#foggy gateway

[grimspirit]

[oneofafew]

@morelikeravenbore inspired me with their Sebastian Fluff Alphabet and I’ve done one for our perfect boy Ominis.

I am currently battling a fever so my brain is slightly more foggy than usual so bear with me if the details aren’t as in depth as I would have liked to go. I may revise!

Disclaimer: purely my own head canons based off my own perceptions and writing

Without further ado

🐍 Ominis Gaunt Fluff Alphabet 🐍

A - Attractive - what do they find attractive about their partner?

Being blind Ominis is going to base his attraction to touch and smell as well as the sound of your voice, there is nothing he finds more adorable than the sounds of his love ones laugh, he’s attracted to someone with similar values as his and finds himself inexplicably drawn to those he feels need taking under wing and providing guidance to.

B - Body - what is their favourite part of their partner’s body?

Their hands without a doubt, it’s his gateway to the world so he is always found holding or kissing them especially in private

C - Cuddle - how do they like to cuddle?

Despite being relatively reserved he insists on being the big spoon, purely so he can burrow his head in their hair and inhale their intoxicating scent, don’t let him always have his way though that boy needs some comfort even if he won’t admit it he secretly loves being held by his partner.

D - Dates - what does their ideal date look like?

Raised in higher classes his dates may be somewhat old fashioned and stiff to begin with, formally asking you by letter rather than verbally, always the proper gentleman he needs some time to relax and come out of his shell before he’s doing anything spontaneous

E - Equal - are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Ominis absolutely lives by the trope he should take care of his partner, he has strong opinions and this often materialises as dominance

F - Fight - would they find it easy to forgive their partner? how are they fighting?

He is well versed in navigating arguments in a mature and gentlemanly manner, he would never raise his voice and is an excellent communicator though can become quickly frustrated if his partner isn’t seeing his side of things and is prone to giving the cold shoulder now and again, though he quickly melts under their touch and sincere love

G - Gifts - how do they feel about gift giving? what are their habits when it comes to this?

Ominis is a sugar daddy and has no idea that he is, growing up with the Gaunts he has absolutely no concept of the value of money and will buy ridiculously expensive gifts “just because” which may require some gentle talking to, however he becomes very easily flustered when given a gift himself.

H - Holding Hands - when / how do they like to hold hands?

Ominis loves his partners hands so any opportunity to hold hands is always welcome even publicly though he’s mostly subtle about it

I - Injury - how would they act if their partner got hurt?

Given his childhood and family Ominis is fiercely protective of his loved one, if they’re hurt or sick he’s at their side day and night making sure they’re comfortable and they make a quick recovery, he’s always projecting an air of calm (though he’s paddling like mad beneath the surface like a swan)

J - Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

Ominis is fairly self assured and isn’t quick to get jealous, but if he does happen to find himself feeling that twinge he will bottle it up and opt to be extra attentive rather than actually talk about his insecurities, it takes a fair amount of coaxing to get him to speak up.

K - Kisses - how do they like to kiss their partner?

Ominis loves to kiss their hands, given any opportunity his bringing them to his lips, actually kissing though takes a lot of courage for him, it takes him awhile to open up and relax but rest assured once he’s found his confidence he’s not afraid to make a move, though he is always gentle and rarely messy

L - Love Language - what’s their love language?

Acts of service and gift giving are his two go to love languages when he’s smitten, the later can become somewhat problematic if he’s not reigned in fairly quickly given enough patience physical touch becomes another one of his favourites

M - Mornings - how are mornings spent with them?

Ominis is always up early, no matter what the day he rises with the sun only to take little cat naps throughout the day, he finds lie-ins tedious and pointless and will insist his partner rise with him.

N - Nights - how are nights spent with them?

Despite being up early Ominis rarely sleeps at night, whilst he takes pleasure in going to bed early he often finds himself laying awake for hours listening to the strange sounds around him unable to settle he finds comfort in having someone beside him to take care of whilst they sleep and finds it easier to sleep with company

O - Open - when would they start revealing things about themselves? how would they do it?

Ominis would take his time to open up to someone, given his nature he’s not the most forthcoming of people but once he does open up he’s prone to dropping random tidbits of information into every day conversation like it’s nothing, he doesn’t like talking about himself or his past and prefers to focus on his partners needs.

P - PDA - how comfortable are they with pda?

Ominis values his personal space, he doesn’t like being touched without his consent or prior knowledge, he’s very gentlemanly so PDA isn’t really on his radar though he’s very affectionate in private the most you’d get from him out in the open would be hand holding until he’s fully opened up to you

Q - Quirk - what is a random ability that helps the relationship?

His patience and gentle nature, despite his life he’s a very caring soul and enjoys being the caregiver in the relationship, his ability to sit and talk for hours until an issue is resolved helps smooth out any problems the relationship may face

R - Romance - how romantic are they? cliche or creative?

Ominis is very cliche in the romance department, roses and jewellery, having learnt it from books rather than example, he needs a creative partner to balance him out

S - Security - how protective are they?

Immensely protective, without being overbearing, Ominis will follow you into the shadows if it meant keeping you safe despite not wanting to go himself, his protectiveness is a cause for a majority of your arguments especially if as a partner you tend to be quite reckless

T - Talking - what do they like to talk about?

Ominis has the ability to converse on almost every topic known to wizard kind, he has a broad knowledge and is happy to debate and share his beliefs, though his guilty pleasure is gossip that boy cannot resist eves-dropping on his class mates and relaying the juicy details to his partner afterwards

U - Understanding - how well do they know their partner?

Ominis takes his time to get to know someone before opening up himself so he knows his partner very well probably better than they know themselves right down to their little mannerisms

V - Vaunt - what are they proud of? do they like to show their partner off? He prides himself on being able to take care of his loved one so will happily let anyone who asks know exactly who their partner is, whilst he believes he’s very subtle about it it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

W - Whole - would they feel incomplete without their partner? Ominis had learnt from an early age to be by himself to rely on no one and take care of himself so he tends to regress into his shell without his partner around becoming withdrawn and quiet if he goes a long period of time without them.

