#check keepers history

[caranalyticscarcheck]

How can I check previous owners of a car?

To check the previous owners of a car, get the vehicle history report: You can get a vehicle history report from a service like Car Analytics. This report will show you information about the car's ownership history, including how many previous owners the car has had and the dates of ownership transfers.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Miss You

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You're homesick

You like Germany.

You know you like Germany.

You get to do lots of fun things like order for Morsa at restaurants because she can't speak German like you and play at the park on the monkey bars.

You're happy to be back in Germany.

But, sometimes, your tummy gets all tense and swirly and you get icky feelings that you can't quite shake off.

"What's up with you, huh?" Morsa teases as you hide behind her legs.

You'd been excited this morning. You get to train with the Bayern keepers but seeing them on the pitch suddenly made you nervous.

You've never really trained with people without Zećira before and that makes you nervous.

The three of them are talking amongst themselves as the coach sets up cones.

Your gloves are already on. You're wearing your special Bayern training top. Your boots are laced up.

But you won't move and Morsa isn't forcing you to either.

You stay rigid, planted firmly on the spot as Anna is caught in a headlock by Cecilía and forced to receive a noogie.

You rock on the balls of your feet and keep a tight grip on Morsa's shorts.

"I..." You tighten your grip and shuffle closer to Morsa until you're pressed up against her. "Morsa...I want to go home."

"In a few hours," Morsa promises you, running a gentle hand over the top of your head.

"No," You shake your head," Home-home. In London." Your bottom lip wobbles. "I want Zećira and-and Jessie and Niamh! And Australian Sam! And Millie an' Guro an' Erin!" You press your head against the back of Morsa's legs and sob. "Want Arsenal red! Not Bayern red! I want to go home!"

People are looking over now and Morsa picks you up, tucking your head into her neck so you can't see everyone staring.

Momma comes over from where she was speaking to Georgia and Scottish Sam.

"What happened?" Pernille asks," What's wrong?"

"She's feeling a little homesick," Magda whispers," I think it's sunk in that she can't practice with Zećira and it's all spiralled from there."

You sniffle as you run out of tears, chest rising and falling heavily.

Momma gently removes your keeper gloves and wipes the wetness from your face. She's got girl-swan and girl-moose in her hands and you take them.

They still smell a little like your house in London and it makes your tummy go all swirly again as you breathe in their smell.

"Do you still want to practice with the keepers?" Momma asks and you shake your head.

"Are you sure?" Morsa presses," Not at all?"

"Not right now," Momma cuts in," Well done for trying, princesse. Do you want to sit at the side with Klara? You can try again later."

In all honesty, you don't want to sit with Klara.

You want to leave Germany and go back to Not-Wolfsburg. You'll even wear Morsa's Not-Wolfsburg jersey if it means that you can go back and practice with Zećira.

You don't want to wait for the next Sweden camp to see her again. You want to be with her now.

You want her to tell you how to anticipate penalties (one day, people will fear taking a penalty against you). You want her to show you how to boot the ball all the way to the other side of the pitch (one day, you'll win a World Cup doing that). You want her to show you how to be the very best goalkeeper in the world (one day, you'll become the most decorated goalkeeper in history).

You want Zećira to teach you everything she knows.

You want to be with her now, on the Not-Wolfsburg training pitch with your matching gloves and matching boots.

But you can't do any of that.

So, you sit with Klara.

You don't know why she's not training today but she's sitting on the sidelines with a ball of yawn and some weird long things.

She smiles warmly at you as Morsa sets you down next to her, kissing you on the forehead and promising to be back with Momma to check on you very soon.

Your heart still aches for Zećira and her steady mentorship.

You don't know how to be a good goalkeeper without her (one day, Zećira will hand you an award proclaiming you as the best goalkeeper in the world). You don't know how to do her proud without her being there (one day, Zećira will be in the front row of your very first match for Sweden). You don't know how you're meant to train with other keepers when Zećira is your idol (one day, you'll be the idol of so many other little girls who will wear your shirt and cheer your name).

Your Bayern shirt says your first name right now, emblazoned on the back like you're someone important and perfect like Alexia but you're not (one day, your club shirts will all have your first name). Your Bayern shirt is red like Arsenal (one day, you'll be wearing an Arsenal shirt). Bayern is in Germany, which used to be home but it doesn't feel like home anymore (one day, it'll be home again but you'll be wearing Wolfsburg colours rather than Bayern).

Everything is so similar but different and you don't know how you're meant to adapt.

You miss Zećira with all her heart but you love keeping so much and you want to practice at Bayern so in the future you can be the best (one day, you'll be the very best).

But your tummy ties itself in knots and you get shaky legs when you see the Bayern keepers mucking around with each other, like how you used to muck around with Zećira.

"How big are your toys?" Klara asks you.

You frown, staring down at girl-moose and girl-swan.

"Why?" You still sound a little tearful but Klara doesn't comment on it.

"Well, they're part of the team aren't they? Like you? I think they deserve their own shirts."

"They're too little for jerseys," You say," They don't make ones little enough."

"I'm knitting some," Klara says and that gets your attention so you shuffle a bit closer," They won't have names of anything but they should be recognisable enough."

Her fingers move around until one of the jerseys are done.

She's right. They're very little and there's no room for any of the fancy words or numbers but it's still very clearly a Bayern jersey. She finishes it off and hands it to you, where you very carefully put it on girl-swan.

She looks like a Bayern player now, like she's part of the team.

Girl-moose gets one too and now they both look like Bayern players.

They look like they belong in Germany with this group of girls. They used to belong with Caro and Nilla or moster Frido and Ingrid at Wolfsburg. Then they belonged with Zećira and Jessie at Not-Wolfsburg.

Now, though, they belong with the Bayern girls.

Your keeper gloves sit next to you and you very gently slip them on, clenching and unclenching your hands to make sure they still fit properly.

Zećira got you these gloves for Christmas.

They're special because they're little versions of hers.

You think that means you've got a bit of Zećira in Bayern with you.

"Klara?" You ask.

"Hmm? What's up?"

"Can...Can I go and practice in goal with the others?"

"Do you want me to go and walk you over?"

"Yes, please."

[kwanisms]

The Library of Illusion :: Cult of Dionysus Event

Welcome to the Library of Illusion. A place where legend and reality go hand in hand.

Enter each section if you dare. Your task is simple: collect the keys to unlock the Restricted Section and find the treasure hidden within. Will you suceed?

Status: COMPLETE.

➥ ateez ot8 × fem!reader

summary: After finding a box full of information on the infamous Library of Illusion, something only spoken about in her childhood, and the hidden treasure it contains, Y/N decides to track down the library and find out if the rumors are true.

genre/themes/au: non idol au, fantasy, science fiction, horror, history, crime/mystery, adventure, supernatural themes, slight biblical & demonic themes

warnings: adult dialogue, sexual content (mdni 18+), elements of bdsm, female reader × ateez, see each part for further warnings

a/n: this has been a long time coming. I'm so excited to finally be able to unveil this event as we've been holding onto it for a while now. Please make sure to check out the other wonderful works by the other writers on this masterlist!

Thank you so much for reading, as always this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. Banners made by me with help from a template made by @imlevis. All my works are ©️ kwanisms. If you enjoy these works please reblog!

permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @wonderfulshinee @candidupped @dejavernon @violagoth @tigermoonbiss @katsukis1wife @luvsooby @thesolarplanetarysystem

ateez taglist: @2hodefender @cixrosie @pyeonghongrie-main @flowerboykun @sanjoongie @anyamaris @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

special tags: @thelargefrye @hwasdollie

join my taglists: permanent | ateez.

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The Witch & the Lamb ⛧ Of Hellfire & Saints ⛧ The Library of Illusion

↬ dive into the backstories of the Demon & and the Keeper of Keys to learn how Hongjoong became a demon, why Seonghwa made a deal to become a vampire and how the Library of Illusion came to be. »» coming soon

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[theartofangirling]

part 2 of the 2023 version of this post: young adult books!

part 1: middle grade books | part 3: adult books

this is a very incomplete list, as these are only books I've read and enjoyed. not all books are going to be for all readers, so I'd recommend looking up synopses and content warnings. feel free to message me with any questions about specific representation!

