mistaken dear general. “ Amara corrected him, fixing him with an icy gaze. “Every death is on your shoulders for at the end of the day you were the one that gave the order to begin the war.” Amara stood from her chair and approached Xiaon, her daughters picture still in her hand. “Every world attacked, every ship broken and left adrift in the stars, every soldier dying on a forgotten world light years from their loved ones they’ll never see again, IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!” She stood before the general and despite being a foot shorter than him Xiaon felt as if she was towering over him. Amara held out the photo for Xiaon to see. “LOOK AT HER!” She forced the picture out farther, tears welling up in her eyes. “LOOK AT HER DAMN YOU!” Xiaon looked at the photo. He saw Gabi and Amara together on some grassy area. Both smiling as if they didn’t have a care in the world for just that moment. Gabi’s face was difficult for Xiaon to stare at. It made him feel things he couldn’t find the words for. “Shame?” Xiaon thought. He turned to gaze at Amara again and saw her weeping. “Do you know how many lives you ruined because you wanted glory?” He stood in silence, words failing him. Amara’s hand was trembling. “Do you even care?”  The room was deathly quiet with the exception of Amara’s grieving. The delegates looked on in silence, eager to see what would happen.  Xiaon was speechless. His mind was now racing with ideas and thought that had never been there before. He had always limited his knowledge of his enemies, demonizing them. It made it easier to wage war when those you were fighting were less than living beings. But now, seeing such pain that had been rought by his own actions he realized the monster he had become.   Without a word, Xiaon got down on his knees to the shock of everyone present. He gazed up at Amara. “I can not undo the damage that I have caused, nor can any offering that I could make repair the pain.” He lowered his head until his eyes gazed at the floor. “But if taking my life will in some small manner ease your pain, then I gladly offer it.”  A guard came forward and presented the Admiral with a pistol. A bulky weapon in her hand but strong enough to rip apart Xiaon’s skull in a single shot. She grabbed the weapon and pushed it into Xiaon’s head, cocking the gun in a single motion. The delegates moved to protest but the guards stepped in and presented their guns, silencing them.  Xiaon closed his eyes to the world, ready to accept his fate. The sound of Amara’s sobbing so clear to him he would take it into the next life and carry it to mark his shame.  He could feel the gun trembling against his head as the sobbing grew louder. “RAGHHHH!” Amara cried as the gun went off.  Xiaon’s flinched as it did and then remained still. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? He did not feel different nor see the lands of his forefathers.  Gently, he opened his eyes. Amara still stood before him, the gun smoke still trailing from the barrel no longer pressed to his head. He turned his gaze and saw she had fired at the floor behind him.  The gun clattered to the ground heavily, Amara falling as if all strength had left her. A guard rushed forward and caught her and assisted her back to her chair. Her hands covered her face as she continued sobbing and crying.  Xiaon was confused. Had she not wanted his life? Had she not despised his very existence? “Why?”  “She......Gabi....Gabi wouldn’t have wawawanted this.” Amara spoke, her voice distorted from her sobs. “But you hate me! I’m the reason she’s dead!” Xiaon declared, rising to his feet undaunted by the guards now training their weapons on him. “Why did you spare me!?”  “You...” Amara said, her sobbing dying down. “You.....you have to know when to stop. It’s over. The war......it’s over... We’re done here.” Xiaon saw the mighty woman bent over in her chair, hands still covering her face while the guards lowered their weapons and began ushering the delegates out.  Xiaon was about to follow when he noticed something on the ground.  He bent down and picked up the picture and strode to the Admiral. The guard behind her raised his weapon but Xiaon was unafraid.  Amara stopped sobbing and raised her head to see Xiaon handing her back the photo of her daughter. With a trembling hand she took it and stared  once more at it, lost in better time.  “I did not know your daughter,” Xiaon said, “but I am sure if she is watching you she would be proud you were better than the monster you faced to avenge her.” Amara looked at Xiaon who nodded to her and then turned to leave. Amara watched the general leave then looked back down at her daughter. A faint smile appearing on her face as she hugged it close with what strength she had left before returning it to her pocket.  ------------------ To see the original ending to this story feel free to check out the story on my page or follow this link: https://niqhtlord01.tumblr.com/post/185604083511/humans-are-weird-war-is-the-death-of-honor  

[kanna-ophelia]

Love is Snakes and Ladders

Forgot to post this! @drawlight Ineffables Advent Calendar Day. Prompt: Silver and Gold

AO3

Wattpad

210 BCE

“A sea monster?”