X - XOXO - are they affectionate?

In private Ominis can be very affectionate given time, kissing playing with hands, gentle touches are his go to, he often becomes flustered however if he’s not the one to initiate it.

Y - Yearning - how well do they cope when they’re separated from their partner?

Ominis fares well by himself and would never openly admit he yearns his partner’s presence despite missing them, his protective streak however lends to him feeling anxious without them and he’d often be found pacing until he knew they where safe again.

Z - Zzz - what are some sleeping habits of theirs?

He’s well known for his intermittent cat naps throughout the day, he very rarely sleeps at night but enjoys being close to his partner whilst they sleep and is always the first to suggest they go to bed.

[coimbrabertone]

NASCAR Numerology: How NASCAR's Current Teams Got Their Numbers: Part Five.

Alright guys, we've gotten to the last part of this little miniseries.

Today we're covering:

Front Row Motorsports, who run the #34 Ford for Michael McDowell and the #38 for Todd Gilliland in the 2024 NASCAR Cup Series.

Legacy Motor Club, who run the #42 Toyota for John Hunter Nemechek and the historic #43 for Erik Jones.

and JTG Daugherty Racing, who run the #47 Chevrolet for Ricky Stenhouse Jr.

Fittingly, we get to end on representation for all three brands.

Front Row Motorsports debuted in 2004, running the #92 Ford on a partial schedule with drivers like Brad Teague, Tony Raines, and Stanton Barrett, but they would fail to qualify for any races. Furthermore, the Mach 1 Motorsports team ran the #98/#96 car that year, splitting time between Ford and Dodge, and running drivers such as Todd and Geoff Bodine, Larry Gunselman, Derrike Cope, Chad Chaffin, and Randy LaJoie.

This team did manage to make some races (keyword: some) and in 2005, Mach 1 would attempt the full schedule with a #34 Chevrolet while another slew of drivers (mainly LaJoie, Chaffin, and PJ Jones) but by the end of 2005, the team was up for sale. Front Row Motorsports would buy this #34 car, as well as Mach 1's shop, and build their team around it.

Often running as a start-and-park team with a revolving door of drivers, Front Row finally got some stability in 2009, with John Andretti driving the #34, and dragging it up to three top twenty finishes, at Daytona, Loudon, and Fontana.

Andretti left after the 2010 Daytona 500, but the top twenty streak remained, with Travis Kvapil scoring an 18th at Talladega and Kevin Conway a 14th at the summer Daytona race.

David Gilliland (Todd's father) ran the full 2011 season and scored a third place at the Daytona 500, building on the results of the last three years to make Front Row Motorsports a proper contender on the superspeedways.

For 2012, Gilliland was moved to the #38 (more on that later) while David Ragan took over the #34. This car would top off FRM's superspeedway streak by winning the 2013 Aaron's 499 at Talladega.

Ragan would leave FRM after the 2015 Daytona 500 to get the opportunity to fill in for the injured Kyle Busch, so that season was a bit of a revolving door for the #34 yet again. Yet, for 2016, they got a technical alliance with Roush Fenway Racing in exchange for running Roush development driver Chris Buescher.

And Chris Buescher would win the 2016 Pennsylvania 400 for them on a Monday after a rainy weekend followed by a foggy weekend led to a segmented and ultimately shortened race. It took a bit of luck, but it got FRM its second win, and the first that wasn't on a superspeedway.

Chris Buescher went to JTG Daugherty of all places for 2017 (more on that later), so FRM hired Landon Cassill, without much success, before signing Michael McDowell for 2018.

McDowell has seen FRM become a legitimate team, winning the 2021 Daytona 500 and the 2023 Verizon 200 at the Brickyard at the IMS Road Course. Furthermore, in 2024, now in alliance with Team Penske, Front Row Motorsports is no longer an ironic name, as McDowell has started first or second multiple times this season, including at Daytona, Atlanta, and even Gateway, the latter two being pole positions.

Michael McDowell, however, will be moving to the Spire Motorsports #71 for 2025.

FRM has built their numbering scheme off of the #34, running other cars such as the #35, #37, and most commonly the #36, but its second full time car has been the #38.

Driven by David Gilliland from 2012-2015 and son Todd Gilliand ever since 2022, the car has also seen drives from Landon Cassill, David Ragan (in a return to FRM), John-Hunter Nemechek, Anthony Alfredo, and Zane Smith. With four top tens and a further ten top twenties, 2024 has thus far been the most successful season to date for the #38.

FRM will run a third full time car in 2025, having bought a charter from SHR, and has signed SHR's Noah Gragson, but it is unknown was number he will run. FRM ran the #36 this season for Kaz Grala, but Bob Jenkins says he's not married to this numbering scheme. Still, even numbers in the mid-30s are as close to consistent numbering as FRM has ever gotten, so I hope they do decide to stick with the #36.

Onto Legacy Motor Club.

First things first, this team is a Frankenstein's Monster mess of forgotten NASCAR teams in hilarious fashion. Petty Enterprises, officially ran from 1949 to 2008, when sponsorship could not be found, leading to the team merging with Gillett-Evernham Motorsports for 2009. Gillett-Evernham Motorsports consisted of Evernham Motorsports, the former Dodge factory team that ran the #9 and the #19, MBV Motorsports (which was essentially the #10 car owned by Valvoline at this point), and money from George Gillett, who was at the time the controversial owner of the Montreal Canadiens and Liverpool FC.

So already, you had the Petty #43, Petty #45, Evernham #9, Evernham #19, and Valvoline #10 merging into one team, but for 2010, they also bought Yates Racing to take over Paul Menard and his #98 Ford. This allowed the entire team to switch from Dodge to Ford.

So come 2010, the team is running the #9, #19, #43, and #98 with relics from three different numbering schemes remaining in the team. It's freaking awesome.

The #19 and #98 went away after 2010, leaving the team with the #9 and the #43.