list of books under the cut ⬇️

aces wild by amanda dewitt

the chandler legacies by abdi nazemian

bruised by tanya boteju

juliet takes a breath by gabby rivera

picture us in the light by kelly loy gilbert

when we were magic by sarah gailey

iron widow by xiran jay zhao

the rise of kyoshi by f.c. yee

jane unlimited by kristin cashore

summer of salt by katrina leno

the wicker king by k. ancrum

the dead and the dark by courtney gould

wilder girls by rory power

i kissed shara wheeler by casey mcquiston

her royal highness by rachel hawkins

tell me how you really feel by aminah mae safi

the weight of the stars by k. ancrum

you should see me in a crown by leah johnson

last night at the telegraph club by malinda lo

the grief keeper by alexandra villasante

crier's war by nina varela

how to excavate a heart by jake maia arlow

imogen, obviously by becky albertalli

in other lands by sarah rees brennan

carry on by rainbow rowell

cemetery boys by aiden thomas

felix ever after by kacen callendar

i wish you all the best by mason deaver

little thieves by margaret owen

technically you started it by lana wood johnson

the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue by mackenzi lee

the infinite noise by lauren shippen

bonds of brass by emily skrutskie

the darkness outside us by eliot schrefer

simon vs. the homo sapiens agenda by becky albertalli

what if it's us by becky albertalli and adam silvera

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe by benjamin alire sáenz

like a love story by abdi nazemian

different for boys by patrick ness

history is all you left me by adam silvera

twelfth grade night by molly horton booth, stephanie kate strohm, and jamie green

across a field of starlight by blue delliquanti

heartstopper by alice oseman

check, please! by ngozi ukazu

bloom by kevin panetta and savanna ganucheau

laura dean keeps breaking up with me by mariko tamaki and rosemary valero-o'connell

the princess and the grilled cheese sandwich by deya muniz

if you'll have me by eunnie

on a sunbeam by tillie walden

the girl from the sea by molly knox ostertag

always human by ari north

rust in the root by justina ireland

dread nation by justina ireland

pet by awkwaeke emezi

the darkest part of the forest by holly black

elatsoe by darcie little badger

i was born for this by alice oseman

loveless by alice oseman

i hate everyone but you by gaby dunn and allison raskin

you know me well by nina lacour and david levithan

the black flamingo by dean atta

spinning by tillie walden

dreadnought by april daniels

a lesson in vengeance by victoria lee

all the bad apples by moira fowley-doyle

clap when you land by elizabeth acevedo

summer bird blue by akemi dawn bowman

the miseducation of cameron post by emily m. danforth

we are okay by nina lacour

radio silence by alice oseman

we used to be friends by amy spalding

a neon darkness by lauren shippen

i hope you get this message by farah naz rishi

are you listening? by tillie walden

alone in space by tillie walden

all out edited by saundra mitchell

out now edited by saundra mitchell

out there edited by saundra mitchell

[the-moon-devi]

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒

Erda (894) ~ Past life recollection, South node energy, the ability to see into the past. This asteroid is similar to Urda (167).

Circe (34) ~ Your magickal gifts, Where/How you isolate yourself to practice your craft. Your striking, and special qaulities. (This can show working with plants, and herbs!; I have this in my 12H, and it sits to close to my ASC.)

Magion (2696) ~ The Magician/ Mystic; One who knows how to work with magic. Depending of the sign can show what type of magic you're skilled in. For those of you who practice any kind of magic consistently, I recommend checking the Persona Chart for this asteroid!

Celestia (10) ~ Heavenly one, connection to the cosmos / most high. Angel energy, and may have the gift of divine insight, and cosmic downloads. Keeper of cosmic wisdom. This asteroid somewhat reminds of the asteroid Akasha (5881).

Merlin (2598) ~ The Echantress/ Magician; Occcult Wisdom, Warrior energy, alchemy, majestic energies

Hypnos (14827) ~ The gift of dream sight, prophetic messages through dreams, the ability to Astral project. Dream magic/ Astral projection may be a very strong gift for you. If you have this in the 1st house please protect your energy. Most of the time these natives have very strong dreams. (I have this in my 1st house, and my dreams have always been very intense, and prophetic.)

Copy & Paste⤵

894,34,2696,10,2598,14827,167,5881

Cassandra (114) ~ The Seer; This asteroid represents intuitive abilities, and the gift of foresight. The saying for this asteroid is literally, "The one who goes unheard". Cassandra was a Greek priestess who worked under the God "Apollo". She had the ability to provide prophetic messages. This was very useful in Greek history. If you have this in the 1st or 10th house this could manifest as you having very strong and potent prophetic abilities but people may not believe you until it happens.

Telephus (5264) ~ Telepathy, the gift to connect to others minds, and break into the subconscious or conscious mind of others. The ability to know what others are thinking. Gifts with telekinesis. This can be a very great gift to have!

Anubis (1912)~ Necromancer, this reminds me of the death card. The gift of possessing very ancient knowledge of alchemy, you could easily work with chaos or dark energy. Transmuter energy.

Copy & Paste⤵

114,5264,1912

Pythia (432) ~ Oracle of Delphi; The Oracle/ High Priestess "one who can channel the word of god" The messenger. Divination, prophecy, & magic.

Medea (212) ~ The princess, The wise one; one who can work with herbs, holistic healing.(I've first hand seen a very powerful herbalist with this in their 10H! It was in pisces btw!/ conjunct their North Node!)

Deucalion (53311) ~ Divine Intervention, death, The passage of renewal, magic, manifestation.

Aesculapia (1027) ~ The Shaman, The Healers Journey; Herbs, healing, restoration, health, mystical, holistic healing, Naturalness.

Kaali (4227) ~ The Dark Mother; Kundalini Energy, The Cosmic Mother, One who see's all. Tantric and taboo energy, the height of transmutation energy, "The Left Hand Path", enchanting and creation energy (Love this asteroid so much, Kaali was one of the first dieties to reach put to me, and I have this ☌ my North Node!)

Copy & Paste ⤵

432,212,53311,1027,4227

Asteria (658) ~ Magick, Oracles of the Night, Stars, Practicioners, starseeds, vivid dreams, astrology, prophecy, dream Magick.

Sibyl (168) ~ A Woman Who Has The Gift Of Foresight; prophetess, witches, messengers of the gods. Oracles, divine messages, foretelling.

Hekate (100) ~ The Triple Goddess; dreams, cancerian energy, moon, ghost, keys, opening new doors, mediumship, Magick, dark goddess, the dark mother.

Black Moon Lilith (H21) ~ Magical, Dark Magick, chaos Magick, sex and tantric Magick, hypnotic energy, psychicism, shamanism.

Hades (h41) ~ The occult, darker magic, banishment Magick, the ability to transmute negative energy, karma.

Urania (30) ~ Astrology, muse of the stars, astronomy

(I have this is in my 10th/ ☌ Mc, and ⚹ ♆ 🤭)

Copy & Paste ⤵

658,168,100,H21,H41,30

If you guys enjoyed this, Lmk if you want to see a Part 2! Happy Spooky Szn! 🔮🪄 Til' next time....𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔁𝔁

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕯𝖊'𝕷𝖚𝖝𝖊

ℭ𝔥𝔢𝔠𝔨 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔒𝔲𝔱!

©𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵

[breelandwalker]

Podcasts for Spooky Season

It's that time of year again! The leaves are turning, the pumpkins are ripening, and with the increasing chill in the air comes a craving for chills of a different kind. If you're looking for some great audio horror this season, here are some podcasts you might enjoy. Check them out on your favorite podcast app!

(Please feel free to add your favorites in the notes!)

Fictional Frights

Chilling Tales For Dark Nights

Knifepoint Horror

Pseudopod

Scary Stories Told In The Dark

The No-Sleep Podcast

Real Life Is Terrifying

And That's Why We Drink

Be. Scared

Disturbed

Morbid

Scared To Death

Tales From The Break Room

History & Folklore

A Scary State

Freaky Folklore

Frightful

Lore

One Strange Thing

Southern Gothic

The Cryptid Keeper (back catalog)

Horror Movies

Alone In The Dark

Copulators Die First (back catalog)

Queerdo Babes Trom The Horror Pod-O-Rama

Ruined!

Classic Horror Tales

Horror Hill

Readings by The H.P Lovecraft Literary Podcast

The HorrorBabble Podcast

You can also visit Librivox for free public domain audiobooks, including MANY collections of classic scary stories, including a fantastic rendition of Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König is Naturally Nerd!König

A lot of people suggest nerd!König (which is essentially regular König in my books) would be into DnD, or Star Wars, or Lego, but I disagree.

Normal and Nerd!König are obsessed with miniature armies. He has little models of airplanes and tanks that he puts on display in his room. He only has two World War models (and even then it's WW1), and those are the planes that Baron von Richthofen flew. Otherwise, he collects medieval minis and paints them.

He creates whole dioramas of them, and they're surprisingly good. He has the money to sink into his hobby, and it fills his time when he's not at work. He fidgets a lot, but he's gotten good at doing fine detail work. They're not award winning, but they're really quite good.

In addition, he's a major reader. If you want to know more about what König reads, check out this post here. If you don't want to read it, the gist of it is that König loves reading and reads all the time. He's probably the type to sniff and say the book was better than the movie. He's right, but he doesn't need to be so snobby about it.

Through the military, he has an extensive knife and gun collection. He can use all of them, sure, but he really doesn't need that many. He used to have only one room dedicated to them, but he's since had to move twice and torn down a wall most recently to make a big enough room for everything. He kinda sucks that way. He really takes up a lot of space.

However, Nerd!König didn't end up joining the military. He instead went into nuclear engineering and earned an excellent living to fund his expensive hobbies. He also ended up having more time to devote to his crafts, which led to...

More under the cut.