Captain Pan sighed. “It’s a giant bloody snake. Can’t go around it. It just moves with us, and blocks us off. Perhaps we should return to Emperor Qin Shi Huang for archers.”

“A snake,” said the alchemist with the moonlight hair, thoughtfully. “May I ask which colour it is?”

“What does it matter? It’s a giant bloody serpent as big as three ships and it has fangs the size of a man, dripping venom, and it’s in our way.”

The pale-haired alchemist was soft, everyone knew that. Not like Xu Fu, the actual alchemist and leader of the expedition. The foreign alchemist had a gentle, precise voice and spoiled, white hands and tender eyes like a pond on an overcast day, a face as unbearded as a woman’s, a smile as innocent as a child’s.

Only sometimes, those same eyes were as hard as jade.

Captain Pan looked into those hard eyes, and gulped. “It’s black. And red. With yellow eyes.”

“I see.” The alchemist nodded as if something had been confirmed. “I would like to speak with the serpent. Alone, if possible.”

Mad, the Captain thought, mad, and wondered what would get him into more trouble, defying him, or having to tell Xu Fu his idiot friend had been eaten by a sea monster. Xu Fu was adamant that this man alone could lead them Mount Penglai to fetch the elixir of life for Emperor.

Captain Pan, who was a practical man and had seen a lot of the world, had his doubts about the existence of cities of gold and silver with jewels hanging from trees and elixirs of life. On the other hand, there was an unfeasibly gigantic snake in the sea right ahead of them, so he supposed anything was possible. And the mad silver-haired alchemist was sailing out in a tiny boat to talk to it.

* * *

Aziraphale stared up at the snake as it reared out of the ocean. It was, as Captain Pan had told him, three ships tall at least.

“I should have known you would be involved in this. Whatever are you thinking of?”

Venom dripped from the serpent’s fangs as it hissed at him.

“You can stop that right now. I’m not impressed, Crawley.”

The serpent reared up and struck the water, drenching him with seawater. A cry of fear went up from the youths on the ships.

“That was completely uncalled for. I expect an apology.” Aziraphale waved his hand, and his immaculate silk robes dried.

“I don’t apologise. I am the lassst guardian, the terror of the sssssea. You will never reach Mount Penglai. Turn back, humans, or meet your fate.”

“Crawley. You’re making a scene. Now come down here and stop trying to talk around those ridiculous teeth.”

Aziraphale extended an arm up to the giant snake. There was a moment when it waved back and forth, as if prepared to strike again.

“Don’t you dare even think about it.”

The head shot down towards Aziraphale’s outstretched hand. When it reached it, the serpent shimmered and shrank until it was a merely six foot snake snake, winding around his arm.

Aziraphale sat on the deck, moving out of sight of the waiting fleet, so no one saw the snake pool its tail onto his lap and shimmer again, becoming a lanky man-shaped creature perched on his lap, arms loosely linked around the angel’s neck.

“Hullo, Aziraphale. Can’t you at least pretend to be intimidated, just for the sake of my dignity?”

“I have never been afraid of you, Crawley.”

“Well, you could pretend, at least a bit. Not my fault, Samael was supposed to be riding me. Five hundred year’s journey tall, studded with eyes from head to foot, both of us spitting venom. The whole fleet would have turned tail and fled. But oh, no, he had a special date with Lilith, I had to do it alone. Being a big scary fuck off monster was never my scene, you know that.”

“You were quite impressive, really.”

“Hnh,” said Crawley, turning red. “Anyway, wasn’t expecting to see you around these parts. How have you been?”

“I was doing just fine until a great sea monster turned up in the fleet’s path.”

Crawley flashed his dimples at him.

Aziraphale couldn’t help noticing that their faces were very close, and resisted the urge to blush and look away. Of course, they had run across each other in times and places in which men sat on and across each other’s laps casually while talking, and Crawley had always seemed more than willing to slither onto Aziraphale’s broad lap at the slightest excuse. That was not true of China, and Crawley had no excuse at all for staying on his lap.

Besides, Aziraphale was cross, he reminded himself.

“Are you here purely to get in my way?” he asked. “It’s very inconsiderate of you.”

Crowley pouted. For someone with such sharp features he was terribly good at pouting, drawing his long lips out until he was one big pout. “Didn’t know you were coming, honest. I was just told a fleet with three thousand virgins of both sexes was coming to seek Mount Penglai, and I was to cause trouble.”

“Well, you certainly managed that.” Aziraphale huffily lifted his chin.