The #9 was initially their most successful car, with Kasey Kahne winning Sonoma 2009 and Fall Atlanta 2009 with the team, before Australian Marcos Ambrose won Watkins Glen for the team in 2011 and 2012.

The #43 would, to its credit, with the 2014 Coke Zero 400 at Daytona with Aric Almirola, and it would become the team's only car after 2016.

After the 2021 season, GMS Racing, a truck team, bought into Petty, becoming Petty GMS. Ahead of the 2023 season, the team became Legacy Motor Club, with Jimmie Johnson buying in, Richard Petty chasing out, and Maury Gallagher of GMS becoming majority owner. Petty remained involved a spokesman for the team, however.

So, finally, onto their numbers. They run the #43 and have since practically the beginning of time, because that was Richard Petty's number? Why, well, that actually takes us to their second car, the #42, which was Lee Petty's number.

Why did Lee Petty pick the #42? Legend has it was the first two numbers in his license plate.

So, Lee Petty ran the #42, his son Richard ran the #43, Richard's son Kyle would eventually run the #44, and Kyle's son Adam would run the #45. Each generation building on the last. When Adam died, Kyle took over the #45 in his memory.

Thad Moffitt in the Truck series is a grandson of Richard Petty through Petty's youngest daughter Rebecca, and he continues this trend by running the #46.

In any case, when Petty GMS bought a second car in 2022, they chose to run the #42 - recently vacated by Chip Ganassi - reuniting the original two Petty numbers.

This arrangement continued as Petty became Legacy and eventually switched to Toyota for 2024. Currently the #43 is driven by Erik Jones, who won Darlington in it in 2022, and the #42 by John Hunter Nemechek.

Also, fun fact, Kyle Petty drove the #42 at Team SABCO (which would eventually become Chip Ganassi Racing) from 1989 to 1996, so it was a Petty number even when it wasn't.

And now JTG Daugherty Racing. It started in 2007, running a second car (#47) in alliance with the Wood Brothers. I cannot find any specific reason for the #47, only that Tad Geschickter ran a #47 Busch car ever since 1996, so maybe it was an availability thing. In any case, they ran the #47 and made their Cup debut in 2007, with Ken Schrader and Jon Wood each trying and failing to qualify for a race.

The #47 managed a few starts in 2008 with Marcos Ambrose, finishing third at the Glen, which prompted JTG to split with the Wood Brothers to try and go full time for the 2009 season with Ambrose in a #47 Toyota. This lasted two years before Mabrose moved to the aforementioned Richard Petty Motorsports, with JTG instead drafting in Bobby Labonte.

They would sign AJ Allmendinger in 2013 as Labonte began scaling back his races, and with AJ full time in 2014, they'd win at Watkins Glen. Allmendinger would last until 2018, when Ryan Preece was hired for that car, but then Ricky Stenhouse Jr. was chosen for 2020. Ricky would win the 2023 Daytona 500 with the team.

JTG Daugherty also briefly has a second car, the #37 - ten less than #47, also apparently Tad used this number in college sports - the #37 ran with Chris Buescher for 2017, 2018, and 2019, before running with Ryan Preece for 2020 and 2021.

This brings up another interesting aspect of JTG Daugherty Racing - despite the fact that they're a Chevy team, they kinda have this unique relationship with RFK Racing. First of all, Chris Buescher was a Roush development driver. Second of all, that #37 car for Buescher was run on the charter for Roush's #16.

Third, was that when Roush took Chris Buescher back for the 2020 season, Ricky Stenhouse Jr. then went the other way, going from the Roush #17 to the JTG Daugherty #47.

Oh, and as recently as 2023, JTG Daugherty's pit crew was on loan from Roush. Yeah, odd.

So yeah, that is all 36 chartered teams for the 2024 NASCAR Cup series and the story of a couple other numbers that are relevant to the story. I hope you guys enjoyed all that, but I think I'm gonna write about some other motorsports for a little while. The blog has been a bit NASCAR heavy lately and this week added a whole five extra blogposts to it.

I do enjoy blabbing on about NASCAR, but I also enjoy blabbing on about MotoGP and Indycar. Formula One is also a sport that exists.

[lexa-griffins]

Yes to power bottom Lexa and service top Clarke. Lexa is Clarke's therapist helping her work out her mommy issues. Lexa learns that Clarke is better at acting out her emotions (through fucking) than talking about them.

Damn, you guys waste NO time! 🤭

Nearly a year of therapy, and Clarke has made no progress at all. And Lexa likes her, you know. She's witty and sarcastic, and she makes sessions fun in between dealing with patients who tend to have heavier stories.

However nothing seems to change, really. Clarke is still angry at her mother, still yearning for something for something Abby has long since decided she wont be giving her. And Lexa has realizing that anger and yearning seem to be mixing in a way Clarke cannot let out.

Fucking a patient is downright unethical. There is a power unbalance that couls cost Lexa her license and her practice but she wants to see Clarke get better. The idea didn't happen spontaneously, all derived to Clarke going on another angry tirade against her mother that ended up in her apologizing to Lexa, calling her mommy in the process, something that shocked them both before Lexa told her "it's alright sweetheart" and pretended she didn't she Clarke hold a pillow over her lap to hide her boner, in return making Lexa shift in her chair as wetness gathered between her legs.

This is how Lexa ends up with Clarke, naked in her office, Lexa's tit in her mouth as Lexa strokes her dick slowly, praising her for how hard she is, how good she is with her tongue. Clarke's eyes shine at the praise, a smile filled with pride over being good for Lexa. One problem addressed. Time for the second one.

Laying on her back, Lexa opens her legs, cunt shining with wetness. Being this turned on by a patient fucking her is not something she'd ever expect to happen but Clarke standing naked above her makes Lexa mind become foggy with desire.

"Come and fuck mommy, baby." The words feel far too natural for Lexa's comfort but she has no time to wonder what it means.

Clarke has always shown some anger management issues. But they seem in check for the most part, her anger mostly directed at her mother in nasty words.