Nerd!König is a Snob

König is a pathfinder 2e type of guy. He's that pedantic. He'll have the rule books memorized, and he has links to download the pdfs ready at the flick of a wrist. He's ready to convert you. Your DnD supplies will be absorbed into his Pathfinder 2E.

A big reason he's into Pathfinder 2E is because he was introduced at a young age and so collected the supplies, but when he heard about the Wizards of the Coast scandals he decided he'd use that as his reasoning. He gets up on a soapbox about it whenever he can. He really, really hates Wizards of the Coast. It's a firey rage that burns within.

He also likes Warhammer. He's a disgusting Warhammer lover. He plays a ridiculous Adeptus Mechanicus army that he's painted himself. It's surprisingly good painting, too. Having painted Adeptus Mech before, I'm telling you it's really hard. He makes it looks easy with craft paint and crazy glue. He's disgustingly good at it. I hate him for it. How dare he be so good. He is genuinely a fantastic painter. That said, we saw what happened with the last Austrian painter, so maybe it's a good thing he stuck to painting minis.

Nerd!König also loves to collect ancient weaponry. To make it worse, he actually practises with it and has become pretty decent with it. He's feared among the LARPing community because he's known to be a fearsome competitor. He'd be more well liked if he didn't accidentally break people's wooden shields so often. As it is, he's not fully blacklisted, but he's skating on thin ice. He'd be banned for sure if it weren't for the fact that the forest on his property is amazing for LARPing.

Finally, he's into Renaissance fairs. He goes and does public sword fighting, once again, LARPing. He'll also show off his weaponry collections, and will gladly go on hour long spiels to anyone unfortunate to ask about the history of an item on his table. He is on good terms with the blacksmiths, and he's always having to pay the local seamstress to fix his clothing back in the traditional style. He will also go up to the ferret keeper and play with their ferrets, and then beg you to get some. He just wants a cute little ferret. Can't he have a couple? No, not one! They need playmates. You need at least three.

Either way, Nerd!König is a big silly guy. He's a bit friendlier and gentler than regular König honestly. He also is super passionate about his hobbies. He's so excited to show you his hobbies, and he really wants you to enjoy them too.

Just so you know, all these hobbies are expensive. Very expensive. It's a good thing he's making so much money, because otherwise you'd go bankrupt overnight, because, "Games Workshop released a new edition of the walkers! I need them for my army!"

[comfortless]

*ೃ༄ Some thoughts on a lighthouse keeper König with a fem, harpy reader! 18+ MDNI.

Signing away months of your life for routinized labor comes with little internal protests for him, he’s done it before with military work. He’ll do it again without question; anything, anyplace to keep him away from a house that’s never felt like home.

König’s blessed with an abundance of skills and the strength to perform hard labor. He’s disciplined enough to embrace the solitude, maybe even thinks of this contract as a reprieve from other people, from creature comforts and the hustle and bustle of ordinary life.

He packs only the bare minimum for himself— clothing he doesn’t mind lantern oil spilling onto, thick books ranging from myth to histories, a trusty hunting knife he’s been keening for the time to polish and sharpen to bring back to its former glory. Food and shelter are already provided for him in a cabin battered by sea breeze and saltwater just a bit too small for a man his size mere paces from the pillar of light that he’s resigned himself to tend to.

Each day is spent checking systems, keeping the haunting yellow light clean and functioning well, jotting down weather readings, and meticulously keeping things orderly. The occasional sound of a boat’s horn would bellow out, as close to a voice calling it’s thanks as it could get from his self-sought isolation. The ocean is lively enough for him, anyhow. The sight of a whale a short distance off shore isn’t an uncommon one, pods of dolphins flipping up into the air like performers, a show just for him. Even the sky above is a sight with flocks of birds he could not name passing by, or sea gulls flying high above only to ground themselves on the rocky shore to cock their heads at him; he imagines that if they could speak their small, shrill voices would ask him ‘What are you doing here?’, and he’s thankful he would never have to answer.

Each night, he reads. The bed is a bit small for him, a cot, really. He has to curl in a way that makes him feel like a dog left to waste away outside, knees nearly tucked to his chest and an elbow propped to keep his head up while he turns to pages of his books. He always wakes to his head resting on a page, the scents of old ink, amber and cedar fill his nose when his eyes flutter open.

He makes himself simple breakfasts, the scent of black coffee lingers throughout the cabin each morning. Occasionally it’s bacon, occasionally eggs in a basket, something as simple as his life has become. He thinks about his days of war when he walks to the shore with his mug in hand, wistfully watching the waves, haunted and volatile, so very much like the ocean of his eyes.

It’s never quiet. The gulls call from above, their wings outstretched as they sail through the air, and the waves make raucous noise as they crash against the rock, wearing down every fine point to something softer. A part of him longs to be worn down too, to pry that aching from his heart, the scars tarnishing his body, the callouses on his hands, dissolve them all in dark, salty waters with a gentle ebb and flow. He’s never thought himself to be one deserving of gentle things, but he greedily yearns for them anyhow.

He admires the sea shells that wash up on the sandy patches of the shoreline, some are pearlescent and untarnished, he dares not touch those. The ugly ones with splintering cracks remind him of himself, he’ll allow his hand to reach for those, toss them back into the hellish abyss where they belong. He doesn’t need a reminder of what he is, why he’s here. He wants to surround himself in pretty things that no one can dirty with their fingerprints, not even himself.

A torrential rain breaks up the monotony of his duty for a few days. He’s soaked to the bare bones running back and forth from the cabin to keep the light functioning, wiping away condensation from the glass that confines it and fiddling with the old machinery to stop the massive light from flickering. He holes himself up there, in that old tower for two long, sleepless nights. He imagines ghosts, ghosts of the people he’s killed without remorse dancing at the corner of his vision, taunting him endlessly from purgatory with their frantic dances and unnatural jolts. When he turns his head, their faces are gone, carried away by the ocean breeze that rattled the walls of the lighthouse, yet can not touch him.

He’s hardly able to keep himself upright when the rain finally stops. Addled from a lack of sleep and an ache from hunger, he slinks down the steps to the wet ground outside. There are no gulls fluttering about with their squeals and questions and begging, and for the first time since he’s come here, the water is calm. The sun beams down from a cerulean sky, not a single cloud fattened and gray with rain water in sight.

Only a bird.

König’s taken note of the wildlife since he’s come, all of the sea creatures that would swim about, the pelicans, petrels and gulls that would make their rounds. He’s never once seen a bird this big. It’s wings stretch wide, gracefully flutter to soar higher only to rear back, knees kicked up to its chest in its graceful descent. It doesn’t ground itself to beg him for a crumb of toast or shriek at him, it only perches atop the lighthouse, looking down at him as if exacting some strange, silent retribution.

The bird shifts in place for a moment as his eyes squint to get a better view of it. He’s mesmerized when he takes note of a very human face, soft nude flesh in place of feathers right down to the ankles that house plush, downy feathers and the coarse skin of scales leading down to brutal, curved talons. Her breasts heave and legs tense as she stretches her wings out to take flight. With a single leap she takes back to the air, twirls in it effortlessly as if she’s in the midst of the most elegant, seraphic dance to return to whichever whisper of heaven she descended from.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The salt and foam must play their tricks, because he’s no where near deluded enough to believe he’s seen an angel in a place like this, that one would think to visit him at all.

Still, he’s an awful bastard, because his cock twitches in demand from the sheer sight of her flying far, far away from him. He doesn’t allow himself to touch pretty things, but god he wants to touch you. He settles for returning to his cot and tugging down the zipper of his pants to rest his length in his hand, slow, deliberate strokes with his eyes closed, bringing himself to ruin from just a fleeting memory.

He chalks it up to sleep deprivation the next morning, a waking wet dream. Even before coming to this little island, it had been well over a year since he had been in the presence of a nude woman. Work quickly makes him forget, keeps his hands tied and his mind emptied of softer flesh and beautiful skies.

She comes back with the next storm, a shivering mess in the rain. A rough gale struck her down and he watched her spin out amongst thick, wet clouds, her form aglow with the backdrop of thunder. She falls to briny water, and without thought he’s left his cabin to dive right in after her, scooping the poor thing up to haul her back to the safety of a warm home, a roof above her head.

König wraps her in the only blanket that he has, feels her gaze on his back while he stokes a fire all for her as she sits and shivers, trying to gather her bearings. Human kindness is unexpected, unwarranted, really. She signals great storms, her talons cruel. He looks at her in awe when she nestles against his shoulder, her eyes locked to his, both faces warmed by the glow of crackling flames and comfort.

He tells her he isn’t worthy of an angel wasting her grace on him. She tells him that nothing sent barreling out of the sky like she had could be as pure as he believes.

[bluemerakis]

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ paper trails ❞

⤷ Word count: 2.5k

Pookies it was my birthday yesterday, so in honour of that, I wanted to write a lil something something with coryo 🤭 not anything grand, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless

═════════════════

WARNINGS:

Implied smut ig, teensy bit fluffy, just coryo being the cutest little gentleman ever (outside the bedroom)

SYNOPSIS:

There was nobody else that Coriolanus trusted more with his cherished garden of roses than you. You were the keeper of his flowers, tending to them with a delicacy that only you were capable of. He’d always admired that about you—how your green fingers always seemed to yield a larger bloom rate than his own ever did.