Crawley’s pout deepened, although it hardly seemed possible, and his huge gold eyes widened even more. “Come on, angel, aren’t you even a little glad to see me? It’s been eleven years.”

Aziraphale softened a little. “Of course I am, dear. Always a pleasure. But this is an important assignment.”

Crawley lifted an eyebrow, still right up in Aziraphale’s personal space. “Odd thing for you to be assigned to. Your lot are usually right against seeking immortality and gold and silver.”

Aziraphale knew, absolutely knew, he should not discuss this with anyone at all, let alone the Enemy. Assignments from Heaven were sacred by definition.

The problem was that it was lonely, being an agent of Heaven. Sometimes, it would be really nice to discuss things with someone who would understand what it was like to get strange and inconvenient orders from on high.

This demon pouting on his lap understood better than anyone else. It was, well, tempting to confide in him.

Aziraphale sighed the sigh of inevitable defeat, and settled back into a more comfortable position. Crawley adjusted too, sliding slightly off his lap so that his legs were draped across Aziraphale’s thighs and Crawley was pressed against his side, arms still around his neck, cheek leaning on the angel’s head. If Heaven happened to look, it would be hard to explain.

“Comfy?” Aziraphale asked in what was intended to be a sarcastic tone. He had the horrified sense it sounded tender instead. Especially as one of his arms had, apparently without his conscious will, curled around the demon’s back. He felt good to embrace, thin and muscular, stronger than any human despite his slenderness.

“Yesss.” Crawley’s heart beat was faster than Aziraphale’s and his cheeks were bright red. “Tell me about why you’re helping the Chinese Emperor. Doesn’t sound like your kind of person, really. All that burying of scholars alive. And burning of books.” His voice was teasing but Aziraphale felt like he could hear or imagine real sympathy in it.

“Oh, he’s a dreadful man, true. Xu Fu's been sent by him to find the elixir of life. No such thing, of course. But I’m supposed to help them find Japan instead, at least according to Gabriel.”

“And I’m clearly supposed to thwart you. One of us is going to be wasting all this effort, unless we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

“I’m afraid so.”

They sat for a while, thinking together. Cuddling together, complained the sensible part of Aziraphale’s mind, which knew there was absolutely no excuse for having his arm around his adversary, even if it was sensible to find a mutually acceptable way through this dilemma instead of smiting each other and causing all that paperwork. Even if it had been a very long time since Aziraphale had held anyone, and even if Crawley fit into his side as if he’d been created to tuck in there.

The Chinese Imperial Court was fascinating–well, less so since Emperor Qin Shi Huang had purged it of any philosophical difference–but no one could call it an affectionate environment. Aziraphale was a creature of love, after all, and he missed touch. He pulled Crawley even closer, and the demon gave a hiss that sounded like contentment, not warning.

“What if I let you through but messed up some vital part of the mission? Like, do they have to be virgins? I’m a fast worker, but seducing three thousand of them might take a while.”

“Crawley.”

“Unless you helped. You’re pretty cute. I know I couldn’t resist you if you started batting those eyelashes.”

“Crawley.”

“Some of them might just need pointing at each other and encouragement.”

“Crawley, no.”

“Oh, all right then.” Crawley sighed theatrically. “Look, what about I let you through, but we don’t let them send word home to China of any success? Partial victory against great odds for both of us.”

Aziraphale thought it over. “I never liked that unpleasant book burning man anyway. I don’t mind the thought of him waiting indefinitely to find out if he’s going to live forever,” he said, a trifle maliciously.

“That’s my angel.”

They sat there a moment longer, while Aziraphale reflected that he really did not even have the smallest sliver of an excuse now for not pushing the demon off his lap and sending him away.

“Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just teasing when I suggested we seduce the virgins.”

Aziraphale sighed. He knew the remark about his eyelashes had just been teasing. He certainly didn’t regret that fact. “I know.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.”

That startled Aziraphale. “Why not?” He turned and met great fiery eyes with blown pupils and golden irises expanding to hide the whites, and all the gold of Mount Penglai could not have shone more blindingly. Aziraphale shut his eyes against it.

“Jealoussss.” It came out as an inhuman hiss. “My angel.”

There were lips against his, not the cool courtesy kiss they had sometimes exchanged in public but seeking, possessive lips, pressing close, parting his own–or was he parting them himself? Aziraphale couldn’t be sure.

He was only sure that his head was being pulled close, a tongue silkier and more delicate than any human one could be was touching his own, and instead of pushing the demon away he was clutching him closer.