Lexa did not expect to end up trapped under Clarke as she drills her cock inside of her, the soft "mommy" that leave her only appeased by fucking Lexa harder as the therapist tries her best to not allow her mind to go fully blank, praising Clarke for fucking her so good, so deep, so fast, so hard. This is for all purposes, a therapy session after all. Lexa needs to keep her head as sharp as she can manage.

When Clarke's lets out a desperate "mommy", Lexa grips her ass, blunt manicured nails digging into it.

"Cum inside baby. Be a good girl and cum inside."

Clarke seems to lose it right there.

Lexa almost feels bad at the way the younger girl sobs as she cums, a mix of bliss and hurt. So Lexa comforts her and praises her once more, nails on Clarke's scalp, praising her over and over again as she twitches still inside of Lexa.

It was a one and done. Or so Lexa believed. After three normal sessions, Clarke seems to finally be making improvements. Until she asks Lexa for a "special" type if session again.

And when Lexa refuses, Clarke smirks. It is the first time Lexa feels uncomfortable with Clarke in the same room.

"Now doctor, you could lose your license if I ever said anything to anyone."

Lexa swallows dry. There is a chance Clarke's issues run deeper if she takes Lexa's kindness as a gateway for Clarke to blackmail her. But Lexa cannot lose her license or her practice. She has invested too much on her career.

She gets up from her chair and approaches Clarke, sitting on her lap.

"Now baby, that is no way to treat mommy is it?"

Clarke's smirk turns into a relaxed winning smile.

"I'm sure you'll show me how to behave."

Lexa lifts an eyebrow.

"Mommy."

[ashesandhackles]

Happy Birthday @thecat-isblogging-blog <3

Here is my little present for you:

Rabbit Moon

Written with @remadoramicrofics prompt, "Rabbit" in mind.

How can you be sure of him, Nymphadora? 

The bed is cold on the night of the full moon. It sits forlorn, bathing in the silvery light that invades through the open window. From the window, Tonks takes turns to watch the distant horizon - to the lining of trees, a gateway to her husband - and the spots on the moon, making the shape of a rabbit.  Tonks closes her eyes and tries to breathe.

“My Patronus is a rabbit,” she said, disgruntled to her father. “Charlie Weasley gets a dragon. This isn’t fair.”

“You want to hear a cool story about a rabbit?”

“Dad, I’m not a child anymore-”

"One night, the Man on the Moon came down to earth disguised as a beggar."  

“A man on the moon?”

A tear slips. She wishes she could still complain to her father, have a good whinge - about stupid things like how she wore the same socks for a week and Remus had never noticed. Her father would say reasonably that Remus can’t be blamed - the monotony of living in a safehouse through war muddles memory. 

"He chanced upon a Fox, a Monkey, and a Rabbit and asked for some food." 

“A monkey?”

“A monkey. This is a Japanese folk tale.”

“You read Japanese folk tales?”

“I read all sorts of things, Dora. How else will I keep you entertained?”

The monotony of the safehouse makes intimacy hang unfinished in air, a static charge only she can feel.  Once, he had put her hand away from his trousers when the cat who stalked their perimeter came by for food. "He is a shy one," Remus  explained. "He won't eat at all if we don't give him anything.”

Her hand had stayed limp in the air, still reaching for him as he walked out of the house. He tried to make it up to her later, stroking her breast as she faced away from him, staring at the wall. When she nuzzled closer, he would suddenly remember that the sun was out and they hadn’t put the laundry out to dry. 

"The Fox brought him fish from a stream, and the Monkey brought fruit from the trees, but the Rabbit could only offer grass.'"

“Grass is good.”

“Not funny, Dora.”

“It is a little bit funny, Dad. C’mon, smile for me!”

Her mother won’t ever understand - she would judge Remus.  Who could she talk to about the memory of the night before Remus walked out? The inconstant passion, the simultaneous need for closeness and distance in his touch. Fleur? Fleur can wrap her legs around her husband, ask him to entwine closer to her and not feel alone when she looks into his eyes. 

She wonders how she looked to Remus that night. Did she look distant? Resentful?

“So the rabbit told the beggar to build a fire, and when it was built, threw himself onto the flames to offer himself to the Man.”

“Dad, you are supposed to make me feel better about having a rabbit Patronus!”

“But isn’t this a nice story? It’s about the rabbit’s generosity.”

“The rabbit is dumb.”

When - if -  he comes back in the morning, she decides to tease him about not taking a shower often. "Someday I will," she knows he will say, with the wry smile she loves so much. She smiles as she thinks of it, looking at the clump of trees in the horizon again.  Someday, they will be fighters of the Order of Phoenix. Someday, in a foggy future. Today, and in a collection of subsequent todays that merge into one another like one long film strip, they are hiding in a safehouse– cut off from the world, the war, the talks of revolution. She is waiting for her husband to come back home.

"Amazed by the Rabbit's generosity, the beggar transformed back into the Man on the Moon and pulled the Rabbit from the fire."

“Dad, I don’t want to hear about the dumb rabbit. He is too sad.” 

“But this is the best part!”

The only way she knows time is moving in the safehouse is because of her body - her growing stomach, the new aches and pains in her bones. A tentative kick, a series of hiccups reverberating inside her.  It terrifies her, to feel time moving under her skin, out of her reach. 

Sometimes, she is afraid she will die in her sleep. Afraid that a pinch under her ribcage or discomfort in her throat is more than gas issues. When she had said as much to Remus, he laughed. She understood later that Remus knew time was passing because of the moon. 

She had never known what it was like to live in a body that caused her discomfort, that changed without her willing it to. To think, she had felt annoyed at her hair changing colour when she was angry. To think, Remus dealt with it all and worse with nary a complaint. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, to hold him and shake him like she had at the hospital in front of everyone until he finally, finally got the message that she would never leave him, even if death itself tried to separate them. 

“To honour the Rabbit's kindness, the Man on the Moon carried the Rabbit back to the moon to live with him. So if you look carefully at the moon, you can see the outline of the rabbit on it.”