You’d always thought that you were nothing more than a district eleven nobody gardener to Coriolanus, but little did you know that he knew pretty much everything (however little) there was to know about your history, including your birthday. He gives you a gift of his own, an invitation he’s hoping you’ll accept so that he may celebrate your birthday with you—Coriolanus Snow style.

═════════════════

Crouched low to the ground, you bit back a hiss of pain as a thorn pricked the tip of your index finger, withdrawing your hand to wipe away the welling drop of red at your fingertip. You fashioned more conscious caution as you returned your hand to the culprit rose and gingerly bent the stem towards you, your other hand gripping a pair of garden scissors. You nipped the stem below the dying rose head, the decayed, featherlight petals drifting to the ground to form a scattered painting of a crime scene.

Each time you were forced to cut away the wilted flowers, a piece of your heart ached. It was a necessary practice in order to keep the bush healthy and set it up for a successful next season, but it didn’t hurt any less to know that you’d once poured as much effort into preserving that very flower, and now you would lay it to rest simply because it had lost all grace and beauty—and hence value. Funny, really, how much that concept seemed to equate to the real world.

Overhead, the sun seared on, taking full responsibility for the beads of sweat that now dribbled down your temples. You dropped your scissors to the ground, it’s fall cushioned by the decayed bodies of your rose victims, and wiped your dirt-strewn hand across your forehead with a sigh. You took a moment to glance around the garden of the Snow estate, your chest prickling with a sense of pride at the perfect order you’d managed to bring it to.

Coriolanus Snow didn’t much trust anyone to tinker with his garden, it was one of his most prized possessions—a symbol of sorts that only he knew the meaning of. No matter, he’d taken you in from the districts and trusted you enough with the duty of being his gardener, and he was a very generous host in return. You stayed on the property—in this very garden, in fact, in your own little rustic cottage. He didn’t often make a stop there, mostly tending to his own business, but there were a few occasions where he did manage to pass-by and would check in with you.

The last thing you’d expected him to be was generous—and kind. It was practically an unspoken rule in the Capitol for the higher classes to spit on and degrade anybody from the districts, merely because your lesser existence was offensive to their way of living. You had to admit that you didn’t much hold any love for the Capitol citizens, either, but you thought that your dislike of them was far more justifiable and valid.

But there was an air around Coriolanus Snow, not exactly the most humble, but he was far from boasting his wealth and luxury of a lifestyle from the rooftops of Panem. It was almost as though he were too afraid to, as though this life would and could be robbed from him in an instant. It gave you the impression that he was not like most other Capitol-born citizens—perhaps he’d known what poverty was like, whether it was him or someone he knew that had endured it. Maybe that was why he’d taken pity on your life in the district and offered you this opportunity to come and live with him in return for your services.

There were many possibilities at play, but because Coriolanus Snow was such an enigma of a man, there wasn’t much hope of closure. As if the mere thought of him was a summons, you heard footsteps clatter down the bricked walkway winding through the gardens, turning your head just in time to glimpse that signature red ensemble of the man who’d been plaguing your thoughts for the last hour or so.

You instinctively rose to full height to offer him a modest bow of greeting upon his arrival. It was a gesture he’d insisted on neglecting for the first few days of your presence here, but he’d soon after given up on the matter when he realised that you would not listen. Now, going off of the sheer delight that seemed to glint in those deep blue eyes, you thought he rather enjoyed the importance that your greeting seemed to imply.

“Mr. Snow,” you offered a formal greeting, feeling suddenly conscious at how ragged and sweat-stained your gardening dress had become under this hot weather. Quite frankly, you hadn’t expected him to pay a visit today, given the scorching weather. You only wished that you could have presented yourself in a better manner.

Coriolanus stood towering before you, his chin tilted down to glance you over as he merely said, “Coriolanus, please.”

You were hesitant at his correction, before offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Coriolanus,” you repeated softly, feeling out each syllable of his name. It felt odd to use his first name outside of your thoughts, but even then, you almost always addressed him by full name.

You noticed the way Coriolanus’ eyes had lowered down your figure, and the self-consciousness only seemed to worsen at the idea that he may be judging your appearance. But you were taken aback as he leaned forward to take your hands into his, his thumbs ghosting over the back of your hands before he turned them over to survey your palms. The way he cupped your hands in his felt far too intimate, and you hoped by the grace of all the Gods that the dirt plastered to your face was mask enough to hide the colour inevitably warming the apples of your cheeks.

“Have you not been using those gardening gloves I gave you?” Coriolanus asked as he trailed his thumb over the cuts littered around your palm and across your fingers. He lifted his eyes to yours, they were shaped with genuine concern.

You were taken aback at how blatantly careless he was in his handling of you, and for a second you almost felt like an equal in status. Capitol-born rarely laid their hands on district occupants, as though they feared the poverty and dirt they carried were a plague to be avoided at all costs.

It took you a few seconds to find your tongue. “No, I haven’t,” you admitted, then quickly added, “not for lack of trying, though. I’ve never used gloves, even back in the districts—they make it difficult to grab ahold of the stems, and I find that my cut becomes rather clumsy with them on. I prefer the unveiled contact with my greenery.”

The white-haired man seemed to nod with understanding, a faint smile stretching his full and soft lips. “I guessed as much,” he responded. The confusion that swept across your face prompted him to explain. “I never developed a taste for gloves, either. When I inherited this estate, the garden was in a ghastly state. No matter how many gardeners I managed to enlist, none of them could bring my roses to justice. For a while, I did all of the work myself, and the garden thrived.” He paused with a sudden and wistful look. “But as it seems, my time wore thin with all my newly acquired responsibilities, so I turned to the districts in hopes of finding a suitable gardener to continue my work.” He paused as his eyes lowered down to your hands once more. “And then I found you.”

Your heart lurched at the way Coriolanus’ fingers began to caress the curves of your palms. You felt that somewhere along the line, you had missed the part of the story where the two of you had grown close enough for this sort of intimacy. But even then, you didn’t find yourself withdrawing from his touch. It felt oddly soothing, the way he dragged a constant, rhythmic pressure across your torn and aching skin.

“Why did you choose me?” You asked suddenly, causing Coriolanus to lift his head with that lopsided smile.

“I just knew you were right for me,” he responded levelly. “When I found your stall, I watched you for a while—the way you tended the flowers and assembled the bouquets for that Capitol celebration order. I thought the work looked familiar, I’ve seen it decorating most—if not all of the foyers of the upper-class Capitol buildings. The bouquets have always had a signature crown to them—one flower in the centre that sits a little taller than the rest of them, like a king that gazes down across his people. I saw you do the very same thing with all of your orders, and I knew then that you were the popular artist whose flowers haunt me wherever I walk.”

You let slip a giggle at his last words, not caring for etiquette at this point. You thought that you’d long since left formalities behind when Coriolanus had taken up your hands.

“I was unaware of just how much of a fan you were, Mr. Snow,” you teased, instantly catching your fault and correcting yourself. “Coriolanus.”

“Involuntarily,” he chuckled, his smile quieting as his eyes flickered across your face rather intensely. You would have cowered away from his stare, had it been casted under a different circumstance. “In any case, I knew I had to have you. Your talent and potential would have been laid to waste crafting posies and ensembles for sanctimonious Capitol parties. I doubt either one of them could properly recognise and appreciate the true effort imbued into their side-piece decorations.”

You pursed your lips at those last words, feeling rather propelled by a sense of pride at his praise and recognition of your hard work. “Putting aside the “sidepiece decorations”—could you, Coriolanus, properly appreciate my work?”

“If you have to ask that, I’m afraid I’ve been too subtle in my efforts,” he responded. Your lips quirked at that, only to gape in slight shock as Coriolanus lifted both of your hands to his lips, and in elegant sequence, placed a tender kiss onto your knuckles.

You swore that the very skin of your hands shrank away from the feel of his soft lips, an explosion of shivers sent along your rigid arms. “Coriolanus—” you started softly, but he cut you off.

“I chose you because of what your potential had to offer me,” he said, slowly releasing your hands to return back to your sides, and there they quivered as he went on. “But also because I knew what I could offer you. Nobody understands the scars of labour more than I do—don’t forget that I’ve been kneeling in your place, doing your job, long before I brought you here. Gardening, it isn’t just an industry—it’s an art, one that very few can appreciate, letalone master. But you—you’ve perfected it. I’ve never seen flowers so full and abundant in bloom.”

“You’re being too generous.”

“No,” he politely disagreed, a faint smile trailing after. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due. Please, allow me to commemorate your hard work.” Your lips parted to question what he meant by those words, but you were silenced by the shuffling of his hands as he reached into his crimson blazer and pulled a white rose from concealment. “Take this.” He offered you the rose, and you gingerly accepted it.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it wasn’t a real rose at all—not all of it, at least, but one whose petals were expertly shaped from paper. The stem of it was real, but the thorns had been carefully carved away, the leaves left behind already starting to wither at the edges.