Crawley pulled away at last.

“Crawley?”

Crawley gave him a long, blank look, his face frozen. Then he shimmered.

“Crawley!”

“Ssssorry.”

Aziraphale grabbed for his tail as he slithered off his lap. “Get back here, you stupid snake!”

It was too late. There was a splash as Crawley disappeared off the side of the boat.

Aziraphale buried his head in his hands for a long moment.

Right. He had a job to do. And he could talk to the demon later. Or not.

Aziraphale had a suspicion that Crawley would sashay back into his life as if they had never kissed, as if Crawley had never declared Aziraphale to be his angel in that possessive hiss, and Aziraphale would let him, because what else could he do? They were enemies.

Dear enemies, but that was all they could be.

Aziraphale sighed and prepared to return to the fleet. He had a job to do. They both did. All part of the Plan.

He hoped it was part of the Plan that his euros was now divided into before and after having an annoying, beautiful snake with searching lips and golden eyes in his arms, because he really couldn’t bear it if not.

He addressed the sea, just in case Crawley could hear.

“Fare thee well and may we meet again soon, my demon.”

[aratilightwood]

From Cassie’s E-newsletter subscription:

The print version of Ghosts of the Shadow Market will include two new stories:

The Lost World, co-written by Kelly Link:

While at the Scholomance, Ty and Livvy test the limits of Livvy's ghostly powers, while Jem and Tessa prepare for the birth of their child.

Forever Fallen, co-written by Sarah Rees Brennan

The Jace Herondale who crossed into our world from Thule is torn between his feeling of responsibility to Ash, who is ever-increasing in power, and his desire to take back the life he lost from the Jace of our world, by force if necessary. Meanwhile, in the peaceful countryside of England, Kit Herondale struggles to adjust to a new life and a new family, and to forget Ty.

Yep, I knew Thule Jace would try to take over real Jace’s life.

The question is, to what extreme?

Kit’s in the countryside? I hope we will be revisiting Cardair Idris.

Check out Davood Diba’s artwork for The Lost World!

Ah! Livvy my love, I can’t wait to see what ghostly powers you have gained. It’s both exciting and nerve-racking.

Also, this is the first time we’re seeing an illustration of the Scholomance? Amazing!

Exclusive Excerpt:

From Red Scrolls of Magic:

“Magnus Bane! I thought it was you.”

Magnus turned toward the voice. “Johnny Rook! What are you doing in Paris?”

Johnny Rook was one of the rare mundanes who had the ability to see the Shadow World. He was usually based at the Los Angeles Shadow Market.

Magnus surveyed Johnny unenthusiastically. He wore a black trench coat and sunglasses (though it was night), with short Caesar-cut dirty blond hair and five o’clock scruff. There was something slightly off about his face: Magnus had heard a rumor that Johnny had hired faeries to permanently magically enhance his features, but if it was true, Magnus felt Johnny had wasted his money. The man was also known as Rook the Crook, and he was committed to his aesthetic.

“About to ask the same of you,” said Johnny, avidly curious.

“Vacation,” Magnus said noncommittally. “How is your son? Cat, is it?”

“Kit. He’s a good boy. Growing like a sprout. Quick hands, very useful in my line of work.”

“You have your child picking pockets?”

“Some of that. Some passing on trifles like keys. Some sleight of hand. All sorts. He’s multitalented.”

“Isn’t he about ten years old?” Magnus asked.

Johnny shrugged. “He’s very advanced.”

“Clearly.”

“Looking for anything special at the Market? Perhaps I can be of service.”

Magnus closed his eyes and counted to ten slowly. Against his better judgment he said casually, “What do you know about the Crimson Hand?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Culties. Worship Asmodeus.”

Magnus’s heart gave a hard, spiky thump. “Asmodeus?”

Would he have to tell Alec that Asmodeus was his father? Alec had never asked who Magnus’s demon parent was and Magnus had no desire to tell him. Most warlocks were fathered or mothered by ordinary demons. It was Magnus’s bad luck that his father was one of Hell’s Nine Princes.

“Asmodeus?” he said again to Johnny. “Are you sure?”

I can’t wait to learn more about the Crimson Hand, and Magnus’ relationship with his father.

[gavillain]

Maleficent

I guess I kinda like this one? ;)

Lol, jk, Maleficent (from Sleeping Beauty/Kingdom Hearts) is my favorite fictional character of all time. I love literally everything about her. All of this is on my villains’ list entry on my profile, but I’ll copy and paste it here so I can get my praise for her out there.