“But did the rabbit want to go to the moon? What is so special about the moon anyway?”

When daylight breaks, Tonks moves to the door.  She waits for him to appear on the horizon, haggard and exhausted. The more her pregnancy advances, the more he insists that she waits at the door . She resents it with each hour of sunlight warming their garden.

When he limps into view, she lets out an inaudible breath, and her hands shake over her belly. Now, she can wait with him. They can look forward to new moon nights, when the sky is the darkest,  and no light falls through their window.Remus will sleep beside her peacefully, one arm snaked around her waist, and one arm pillowing her neck. 

I'm never sure of him, Mum. Never will be, not anymore. But I am sure of me.  

Read on A03 here

[zuffer-weird-girl]

HI, IM SO SORRY but Tumblr said that my first request had a bad gateway and I'm re-typing it to be sure---

so basically I imagined kai with a s/o who just acts on impulse said impulses being setting things on fire and randomly shooting things, bcz it's their said way of stimulating themselves? so sorry if it doubled but once again, I hope you have a great day drink water, and don't forget to take breaks!!

(Ps, I absolutely ADORE your works scrolling touch each one rn!!)

^w^ you're so sweet I hope you're having a good day

"Huh. Intrusive thoughts that took action... that's interesting."

No jokes, this ass would say that to himself the first time he catches on what your behavior is all about.

And honestly? As long as you don't get hurt by one of your shenanigans he won't care much.

One time you just felt like it what would happen if you yanked Rappa's face mask off and he was laughing at the reaction of the buff.

Of course he was laughing inside because this man has to keep up his image and bla bla bla🙄

But... when it comes to other, let's say, dangerous things....

You make this stoic sociopath have a mini heart attack.

Every. Single. Time.

He won't get used to it.

The first time this happened was when he was reading a book but suddenly he sniffed the smell of something burning....

That's weird... he doesn't remember any subordinates having a fire quirk...

Soon he noticed the room getting a bit... foggy.

"What the-" he soon spotted you with a lighter on a hand while one thing he couldn't notice of was burning as you watched it "(Y/N) PUT THAT DOWN-"

It was a bit dramatic of him to get a fire extinguisher just to put out a small fire? Yeah, but he panicked seeing his loved one near a fire ok?

"What were you thinking?!" He would almost shout while you stood there with a sorry look.

It there was one thing he regretted the most on his life was when he took you with Chrono to let the man teach you how to use a gun.

While in the middle of the explanation both of men FLINCHED when the sudden gunshot echoed and with your wide eyes you just giggled out a "ah so that's how ot works" before proceeding to shut at random places

He just hopes it doesn't bring troubles for the hassaikai later.

He knows that this one of the coping methods you have to stimulate yourself but sometimes he just wishes you could pick something more at ease like... maybe water colors?

He doesn't have any idea how this works... he is more of rational and methods guy than a emotional one... so you already expect that he is basically shit with emotions and other stuff like that.

He tries the best he can to distract you to not happen something that could put you in danger....

But yet recently he had to put out a fire on his living room before examining your whole body for any injuries or burns.

You will probably give this 28 years old guy gray hairs before his 40....

Don't worry, if he keeps treating you and taking you away from that or just plenty distracting you it means this dude is head over heels for ya.

Even if he doesn't loudly admit it.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

A Voice Through the Nothingness Part 1

Series Masterlist

Contains: Near-death injury, angst, coma, disease outbreak, mild fluff, and more angst.

3.3 K words

Comment if you want to be tagged or follow #a voice through the nothingness

“Nothing is predestined. The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings.”- Ralph Blum

It was meant to be routine, nothing was supposed to go wrong, but it did, and now Frank was waiting in the hospital waiting room, covered in his best friend's blood because one of their rich clients lied to them.

He was going over the whole thing in his head, where they went wrong, what could have been done better, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the bomb going off spitting distance from Billy.

And the noise, the horrendous sound of fracturing glass and Billy's screams flew around his brain from ear to ear like a sadistic butterfly. Everything washed into focus when Karen appeared in front of him, "Frank, what happened? It's all over the news, there was some kind of bomb."

Frank swallowed, "Hill lied about everything, and our checks missed it. He tried to come clean about it, but by the time he had shown us the accounts, it was too late. That fucker got Billy blown up over a few million bucks, who the fuck tries to pull over on the fucking Russian mob?"

Karen sat beside him and placed her hand on his thigh, "tell me everything."

"It wasn't on their books. Their biggest backer is a shot caller from Brighton Beach. Hill was skimming from the beginning. He said he hired us because they had been getting threats because they wouldn't merge with Telcorp. I don't know how the fuck we missed it."

Karen reached up and stroked Frank's face, "cash in hand is hard to track and if this player never showed his face, there's no way you could have known. Telcorp is one of the worst companies in America, you didn't look any further because his explanation made sense. This isn't your fault Frank, this is that shot callers fault."

Frank's face hardened, "don't worry, I know."

It took five hours for someone to come out to give them an update, by that time, the hospital had moved them into a private waiting room, and everyone was there, half of Anvil, Curtis, Mat and Foggy, David, Sarah and the kids.

Frank could tell by the look on the doctor's face that things weren't good, but he asked nonetheless, "how is he doc?"

The doctor took a deep breath, "your friend is still in surgery, it's likely he'll be in there for a few more hours. He had some deep lacerations to his face but we're hopeful that his vision is still fully intact, and it doesn't look like there is any damage to the underlying essential nerves or structures, so while he may still have numbness, he will be able to move his face."

There was more, "his jaw and throat are also fine. The breaks in his arm and leg are minor considering everything and set easy. The issue is with his brain, there's swelling and multiple skull fractures. The Neurosurgeon is still working to control bleeding and patching what she can, but right now, we're not sure if he will wake up or what condition he'll be in if he does."

Frank nodded, "thanks, keep us updated please?"

The doctor nodded, "of course, we're trying our best Mr Castle, someone will be out in a few hours when the neurosurgeon knows more."