“Coriolanus,” you breathed, tilting the paper rose in every direction to marvel at its beauty. “This is so beautiful. I never pegged you for an arts and crafts guy,” you added with a chuckle.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “It was one of the ways Tigris and I used to pass time as kids.”

You glanced up in faint surprise at the mention of Tigris. When Coriolanus had risen to power and status, shorty after inheriting the Plinth fortune, it was very difficult for his history to remain private. Everybody—even the districts, knew that Tigris was his older cousin, and that their relationship following his newly acquired fortune had since been estranged. After all, it was difficult to conceal the fact that his cousin no longer partook in his life, staying separated in her living quarters as well as neglecting the courtesy of attending his events of honour to show support.

You wondered whether Coriolanus ever regretted growing so distant with Tigris, but as you silently gazed at him, his expression let on not even the slightest hint of his thoughts or feelings on the matter. He was fashioned from composure, the only way to truly get an answer would be to hear it straight from his lips. But you wouldn’t pick at that particular scab, not when you had hardly known each other for more than a month—or spoken for more than a few minutes.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” you told him, gently clasping the stem between your fingers. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity,” Coriolanus said. You furrowed your brows. He made a slight gesture of his chin toward the rose, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. “I left some notes on the petals. Feel free to read it once I’ve taken my leave.”

Your tilted down to the rose, your eyes narrowing in an effort to spot said note on the paper petals. After twirling the rose around for quite a bit, you managed to find the neat scribble of his handwriting nestled into the middle ring of petals. Before you had the chance to read the first word, Coriolanus’ voice stirred your focus.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said before offering a smile and turning to take his leave from the garden.

You lifted your head and watched him disappear around a winding corner. “Goodbye!” You called after him, not sure he’d heard you at all. You turned your attention back to the rose and manoeuvred your fingers between the various paper petals, managing to find the beginning of the note. You push down the first petal and began reading it’s contents:

Your breath hitched in your throat at that last sentence. Coriolanus Snow, you little flirt, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the flush of your cheeks as you entertained that possibility. You pushed the thought away as you continued reading:

You chuckled at that statement. You weren’t going to be the one to say it. You bent down the last petal, the writing a lot less than the last few notes.

You averted your attention to the pathway that Coriolanus had long since disappeared along, your heart brimming with a sudden warmth. Nobody, other than your now deceased family, knew of your birthday. It had never been anything special, only a grim tally of your miserable years in the district.

You wondered how he’d come to obtain this information, and you realised then just how true to his word he’d been—he very likely did know every single thing about you. But you hated being perceived, especially by somebody you knew nothing about. So you decided then and there that you would take up his offer on tonight’s dinner,

And then, you intended to find out his every secret.

═════════════════

This was so fun and refreshing to write. I’ve got about 7 unfinished drafts sitting around that I’ve been working on now and again, but I’ve been itching to get something complete and posted—so although this is something small, at least it’s something lmao. Sorry to disappoint y’all smut lovers, but I’ve got to keep it clean now and again.

Anyways, I just turned 19 yesterday, which feels surreal because I’m literally just a 17 year old teenage girl. I don’t think I’ll ever feel grown up. Every birthday is a goddamn existential crisis 😭

I hope you enjoyed this, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Mwah!

𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Guardian of the Library | Yandere Raiden Tameemon

Yandere Pantheon College AU (5/7) | Master List

The thing about being the librarian at The Pantheon College meant you had the beautifully neutral position as a keeper of the college’s extensive library. So while you spent your working days reading what you liked while occasionally checking books and movies out to students, things were peaceful. Now on the off chance the different groups of students decide that the library was the place to fight you had the luxury of calling security and apparently, the mere mention of the job had people running. So you were pleased to rely on this mysterious person to scare the naughty kids away. That is until he came to you. 

The beast of a man easily collided and broke the wall of the raised entryway, tiredly yawning as he scanned the library. His brown eyes slowly take in your slice of heaven until landing on you. From there it was history.

You were nose-deep in a fantasy novel, the world you were reading about was on the cusp of war the romance finally reaching its peak. It was miraculous that you noticed him when you did. Standing so monstrously tall he somehow blocked out the light from the decadent chandelier that adorned the ceiling above your desk. 

“Can I help you sir?”

“So you like books huh?”

The smile on his face was far too wide and the muscles squeezing at the restraints of his white t-shirt told you this wasn’t going to be a question about books. With a sigh, you tucked your book away and scooted closer to your desk. 

“I do, now what was it you needed sir?”

“Your number if you don’t mind!”

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Rolling your eyes you prepare to reach for the line-connected phone, setting your hand beside it in a silent threat. 

“Look kid I’m far too old for you and if you think harassing the staff is going to get you a date then you’d be sorely mistaken.” Watching his expression drop and his mouth open up, you held your finger up. “If you aren’t here to check out a book, I’ll have to call security on you sir.”

His smile returned again and he leaned on the desk, completely engulfing you in his shadow. 

“So feisty! That is my favorite type!”

“I mean it kid I’m going to call!”

He laughed again and you had had enough, picking up the phone you dialed the number. The ring was audibly loud, making you hope that that would have this student running. But it didn’t. He just stood there smiling.

Then there was ringing again.

But if wasn’t from your phone.

And it wasn’t the default ringing from before.

Instead, it was some J-Pop tune that just kept going on

Until the giant man pulled out his phone declining the call. 

“Well guess I’ve got one of your numbers now. So when’s your lunch?”

Great.

Just great.

“I don’t leave for lunch. I eat here. So you’re better off finding someone—”

“Awesome I’ll just come back here for my lunches then!”

You wanted to groan loudly more than ever but there were usuals already watching through the shelves. Relenting you figured it’ll be less noisy to let the giant security guard come in and do as he pleased. 

Plus having the guard dog of the school hanging around might not be so bad.

______________________________________________________________

“Oi, you work here right?”

You’d already been floating around this group for a while now. They weren’t regulars and they came in already looking in one section of the library. 

Tameemon wasn’t here  On account that there was some more violent activity on campus, he couldn’t spend all his time pestering you. He whined about it the first time someone called you since he wasn’t picking up. 

Even if you could call him, you didn’t want to be dependent on that guy.

“Tell this rag that book is mine, I had it first!”

His cronies hovering around all nodded, occasionally threatening the quivering kid clutching a book in the fetal position. One of your regulars. Immediately you recognized the book he was carrying—one of his latest finds. There was no shot these rowdy hooligans had this book first. 

“On the account that I’ve seen him start this book earlier today. I’m quite certain he had this book first.”

“Hah!?”

“Don’t you see all of us! We’re witnesses!”

“Biased witnesses that haven’t stepped foot in this library before today. Now please if you can’t quietly resolve this I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The whole group was getting angry, you figured this might cause problems later. Which is why it surprised you when the main aggressor grabbed you by your collar, nearly lifting you off the ground. 

“You wanna say that again to me, booknerd!?”

THWACK!

It’d been a while since you punched someone, you briefly shook your hand at the burning in your knuckles. You’d have to put ice on that later. Holding your forearms up you slipped off your shoes to finally put some of your training to use. 

“Y-you hit me!?”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you bother me or the peace of this library.”

The whole group looked irate, some tensing up and getting ready to run. It would be six to one. Hardly a fair fight but one you didn’t mind. If it was for your library you’d be willing to take however many you needed to.

“You’re gonna pay for this–”

Lunging at you, you were ready to take him down or at least do your best to try. That is until a dark shadow overtook you and with a sigh you let your guard down. The large hands took you by your waist, gently putting you to the side before Tameemon stood in front. 

“I can finally go all out on you little rats!”

“W–w-wait no!”

“H-hold on man t-they swung on his first!”

“Y-yeah! It’s not our fault!”

Tameemon cracked his knuckles and tilted his head in a mock stretch. 

“Then all the more reason to join the fight.”

Tameemon pulled some salt from his pocket throwing it up in the air, and then a sadistic smile spread across his face.

Escorting the now uncurled student away from the scene, the screams and hollering of the ones dumb enough to mess around your library bounced off its walls. Sending the students still in the library out you made a call to the janitor, telling him to swing by after the campus classes ended.

Looking at the aftermath trumped any gorey horror book you could enjoy. The remains of the students were beyond battered, some of their limbs looked as though they had imploded. Gooey oozing red chunks scattered around with bits of bone, their faces resembling a cartoonish recreation of eating something sour.

“So did I do good?”

NaturallyTameemon was covered in blood, his shirt in tatters, and his fists drenched in blood. The blood that was on the wall, wasn’t something to be proud of and neither does the blood drenching the carpet beneath his feet. But the bookshelf was clean…. meaning the books were fine.

“If you’re talking about the books then…yes, you did a good job..”

“Enough for a kiss?”

“Mmmm.”

“Plleeeaaaassseee!”

“I don’t know how you are going to explain the bodies to the other side.”

“It’s fine the janitor’s cool! Cool enough to let us make out in their closet.”

“Maybe if you didn’t scar my regular.”