So oftentimes when I set out to explain why Maleficent is my favorite villain, I struggle a bit. Usually in villain list entries I just go over the elements to them that I like with a bit of analysis and personal narrative mixed in for good measure, and I'm certainly going to do a bit of that here. However, that's not really the big picture. Maleficent is more than the sum of her parts, more than whatever interesting analysis I could pin on her, more than some childhood story I can relate back to you. She's literally a villain I could go on for a paragraph gushing about how excited I get by the back of her head, I love her so much. She just transcends explanation; she is villainous perfection incarnate. She is the perfect model who all my other favorite villains are in some form or fashion a reaction to. She is fundamental.

Though really, when you get down to it, there's not really some big huge secret to why Maleficent is simply the best. She's just the perfect blending of elements to create a whole that never could have been achieved if anything was handled slightly differently. No other villain is quite that same perfect balance of threatening, regal, powerful, charismatic, entertaining, visually stunning, and intriguing all put into a single package. And because all of these facets to her are there, they create a solid entirety that can only truly be described as a masterpiece. 

So let's actually get into some of those parts that make Maleficent the greatest Disney villain of all time and my personal favorite villain period. First there's her name. The word "maleficent" is a Latin derived adjective meaning "doing evil or harm." Her very name describes the evil that she inflicts upon others. Yet, though "maleficent" is an English adjective, it's not one with widespread popular use. However, even to a casual viewer who might not know that "maleficent" is anything other than the character's name, the meaning behind her name still gives the same impression because it phonetically sounds like a blending of the more commonly used words "malevolent" and "magnificent." Her evil and regality both are phonetically ingrained within her very name, yet unlike the ridiculously derivative names that you may see crop up in bad fanfictions or pretentious fantasy novels, it still very much sounds like a name. It rolls off the tongue beautifully, yet it's not complex, and from the moment you hear it spoken, you know she's not someone to be trifled with.

The next big element to Maleficent that warrants discussion is, of course, her magnificent character design. And Disney is of course known for their incredible artistic vision, but, from where I'm standing, Maleficent is one of those figures where that vision is most apparent. Sleeping Beauty on the whole is designed to emulate the style of medieval tapestry, so for Maleficent to blend, she had to become essentially a meeting ground between the demonic religious symbolism apparent in pre-renaissance art as well as a believable human female form. She couldn't be too monstrous or the climax with the dragon wouldn't have the same emotional resonance, and she couldn't be too human or they'd risk her just looking like the Evil Queen again and clashing with the stylized and intentionally different look of the rest of the film. And if you look at the concept art for her, you'll see that it took a while to get to just the right design.

So why is this one of the great Disney villain designs to the point where it's pretty much the gold standard that all of the villains in the 90s were in some way looking to duplicate? Well, first of all, there's those medieval demonic elements that crept in. The horned headdress (yes, it's a hat) is the most obvious detail, clearly meant to invoke the idea of the Devil, later complimented by her vocally invoking all the powers of Hell. From these horns we know she's an inhuman force of evil and sin before she even speaks a line. Her dress has a motif of flames in the sleeves and train, again, invoking the notion of Hell fire, and the collar of the dress is based on bat wings. And not only does all of this character design shorthand her evil, it harmonizes together beautifully thanks to the purple, black, and green color scheme that is applied in just the right way. Not to mention, of course, that the entire design foreshadows her dragon transformation in the climax (put a pin in the dragon for now).

This design is one that honestly never fails to make me gush in awe. It's such an artistic masterpiece that flows so elegantly and powerfully that I by and large credit it's incredible design for getting me to love villains in the first place. When I said earlier that I could gush about the back of her head, I genuinely meant that. A lot of people scoff at character design being used as a metric for liking a character, but in the realm of animated film, character design and animation is job number one. And here's the truth of the matter: Maleficent would still be on a pedestal among Disney villains even if she was just this magnificent character design. But she's not. She's more than just this magnificent, unparalleled design.

When a design as beautiful as Maleficent's, finding a voice that can breathe life into it in a way that harmonizes and accentuates the quality of the design is not an easy task. A poor voice casting could have killed Maleficent right where she stood. Thankfully, Walt personally suggested that they bring back Eleanor Audley, who had previously worked with them on Lady Tremaine. Audley of course blended so well with the animation because she was such a talented actress and because Maleficent's facial expressions were modeled on Audley's own. But Audley in general turned in the greatest performance as a villain that I have ever seen. Her delivery is just melodic, and she brings a great degree of power, control, and arrogance to the role simply through voice. It's absolutely stunning.