****

It took eleven hours for them to put Billy back together, cutting, gluing and sticking for Billy to come out with his head wrapped in bandages and a tube down his throat so he could breathe. Sarah had taken the kids home to sleep, but no one else had left and there was a slowly growing pile of coffee cups in the bin.

The same doctor came out looking haggard but assured and despite Frank's sire muscles, he was up in a flash, "what's the news?"

The doctors didn't offer him a smile, but it wasn't a frown either, "we don't know. He has a brain injury, a very serious one at that, but, he did maintain his airway when we did a breathing trial. We have him in a medically induced coma right now to give him brain and body time to rest but the fact that he was breathing on his own, even if it was for thirty seconds, is a good thing."

The whole waiting room relaxed, "right now, we have no idea if or when he'll wake up, it could be in a week, it could be never. If he does wake up and has function, he will need significant rehab to be able to return to some semblance of normal life. We don't want to give you false hope right now, but so far, the signs are good."

****

Billy was in the ICU for a month. On day five, they brought him out of the coma and pulled the tube from his throat. On day ten, he started to show some signs of activity but a twitch here and there was nothing special occurring to the neurosurgeon.

They had taken shifts, a constant rotation of people in and out so Billy was never alone. The nurses even put a cot in the room so someone could stay there overnight.

Every day for a month, they spent hours hanging on the doctor's every word, watching the nurses turn him to prevent bed sores, getting updates from the physiotherapists as they worked on him to keep his body working and talking to Billy in hopes that it kept his brain active.

Come the end of the month, there was a sadness in the air as they moved him to the long term care ward. The doctors would tell them every day that they were hopeful, that there were tiny improvements here and there that showed he might be getting better but deep down, they all thought the same thing, he had a few months of the same care in the hospital before he was shipped off some else to rot and die.

Frank refused to leave Billy's side the day of his move, sitting there with a bobbing leg holding his hand while he lives on coffee and cheap hospital food. When Curtis came for his shift, Frank's leg refused to carry him out.

Curtis placed a warm hand on Frank's back and sat on the chair next to him, hoping to give him some comforting words, "this is Billy we're talking about here Frank, he's going to get through this."

Frank shook his head, "and if he does and wakes up a zombie? He's said it before Curt, he doesn't want to turn out like his mother."

Curtis shook his head, "when Bily wakes up, we both know he will work like a dog until he can leave here on his own two feet."

Frank swallowed, his eyes filling with tears, "I can't lose him Curt, he's.."

Curtis cut him off, "Billy's one tough motherfucker, he'll pull through, I can feel it in my bones." He gave Frank and hearty slap, "now go home, or I'll call Karen and have her drag you home."

That had Frank up, "alright, no need to call in backup, I'm going."

Curt stood up and wrapped his arms around his friend, "we're going to get through this, don't worry."

Five months later

Hazel sighed, her eyes heavy as she dragged her feet from her station in the peds ward to long term care across the sky bridge and down the hall. It's a journey she had made every day since she started working two at the hospital years ago. She followed the same routine each time, arrive at the ward, grab a coffee and take her break with her best friend, Lizabeth. 

She leaned against the table in the breakroom and rubbed her face, the double shift hitting her like a truck as she watched the people outside, "Who's the new patient? He seems pretty popular." 

Hazel sipped her coffee as Lizabeth spoke, "Willaim Russo, some hot shot military contractor. He got a face full of glass and a TBI in that bomb blast a few months ago." 

Hazel thought for a moment, "wait, does he run a company called Anvil?" 

She nodded, "yeah, most of his visiters are his friends, why do you ask?"

Hazel sighed, "because it's a small world."

"Excuse me," no response, so she tried someone else, "miss.." People were rude here. Hazel really didn't want to be late, she couldn't imagine it would look good if she didn't show up to get the keys to her shoebox apartment.

She was going to give up when a man caught her eye, he was handsome, almost insultingly so but even in his very nice suit, he looked like he had lived a thousand years without sleep. She stuck out her hand and waved, "Sir, sir, can I please have a moment of your time, I just need some directions." 

To her relief, the man smiled and slowed, "of course ma'am, where were you headed?" He gave her an easy smile, his teeth blindly white, 

Halez pulled out her huge map and pointed to a street "Newport Properties, they said to go to seventh but then someone at seventh said to come here, I'm about as lost as a bee in the dark." 

The man laughed, "you're on the right track. Get on the next train and then get off in seven stops, it should be easy from there." 

Hazel smiled, "thank you so much, you're a saint." 

The man smiled, "no worried ma'am, take care of yourself." 

Hazel walked away only to realise that she had a million more questions and if her track record was anything to go by, she wasn't going to find someone else to answer them. 

"Wait." 

He turned around and walked back over, "still lost?" There was a charm in his voice. 

She nodded, "yep, like I said, as a bee in the dark." 

He gave her a look, "how about I sit next to you, you can ask me all the questions you want?" 

She smiled, but her brain caught up to her good nature, "you're not a serial killer, are you?" 

He chuckled, "no, ma'am, I'm not, I promise." 

Hazel sighed, "I really don't want to take up any more of your time." 

The man shook his head and stuck out his hand, "it's no bother, ma'am. I'm Billy." 

Hazel accepted his hand, it was warm and calloused, "Hazel, it's nice to meet you Billy." 

The train arrived soon after and they got on, Billy pushing way to get them both a seat, "so what do you want to know Hazel?" 

She shrugged, "how do I get from Hell's Kitchen to New york General?"  

Billy held back his smile and pointed to the map in her hand, she passed it to him and he opened it across their laps, taking time to answer her questions as he showed her where to go. 

"You working there?" 

She nodded, "I'm a nurse in the peds ward, it's meant to be one of the best." 

Billy looked her over, she was beautiful, "yeah, I've heard that too. How long have you been a nurse?" 

She smiled softly, "ten years, I love it. What do you do?" 

Billy's face was a neutral mask, "I just got out of the Marines, I'm actually on my way to look at a property for my new company." 