“What?! Come on I’m sure he didn’t see anything. C’mon, baby!”

[gingiesworld]

Hey

I wanted to ask i you can write some thing about fem reader who can shift into an huge wolf and natasha who finds out. Mary something fluffy with a bit Angst :)

Btw i love your storys, your a really good writer

Secrets (Drabble)

Natasha Romanoff x Werewolf Fem Reader/ Wanda Maximoff x Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Angst and fluff

A/N: Thank you nonnie for this request and your sweet words <3

18+ MINORS DNI

Natasha thought she knew everything about Y/N from the moment they had become official. Although Y/N had a secret that only Wanda knew about, especially as the two have a history with Hydra. Although Wanda had volunteered thinking she was doing it to save her country, Y/N was captured because of her bloodline.

Wanda was in control of being her keeper, she helped with calming her down whenever she felt overwhelmed or like she was going to lose control. But the friendship between the two didn't go unnoticed by the assassin. Jealousy had sparked something from within and she found herself questioning her relationship with Y/N.

"Do you want a fresh drink?" Y/N asked her at one of Tony's parties.

"Please." Nat smiled at her as Y/N took her glass and headed to the kitchen. Smiling as she got the drinks but soon as she spotted Steve sitting a little too close to Natasha, she felt anger and rage as Nat looked uncomfortable.

"Just a moment Vis." Wanda told him as she noticed Y/N's stare, heading straight for her best friend and dragging her outside the compound. "Just breathe Y/N." Wanda tried as Y/N paced.

"I just." She tried to speak but her breathing increased. It was Vision who had went to ask Natasha to follow him since they both had a plan to catch the two in the act. But what they never realised was that it was the complete opposite to how they thought.

"Y/N." Wanda spoke in a soothing voice, Y/N shook her head no as her body started to change. Her screams filled the air as the bones broke as they changed form. Once Y/N had fully changed, Vision went into protective mode and flew over to tackle Y/N away from Wanda. "VISION!!" She yelled as she used her powers to stop his movements.

Nat slowly approached the the three of them with caution.

"She is dangerous Wanda." He told her as Wanda shook her head no.

"She has nevet hurt me in all of the years we have known each other." Wanda told him through gritted teeth as she went to check on Y/N, running her hands through Y/N's hair as she whimpered.

"What is going on?" Nat questioned as she watched both Wanda and Y/N in her wolf form.

"She is from a long line of werewolves and she was taken by Hydra." Wanda told her. "Hydra had her kill someone in order to activate the curse and ever since I have been their for her."

"I just." Nat looked at Y/N's whimpering form.

"Y/N had never cheated on you." Wanda stated. "Sorry, it's just that your thoughts are very loud and I couldn't control it." Nat just nodded as she gazed at the grey wolf. "Y/N loves you so much Natasha and she comes to me when she fears she can't control herself. She is afraid of hurting you so she kept this secret from you."

"She's hurt." Nat stated as she noticed the blood on her fur.

"She will heal." Wanda told her. "There is a lot that comes with this knowledge Natasha and Y/N needs you to be impartial."

"I love her Wanda and I will not go anywhere." Natasha spoke firmly as she knelt beside Y/N. "This secret won't come between us." Wanda smiled as she watched the assassin started to stroke Y/N's fur. "I don't care that she turns into a wolf, all I care about is her health and happiness."

"I love you too Natasha." Y/N whispered as they soon noticed Y/N had changed back, Wanda was fast to give her the hoodie she had on to cover her bare form. "And I am sorry that I felt as though I couldn't trust you with this."

"That's ok." She whispered as she brushed Y/N's hair from her face. "Let's get you inside and we can have a bath and watch a movie."

"I would love that." Y/N kissed her softly as Wanda cleared her throat.

"Well, I guess I best get Vision in line before he gets everyone to turn on Y/N." Wanda told the two as she soon disappeared, leaving the two lovers under the stars as Nat pulled her back in for a loving kiss.

[arealphrooblem]

A Lost Cause Part 2

Synopsis: The trusted keeper of all the Heroes' secrets, Civilian's existence is kept a tightly guarded secret itself. So how did the villain find her? And how will she withstand the attempts of his scientist to break her open and discover those secrets himself?

CW: nonconsensual drugging, medical whump, medical experimentation, needles/IV insertion, mentions wounds from torture, torture recovery, captivity

The anticipation of what might happen each time he walked into the room was almost worse than actual torture. His words ran on a loop in her head as she dozed in and out of deep sleep.

I am dying to create the tools that will break you open.

But each time he visited, he did nothing but check vitals, change bandages, survey her progress, feed her. Slowly she worked her way up from broth to solid food, from sleeping most of the day to sleeping at night, from needing a catheter to walking to the bathroom herself once the bottoms of her feet were healed (and that was not a fun day, no sir).

The scientist refused to answer her questions outright unless she offered up answers of her own. Each day they ended in a stalemate, which he seemed to find amusing.

He refused even his name. Eventually she just started calling him the doctor, because he treated her like one. Despite her captivity, despite the ominous warning Vanderbilt gave her in the interrogation room, despite her overwhelming vulnerability, he treated her with polite and patient professionalism.

She tried to give him the same courtesy. Whatever his future plans were, he had given her the space and time to heal back to full strength. She would make sure he regretted that. But first she had to look cooperative and weak.

A few days after shedding both the catheter and the bandages on her feet and thighs, the doctor strolled in not with his usual stethoscope, but with a clipboard and a pen.

Her gut did not like that.

“Your recovery is chugging along quite spectacularly,” he said, clicking the pen. “Which means we are almost ready to start the clinical trials. Of course, before I give you anything, I will need you to answer a few questions about your medical and family history.”

“Clinical trials for what?” she asked, feeling like she swallowed a stone.

“For my experiments, of course,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Why did you think I’ve been helping you recover? Pity? The goodness of my heart?”

“What experiments?” she demanded.

“Oh I have several in mind for you. But first, a few questions.”

“Sure, of course,” she said, deeply scathing. “Let’s make it easier for you to torture me. I’ll jump right on that.”

“You should, if you want greater chances of survival. I need to know your allergies, cancer risks, medications you’ve been on, previous surgeries, or else I could accidentally kill you. You’re a very special experiment. I’d rather not lose you so soon to such a preventable cause.”

It made her blood run cold, the casual way he voiced her probable death, as if  he equated it with the disappointment of prematurely expired raspberries. An inconvenience, but there’s always more.

The worst part was that he had a point. What would be the purpose of her team rescuing her in a blaze of glory if she had died of anaphylactic shock?

So through gritted teeth, she answered all of his medically relevant questions. He wrote each down dutifully on his clipboard.

“And your name?” he asked finally.

She pursed her lips into a thin line and glared at him. He nodded.

“Not today, then. No worries. That will be the first thing you give me with the success of my first experiment.”

A knot formed in her stomach. “What’s the first experiment?” she couldn’t help but ask.

He smiled enigmatically. “You’ll find out when the time comes.”

She waited a few minutes after the door shut before she tip-toed to the window. The only thing she could see outside was a sheer cliff and water for miles. Probably the ocean, but she couldn’t open the window to tell. It was nailed shut.

Wherever she was, it looked far from civilization. Maybe that was why, after what had to be at least a month if not more, that her team hadn’t found her yet. They were city people. Superheros rarely had to venture into the rural countryside, let alone a place this remote.

Such reassurances did not cure the unease in the back of her mind that something didn’t add up.

Now that she had recovered, fatigue did not weigh her down so much and boredom began to creep in it’s place. The doctor offered her a handful of novels, mostly pulp scifi and dystopian literature. She read them and re-read them so often she could quote passages from each one. When the doctor finally appeared in her room with a small, rolling table of syringes and an IV needle, the jolt of adrenaline was almost euphoric in the face of the mind numbing monotony of her days.

“You seem eager for our first experiment,” the doctor said with a bemused quirk of his lips.

“Ecstatic,” she deadpanned, ignoring the jolt in her heart. “I can’t wait for you to kill me with whatever ungodly chemical is in that.”

He chuckled, pushing the cart next to her bed.  “You’re right in that God has nothing to do with what I create. But it is not my goal to kill you —  the opposite in fact. I try to limit risks as much as possible. There is only one you, after all.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Is it not?” It was almost comical how he blinked at her in innocent confusion.

She just glared at him in return, which he cheerfully ignored as he slipped the latex gloves on with a snap. He even hummed a little as he pulled open the packaging for the IV needle and the alcohol wipe.  

Meanwhile her gut churned and frothed in horrible anticipation. She had gone through literal torture but this scared her more. When knives or brands or electric cattle prods came out, at least she knew what they did. No one knew what would happen as a result of this experiment, not even him. At least the goal of torture was to keep you alive as long as possible. These experiments could kill her. These could be her last living moments.

Fear tainted her every breath but just as she did in the face of her torturers, she refused to let it show on her face. Instead she stared resolutely out the window, at the glint of the water in the sunlight.

“Deep breath,” he murmured just before she felt the sharp pain of the IV needle.