Of course, Audley's not working alone on that front. The actual dialogue writing on Maleficent is top tier stuff as well. These two elements working in perfect harmony helps gives Maleficent one of the most subtle yet charismatic personalities in all of Disney. She's stern, powerful, and she inspires fear in all who encounter, yet she's not just some domineering bully. She also has a delicious little playful quality to her, such as when she pretends like she's embarrassed about showing up unwanted and pretending to leave without causing a scene directly before cursing Aurora. She's coy, and she uses that to play with her enemies' emotions. But if you test her, she'll explode in violent storming rage. She's this beautiful blend of powerful regality, playful coyness, and loud wrathfulness – a perfect evil personality.

Her role in the story isn't especially complex. She's a fairytale villain, and she fulfills that role nicely. She's not complex or deep with a tragic backstory; she doesn't need to be. She's a fantasy evil incarnate, and she does it marvelously. Every bit of misfortunate that befalls the characters in Sleeping Beauty is directly attributable to her. She allows her minions to do some of the dirty work, but most of the time she's right there taking action for herself. She curses Aurora, causing King Stefan and Queen Leah to miss out on raising their daughter, and she later kidnaps Prince Phillip and plans to keep him locked away until he's an old man so that when he awakens Aurora, he'll be old and she'll be young. She uses time as a weapon to inflict suffering and misery. For all that she hurls lightning, her modus operandi is almost always to cause internal pain and strife, and I love that quality to her.

A lot of people tend to oversimplify and misrepresent her motivation as her just being upset that she wasn't invited to a birthday party, and, honestly, that's such a blatant oversimplification that it barely deserves to be dignified. Maleficent is a villain entirely motivated by her arrogance and desire for respect. Any act of disrespect to her is an act of war, no matter how insignificant it might seem. She lets no affront to her go unpunished, and that's why she's so terrifying. Though also, what's nice about how her motivations aren't spoon-fed to the audience is that it leaves a lot of room for interpretation. We're left with a lot of questions about why Maleficent cares so much about disrespect, and every possible answer makes her more interesting. She's a perfect example of how effective "less is more" can be in storytelling.

And of course, it all culminates in the best finale ever put into a Disney film: the final battle against the dragon. Actually, there's no dragon anywhere in the original Sleeping Beauty fairytale, but because Sleeping Beauty was striving to be a grand medieval fairytale fantasy epic unlike anything the studio had ever produced, and because having Prince Phillip throw a sword into a human looking Maleficent would be unseemly for a family film, they decided to put the cherry on top with the most recognizable medieval fantasy creature to face against the brave knight in shining armor. And it really is the perfect climax to the story. Prince Phillip, who is wielding the Sword of Truth and Shield of Virtue and fighting on behalf of true love, clashes against Maleficent, who invokes all the powers of Hell to become a Satanic creature motivated by hate and pain. It is the ultimate symbolic battle of good triumphing over evil, and the fact that Maleficent so perfectly incarnates that evil makes it all come together.

So, naturally, it is already very apparent that I greatly admire and enjoy Maleficent and think she's an incredible villain. Yet, the question still remains: why is she the number one spot? Why was she the villain who clicked with me on such a profound level that I can write an over four thousand word essay on how much I like her purely recreationally? The answer is honestly pretty simple: consistency. Maleficent is the one villain who, no matter where I am in my life, she's always to some extent at play. 

She was my favorite villain when I was a kid whose movie's tape I wore out rewatching. She was my favorite villain to drag my parents to the Disney store and start my collection of villain merchandise I have to this day. She was my favorite villain at the Disney parks when I'd visit and watch her in the shows. She was my favorite video game villain when I got into Kingdom Hearts as I got older. She was my roleplay character who I played on the side while playing Hades. She was my favorite villain to edit with when doing the villain tournaments. She’s my favorite villain who I write for on a consistent basis with my fanfic. And she's my favorite villain now with all of that looking back and still having the same enthusiasm for her as the first time I watched the movie.

In a kind of bizarre way, Maleficent has been one of the biggest constants in my life. No matter how things have changed, no matter where I've gone or what I've become, she's always been right there, holding my hand through all of it. Other villains and characters, love them though I do, come and go in phases. Maleficent never does. She's always there, and in some way, every single villain who I love has some element that links them back to her. She's that inescapable bedrock to everything fictional that I love and hold dear.

She's the Mistress of All Evil, one of the greatest villains of all time, the single most important fictional character in my life, and my absolute personal favorite. Long may she reign!