Hazel's face changed as if she was trying to read his thoughts, "you're starting your own company, that's awesome, good for you." 

Billy smiled, "thanks, most people pick up the Marine thing." 

She shook her head, "I'm sure you hear thank you for your service all the time, most of the time, it doesn't mean anything. I'm guessing you're a bit sick of the platitude." 

For the first time in a long time, Billy was stumped, "wow, people usually aren't that honest. And yeah, I do get a bit sick of hearing it, most people don't mean it." 

Hazel huffed, "humans aren't known for their understanding." 

There was a sadness in her voice that Billy understood, "I'm sure you've been on the receiving end of the same thing a few times before?

She nodded, "yep, you can only eat so much cheap pizza before you realise that the pizza should be a raise and more paid time off." 

Billy laughed, it was hearty and filled with warmth, "don't I know that. Speaking of which, have you tried any yet?" 

Hazel shook her head, "I've been too busy, plus, everyone says to go somewhere different, and bad pizza is just sad." 

Billy pointed to the man, "Mama Magda's, you won't get anywhere better." 

Hazel's smile grew, "ok, I trust you, even though I only met you," she looked at her watch, "fifteen minutes ago." 

Billy shook his head, "what else to you want to know?" 

She blinked, "so much." 

They talked for what seemed like seconds but it wasn't, with the last chime, Billy's smile faded, "this is your stop." 

Hazel mirrored him, "oh, that was so fast, I though it was going to take ages." 

Billy shook his head, "nah. You better go, you don't want to be late." 

She stood up, and the train slowed, and then Billy pulled something from his pocket, "here's my number, call if you get lost again." 

He passed her the card and she smiled again, "thank you Billy, you're a lifesaver." 

Hazel sighed, the money fading. "I met him on the train on my first day in the city. I had no idea where I was going, so he sat next to me until I got to the right stop. I always meant to send something to his office to thank him but I lost his card unpacking, I'm glad he has people."

Lizabeth smiled, "yeah, it's good to see. How's it over in the land of little ones?"

Hazel chuckled and sighed, "great, we had one of those petting zoos in the yard today, the kids had fun."

Lizabeth raised an eyebrow, "and you didn't?"

"You know I did, there's no need to make fun of me." Hazel's tone held no offence.

"I'm not making fun of you, I just know how you get around poor little things in need of love." She could tell Lizabeth didn't just mean animals and children.

"Oh shut up Lizzy."

Three weeks later

"Can we at least move between wards?" No one was happy about the meeting, but the joy of outbreaks meant they had to.

The director nodded, "You can move between wards if you are fully vaccinated and follow infection protocol, but we ask that you use discretion and don't go where there aren't infections already. It might only be measles but we can't take any chances."

Hazel rolled her eyes and turned to her friend sitting next to her, "well Lizzy, looks like we need to bring back teased hair and rainbow pants because we're back in the eighties."

Lizabeth huffed, "we're on infection number two, I don't think it will be long before half the ward goes down."

Hazel rubbed her face, "let's hope it doesn't last long, they said it would be three weeks until we reassess, but who knows."

"We can only hope, there's only so many of us and you know how fast my guys go down without company." Lizabeth's tone was a mix of anger and worry.

Hazel sighed, "you don't need to tell me, maybe you'll get more staff?"

The look Lizzy gave her took Hazel all she needed to know.

Six weeks later

The walk between wards had become less of a way to pass the time and turned into a lifeline, a few moments away from the bright colours and loud noise to rest in the quiet of a place now devoid of anyone else but unconscious patients and staff.

Hazel and Lizabeth clinked their paper cups together and swigged their coffees, "so much for three weeks, it's looking grim here."

Lizabeth rubbed her face, "yeah, it's feeling grim too but we're trying."

Hazel drummed her fingers against the wall, "I know I'm not suppose to ask but how's Mr Russo doing?"

Lizabeth looked at her friend, she noticed how her eyes would flick to his room every now and then, "like the rest of them. My day is a mess of backsliding and fielding calls from people wanting to come and see their loved ones."

A few moments passed before Hazel spoke, "you need more people right?" Her friend nodded, "I'll come in, admin will be fine with me coming in as long as they don't need to pay me. I'll finish my shift then start a four hour volunteer one. Give me two patients and I'll read to them."

Lizabeth smiled, "as long as Russo's one of them?"

She knew Hazel didn't mean anything malicious by it, she just wanted to return the favour for helping her on the train. "Yeah, I owe him and I never got to thank him for helping me, better that that never right?"

Lizabeth chuckled, "sure. I'll get the paperwork for you when we walk by the desk."

Hazled smiled, "thank you Lizzy."

Two days later

Hazel took a deep breath, book in hand and walked into Billy's room. She had no idea where she was going to start or what to say, she felt kind of silly but nevertheless, she owed him something and she was going to pay him back. 

She pulled up a chair and sat by the bed, taking his hand in hers, "I'm Hazel, you probably don't remember but you helped me a few years ago on the train when I got lost. I meant to call you but I lost your card when I was unpacking and when I looked up your company but I couldn't find your direct line and I didn't want to be weird." 

Billy could hear her voice as her name entered his ears and her face flashed through his skull, "as lost as a bee in the dark." He wanted to respond, squeeze the warm hand in his, do anything to let her know he was there but he couldn't 

Hazel sighed, "I know you have people but they're not allowed here right now so I thought I'd fill in, not that I'm much of a substitute. I brought a book, I didn't want to pick anything that would bore you but I was worried about nightmares, so I picked Murder on the Orient Express. I figure if you haven't read it, working out who the killer is will give your brain something to do." 

Billy wanted desperately to speak, to let her know that nothing could be worse than the darkness he felt as the hours passed him. 

She cleared her throat, "I spend most of my time reading to children, so you'll have to forgive if you feel like you're listening to a Disney movie." 

"Better that Frank reading me the paper." Billy thought to himself. 

"It was five o’clock on a winter’s morning in Syria. Alongside the platform at Aleppo stood the train grandly designated in railway guides as the Taurus Express. It consisted of a kitchen and dining-car, a sleeping-car and two local coaches. 