Her gaze darted to him, drawn like a magnet to the sight of him tapping the air bubbles from the syringe. Nausea roiled inside her.  She fought hard against the urge to rip the IV out before he could inject the serum. Instead, she could only watch in horrified resignation as it flowed through the IV drip.

“And now we wait,” he said, flashing her that polite smile, as if they were sitting in a doctor’s office.

He removed his dark tinted glasses and sat down at the love seat.

“We wait?” she cried. “Wait for what?”

The anticipation of the IV alone nearly drove her mad and now this?

He shrugged. “Ideally your mind should relax into an altered state where you forget you’re not supposed to keep your secrets and you tell me whatever information I desire. However, that didn’t work well back with Vanderbilt and I’m not expecting much success this time. I just want to see how you react to these sorts of chemicals.”

“So you’re just fucking around with my brain?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” He crossed his legs and tapped his thumbs on his knees, the picture of nonchalance. She never wanted to hit him so much.

“What if it does nothing? What if you failed?”

“Failure is just important data I didn’t have before. I’m not afraid of failure.”

You should be she thought bitterly.

But of course it wasn’t his life on the line.

When the effects hit her, it wasn’t nothing. All the muscles in her body locked up and spasmed. She could do nothing but writhe in the bed and scream. It felt worse than all her other torture combined.

By the time she finally blacked out, she couldn’t scream anymore.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

The Tryskelion Prophecy

It's about time I introduced the most recent wip I started working on!

In the shrouded twilight of Tenebraethia, beneath a sky that knew neither day nor night, the whispers of an ancient prophecy lingered like mist—spoken of only in hushed tones and forgotten texts. The Noxthorne family name had long carried with it both honor and burden, its legacy bound to the fate of the very world itself.

Within that legacy, a prophecy emerged: The Tryskelion Prophecy

Eirlys, the firstborn, was the Sentinel of the Dreamworld. Her power extended beyond the waking world, into the realm where thoughts drifted and futures were shaped. She could walk among the dreams of others, twisting them into visions of what could be—or what might never come to pass. Yet Eirlys struggled against the mantle of leadership, her heart yearning for the simplicity of love and life free from prophecy. Her gift was a blessing, but to her, it often felt more like a curse.

Eirinia, the second-born, wielded the past itself. She was the Memory Keeper, capable of unraveling and reconstructing the annals of history, altering consciousness, and bending memories to her will. To her, knowledge was the greatest weapon—yet she resented the fact that her elder sister, Eirlys, was viewed as the true heir of their lineage. Why should she, who held the power of the past in her very hands, be overshadowed by the one who merely glimpsed into the future? Her envy simmered, though her love for her sisters kept it in check—for now.

And then there was Eivy, the youngest, but in many ways, the strongest. She was the Life Shaper, connected to the pulse of the earth, able to breathe life into what was once dead. Her power was the most tangible of the three, yet her role was no less daunting. Eivy was the heart of the triad, the one who sought to keep her sisters united when the prophecy threatened to tear them apart. But even she, with all her optimism, feared what lay ahead—a future in which their bond might not be strong enough to withstand the weight of their fates.

Together, they were the Tryskelion, sisters bound by a prophecy as old as Tenebraethia itself. The world saw them as saviors, yet the path before them was fraught with peril. The Noxthorne Sisters and the Tryskelion Prophecy foretold not just of their rise, but of the trials they would face—the betrayal that would come from within, the sacrifice that would be demanded of them, and the choices that could either save their world or plunge it into darkness.

It spoke of triplets—three who would rise from the shadows of their bloodline, three who would hold the power to reshape reality itself and save their people from certain chaos. They were the Noxthorne Tryskelion, sisters born under the celestial light of a comet, their gifts forever entwined by fate, their destinies imbued into the very essence of their universe.

Dreams, memories, and the cycle of life itself—each sister held dominion over one realm, and alone? She would never fulfill her destiny. It is only together that they can unlock the true power of the Tryskelion.

But as the prophecy unfolded, and the weight of their legacy pressed down on them, only one question became clear:

Would their bond, potently forged in obscure blood and magic—be strong enough to withstand the storm that has come?

[horizon-verizon]

I read this thread that I found quite interesting if you want to check it out

https://x.com/darksvster/status/1817785978708480244

Rhaenyra is in a way turning into a cult leader a la Paul Atreides, believing herself to be the prince who was promised, recruiting smallfolk who have nothing to lose and sending them to their deaths to fight in her name, its a very prevalent theme actually. The dragon keepers being appalled by the massacre this will cause but her insisting on it, its a descent into self glory and obsession. The more she gets closer to the Iron Throne the more it corrupts her which is why I’m absolutely sure they will include her getting cut as soon as she sits on it. Let’s face it, as much as I hate to admit it, misogyny isn’t a main theme in HOTD.

When I heard Ryan described this scene as cult behaviour and Rhaenyra acting as a “pastor”, my mind went straight to the Shepherd (a strong follower of the Faith of the Seven), they’d be the different sides of the same coin, Rhaenyra brought down these gods, here they slaughtered the smallfolk but at the Storming of Dragonpit, it’s the smallfolk destroying them.

And if you take into consideration that the prophecy was proven false in GOT and how HOTD is trying to hammer down the idea that monarchies and especially Targaryen ones are terrible, it leads you to the idea that anyone who thinks them selves as the savior is a false prophet. Viserys told her about the prophecy to make her pursuit of the throne more legitimate and peaceful, however it ended up making her more unhinged because she now believes herself a prophet when its all a farce, neither she nor her descendants will be the saviors IN SHOW LORE (please don’t misunderstand me, I know that in the books, the prince that was promised and Azor Ahai are Daenerys and no one else).

Didn't watch the episode, so this is pretty helpful and explains a lot why I kept seeing Rhaenys-cult leader in my Twitter timeline. How interesting...

Always remember that Condal came from a Catholic school (I also did but you don't see me trying to make a canonically family/woman who never really had much enthusiasm for religion religiously cultish...)

Rhaenyra never tried to build any sort of cult around herself or dragons

dragons always choose their own rider, so the dragonkeepers protesting Rhaenyra having lowborns have access to dragons is more classism than religiousness still wouldn't make any sense besides bc 1) they'd be going against their dragon-gods' wishes/authority 2) there's no proof of them even coming from Valyrian families... unlike in the orig lore, in the show they seem to be randos who can speak Old Valyrian and have ritualistic practices concerning dragons as literal gods/reps of gods

Old Valyrian dragonlords were never particularly religiously "devoted" or defined themselves through gods even with them having their own gods as they had a multireligious state in Old Valyria....at least comparatively to other peoples, inlcu the andals, who are actually the ones who you'd say were religiously cultish with their carving Seven symbols in their foreheads and later talking something close to Manifest destiny to explain how/why the fled Essos (when it was more liekly bc of the Valyrians)

the dragonkeepers have never in all of history been in the authority to deny a Targ anything based on any sort of separate and independent authority OR religious beliefs bc their role was just to guard dragons/their eggs/their lairs

AND

that he's mainly trying to create a story he's always wanted to see as a fan of GRRM's work (BigThink article):

So, yeah, all this matters for the exact direction you predict and I dislike this concept.

[lol-jackles]

Walker review, episode 7 "Hold me now"

It's a beautiful golden morning and Cordell prepares to fix breakfast of egg and bacon for August but he's already half-way out the door. Come on Auggie, it's bacon, everybody loves bacon! Cordell puts away the egg and bacon and opt for cereal while he reads James' book on a serial killer. Cereal, serial, get it? I slay me.

Little did August know that morning would be the last time his dad would be there for him, and he'd going to wish he had stayed for breakfast.

At Ranger HQ, Cordell is leading the team search for the serial killer called the jackal who was previously dormant but now back and have killed 2 people. Cordell's first choice of suspect, a wife abuser, turned up to be a dead end but that doesn't slow him down. The following day he picks another suspect from the bottom of the least suspicious list, a former zoo keeper whose zoo was the closest site of the first victim. Nobody is on board with Cordell's theory so he's like, no problem, I'll check the defunct zoo myself. Cassie refuse to let Cordell go alone and Luna invites himself along.

The trio arrives at the creepy abandoned zoo and only the audience see the decayed corpse of an animal, a jackal with missing teeth, which is the killer's calling card. Luna and Cassie find a disturbing underground room filled with tools of the killer's trade. Cordell finds fresh tracks and chases a distant figure, who escapes after he ambushes Cordell and knocks him out. Though the killer remains free, the rangers are closer than they've ever been in years and his lair will provide much needed data for a profile.

Cordell is upset that he was so close to catching the killer and is more determined than ever to finish the job. He returns home to find Liam upset that history is repeating itself, Cordell is neglecting his family and Liam is picking up the slack. Cordell says he will make it up to his children and tells Liam to stop being so dramatic. (At this point I', convinced Ben is running the horse rescue.)

Both men are correct and there's no easy answer. A serial killer is on the loose and catching it is not a 9 to 5 job. There's an expectation that public service jobs mean some family times has to be scarified. I know a family that has 3 generations of firefighters, they never spent a single Thanksgiving and Christmas together as a family because the men are too busy putting out kitchen fires and/or fireplace fires caused by idiots. Mothers Day is the only holiday that most criminals take a break from their usual criminal activities.

Cordell goes to his study room filled with research on the jackal and it is revealed that he stole evidence from the killer's lair, a length of rope. Cordell tightly wraps the rope around his wrist as if he's trying to get into the mind of the killer and looking through his eyes. In an earlier scene, Cassie said zoo keeping isn't that much different from ranching and pointedly looks at Cordell.

Sidenote, Luna and Cassie finds the killer's note written in capitalized letters, which is the same style Luna wrote in his love note to Cassie. I really hope this is a red herring for Cassie's sake, her two previous dates literally tried to kill Cordell: for a cause and for revenge, respectively. Cassie doesn't need the third romance to turn out to be another psycho and also I need the three of them to go undercover at a Shadow Hawk convention.

Speculation #4: the Jackal is a member of the survivor network and encouraged people like Henry to blame innocent people. He knew Luna was undercover at the motel and learned his handwriting style to feed false leads to the survivor network.

Score: 9.7 out of 10.  We get to see why Cordell is the best ranger as the stakes are deepening. A point 2 deduction for the stalled necklace mystery, another point 2 deduction for Bonham and Abeline subplot about derailed retirement plans. Point 1 given back for August maturing and being a good kid.

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 1

Synopsis: The Doctor notices a student. She notices him.

a/n: thank u to the moots for sticking with me. Yall are the best. This is going to be a series. Somewhat of a dark!doctor ish fic maybe. I haven't planned this far. I have ideas. Will switch between a 3rd party but doctor centric POV and a 2nd party student centric POV.

The sun drew itself in on the cold day, light filtering through large windows in the lecture hall. It caught and reflected the motes of light swirling around. First day of the Spring term. Lots of new students trickled in and found their respective seats. Of course, the syllabus was now online and such. But the Doctor still preferred to give a paper one. He felt it helped students focus if they had it real and tangible…unable to forget.

Just like he forgot so much. A lingering pain….

He started up his usual dazzling spiel. Enough to keep them from dropping out, but not enough to rile them to madness. He learned that lesson early on in this particular charade he was distracting himself with. All he had to really do was keep Missy in the Vault and attempt to rehabilitate her. Humans were such a delicate group to keep balanced. Too much stimulation and they would self destruct. Not enough? The same but in a reverse spiral.

Or just fall asleep.

He preferred it if a few actually did fall asleep.

Allowed him to build a reputation as a teacher. Keep the act up.

He didn’t notice the young woman intently staring, writing down the key phrases from his opening statements. He was enraptured in the normal routine he has become familiar with.

The hour came to a close, and he did a bow. He was to visit Missy again some time soon. Just a cursory check. See if she’d calmed down from her last temper tantrum, where she demanded a saxophone and stated that Billy Clinton was also a war criminal, but made some sweet jazz.

He could hardly agree. She already was a mediocre piano player. And the drum set she demanded earlier lay in tatters in her cupboard.

Being her keeper and therapist was rotten work, but it warmed him. Gave him a gram of hope that she may get better and he may have his friend back once more.

Though, he knew in both is hearts, hope could be a fragile thing for a man to hold onto.

But, especially in this body, he believed in redemption and change. They both had forever to change. They had forever.

A few weeks had passed, and he noticed that keen eyes were burning the back of his neck as he scrawled on the chalkboard. It felt different than the usual glazed-over focus of people trying to write or type out his valid points. It was hot and felt more personal. Less trying to pass a class.

He paused his sentence and raked his eyes over. It was a student with large gold hoops and a few tangled gold necklaces. The Doctor recognized two or three of the symbols used on some of them from his travels through Earth’s history. She was chewing hard on her pen. He could see flecks of her tinted chap stick clinging onto the sides of it. Her eyes were squinted slightly and a slight patch of blush rested on her checks. He couldn’t tell if it was a make up look or some feverish feature of her human body. Perhaps she was in the first phases of getting sick!

He went back to his lecture. Some misfocused student was the least of his concern.

But he still felt her eyes bore into him. Intent on something. He trudged on.

He came to a close, reminded everyone of their upcoming projects and let the day start to rest. The Doctor announced that his office hours were changing to represent the spring coming soon and to “Allow you all to feel the sun on your faces, you don’t know how long you’ll have. Humans usually only live once!”

He scanned the audience and saw her shoving her notebook and that well-gnawed on pen into her bag. Big purse with a rhinestone buckle. Resembled something that Rose or Jackie would have had, he mused.

She slung that and a tote bag that seemed overstuffed and ripe for the breaking over her shoulder. She audibly groaned under the weight. He pitied her. The stressed look she had on her face was oddly enchanting in the light just starting to sink.

He knew she was struggling in the class. She did good work, yes. When he opened up questions and debate, she usually had such pointed takes that verged on mind-racing. Sometimes others would bristle against what she said on the more provocative topics he offered up. Essays and tests? Not so much. She floundered.

She had accommodations for some diagnosis or whatever. He could tell her mind was making connections in a far more tangential way than the other’s either couldn’t or wouldn’t make. And for that he did like her. Enjoyed what she brought to the table. Although, even his brains had difficulty making some of the leaps her brain did.

But why was she staring at him like that today? It was almost reverent. Very off putting.

She came forward to his desk and clicked open her notes app .

“Erm…Professor.” She cleared her throat and started up. “Uh, I was wondering if I could see you sooner rather than later. For office hours. I’m sorry for my late essay last week. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I can’t focus and I feel like I’m losing my mind half the time lately. May I have some insight or whatever you want on how I could do better. I know I’m doing…like, so bad.” She confessed and exhaled on the final note of her punctuation.

She turned a new type of stare towards him. Less intense and personal and more of a thousand-yard death grip.

Her entire demeanor in this moment was very lamb like. A confused air of innocent need to do well, to pass her classes, clouded her.

A weaker man would have felt more predatory, he noted.

She wasn’t unattractive for a human, not like past companions he worshiped the ground of. Of course. He was drawn to them for their natures, often ignoring their faces wholesale.

She started to chew and rip at her pinky nail and lower lip simultaneously…

“Of course,” He said. “I have to go help a friend with something, so I have to talk and walk.”

She nodded eagerly and gave such an appreciative smile. “Thanks!” The words came out so quickly, almost breathlessly.

She trotted along side him.

Once outside, they started discussing her options. She had to work nights, she stated, she said so they were arranging a time to work in a little extra help and tutoring.

He genuinely enjoyed her company and led her to a bench.

“What about your friend?” She asked.

“Oh, Nardole can handle himself.” He smiled. “He’ll not miss me for an extra four or five minutes.”

She laughed a bit.

She plunged her hand into her purse and started rifling around. It was a chaotic sight.

She produced a pack of cigarettes and a tiny green plastic lighter.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to quit, but it’s been hell lately.” She grimaced.

He shook his head, no, he didn’t mind. It wouldn’t affect him. Her, yes. But one little luxury, especially if she was trying to quit.

“So long as it’s your last for a while.” He took the teacherly route.

She lit up and took a huge drag. Closing her eyes he noticed that deep look of exhaustion had given her dark purple and almost black under eye circles. She had apparently tried to cover them up with some make up products and some mascara and smudged eyeliner. She held that breath in for a few seconds. It was almost beautiful.

She exhaled and fluttered them open. The smoke wisped and flew away quickly in the gentle breeze.

“Yeah, thanks. People get so weird about smoking. But they’ll vape? Like, indoors. All the time.” She rolled her eyes at that mildly hypocrisy.

They planned for her to meet up with him in his office on Monday just before the lunch hour. Then turned the conversation to some topics in debate that another student, a male who irked her with his constant urge to play Devil’s Advocate. She had some very often-overlooked viewpoints and a very bizarre way of describing things. It was enchanting.

“Thanks.” She ignored a boundary and squeezed his hand. He felt a holy jolt of electricity go up his arm from the small touch. “I gotta go…you’ve got a friend. Works been slow and I have some…appointments. So I have to make sure I’m perfect.” She elaborated with an almost tic-like shake of her head.

“Yes, my friend is probably going insane dealing with our little issue.” He responded in kind. Missy had probably caused Nardole to melt down or malfunction.

He watched her leave towards the bus stop. Her bags hitting her back as she rushed. Her coat barely covering her bottom and the belt caught in the hem of it. He felt himself feeling almost physically unable to leave the bench. Something tugging at his gut was preventing him from doing so. It felt akin to what River and Clara evoked in him but different.

River and Clara were strong and capable, avant-garde. Self-confident. Cocky. But this student was seemingly the inverse. Very vulnerable and nervous to the point of a near imperceptible, even to him with his keen Time Lord senses, shake and a heart that was audibly racing in its cage. Coupled with her addiction to cigarettes and minor tendency towards self mutilation via near-constant picking and chewing…

Something dark, but heartwarming rushed through his core and took root.

He felt himself deeply looking forward to Monday.