By the step leading up into the sleeping-car stood a young French lieutenant, resplendent in uniform conversing, with a small man muffled up to the ears of whom nothing was visible but a pink-tipped nose and the two points of an upward-curled moustache." 

The story went on and Billy felt like he had a movie playing in his head, her voice faded in and out but he always managed to stay tethered to its strands until a buzzing sent him flying back into his withering shell, "I'm sorry Billy, that's my cue to leave but I'll be back tomorrow ok and we'll pick up where we left off." 

She squeezed his hand one last time and stood up, and Billy willed himself to move at least one finger, and to his despair, it happened just as her footsteps faded away. 

Part 2

[talesof-old]

i put a spell on you | e.m.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warning(s): 18+, pegging, sub!eddie, dom!reader, witch!reader, changeling/fae!eddie, mirrors are used, not edited or proofread

word count: 468

kinktober series

watching you in the mirror has eddie swearing up and down that you’re a witch

prompt: pegging, mirror sex

masterlist

The candles in the room flickered as you slowly eased into Eddie, his skin shimmering with magic as it always did when you two had sex. The first time you’d slept together, the sight scared but captivated you, and now, you couldn’t stay away. Eddie mewled beneath you, fingers grasping at the bedsheets like they could ground him. You grinned, leaning over his back to press gentle kisses to his shoulder.

The change in position had him gasping and you couldn’t help it. You laughed.

Eddie moaned underneath you and you stroked his skin, still inching your way into his hole. Movement caught your eye and you looked up, gazing into the mirror you’d placed there just for this.

Mirrors, you’d say, were gateways. You scryed with them often, but this one was meant for this in particular. Fucking whoever you pleased and watching as they descended into pleasure, knowing nothing but your name and how good you made them feel. Your skin was glistening with sweat from the hour long buildup, and now, your eyes were blown out with desire.

Eddie let out a desperate noise when you were finally fully seated in him, the tip of your strap on grazing something deep inside him that wanted, no needed, attention. You understood the message, pulling back and thrusting into him just the way he liked. He moaned brokenly beneath you, face buried in the mattress.

The two of you continued like this for what seemed like hours, cast only in candle light, and it wasn’t until Eddie was on the brink of coming did he finally look in the mirror. The sight hurtled him closer to the edge.

You were kneeling over him, breasts bouncing and eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk on your face. He hissed, his dick rubbing against the sheets underneath him. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The way you moved, the way you looked, it was magic. You were magic. A brief thought tore through his mind as you reached around him, encircling his dick with your perfect hand.

Maybe you’d casted a spell on him.

If that were the case, Eddie couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not as you stroked him, swiping your thumb along his too sensitive slit. Not as you squeezed and pumped him, angling your thrusts just right to hit his prostate. And certainly not when he came, his cum dripping onto your hand. You grasped his hair by the nape, pulling his head back to watch his face as he rode out his orgasm, pushing back onto the strap on. He whimpered at the pleasant sting, mouth open and mind foggy.

You simply kissed his pointed ear and nuzzled into his shoulder.

“Be a good boy for me, yeah? I think you can go again.”

[thecclover-fanfictions]

One More Night? Part One

Hidden behind the curtains Charles observed the inner courtyard of Balmoral Castle. Almost statically he stood there since around half an hour, now and then cleaning the foggy spot his breath caused on the cold pane.

He had no idea how many guests his grandmother had invited for the annual Braemar Highland Games. And he hadn´t counted the passing cars which had picked them up from the airport or railway station.

The next car came along, Charles needed a millisecond to check the passengers and his gaze focussed on the gateway again.

A few minutes later a dark green Range Rover emerged and already from far away he noticed her. Actually he just watched a blurry silhouette on the back seat, but his heart didn´t need more to tumble in race. Charles clawed into the curtain, unconsciously, and didn´t realise how tight his muscles tensed in every inch of his body.

He hadn´t seen her very often during the last four months, due to his full schedule and the summer break he had spent in Greece with a new flame for two weeks. And then later in Scotland, without the flame whose name he already had forgotten.

But first of all he hadn´t seen her so often, because he didn´t dare. He didn´t dare to visit her if she was alone, even if Tom was there, soon two years old. And he didn´t dare to phone her, but he had written her at least one long letter every week. And every time he got response immediately, but they never talked about what happened four months ago.

But Charles lived and breathed through this day, the memory of it was like Manna to him. They accidentally were alone at Boleyhyde Manor, and it was bound to happen. They laid in their arms, feeling their bodies in the most intimate way. And, particularly, their love. Charles still felt her hands on him, her naked body wrapped around his, he felt himself in her and her whispered terms of endearment still tickled his ear. He could recall every second, till the good-bye that broke his heart again.

They had sworn each other to never do it again after this day, to never being physically so close and never share the words: “I love you.” At least they would try it…

But they both knew it was hard, almost impossible. And that´s why Camilla never asked in her letters for a call or a visit as well. But Charles could read between the lines, in her diction, in her attempts to avoid some topics and in her spidery handwriting how agitated she still was.

And he could read it in her face, in her eyes particularly, as they met on a party some weeks ago. With shaking and sweating hands they had greeted each other and if Andrew didn´t knew before from the incident, he knew now for sure. But he stayed cool, as always.

They tried to get out of their way on this party, but no matter how huge the crowd around him was, no matter how many people tried to get his attention, he always watched her out of the corner of his eyes. And if their gazes met, countless times this evening, over the heads of the guests around, they knew their half-hearted promise to deny their love was a load of rubbish.

And as they couldn´t get around to meet in a small circle, Charles almost died. He tried to concentrate on the bad jokes of his tipsy friends, but he was just focussed on a pair of confused, yet sparkling blue eyes. He had clawed his drink with both of his hands and his eyes rested on the face that was the most precious to him. Nervously Camilla tried to giggle about the really boring and old jokes, but Charles knew she didn´t listen to them as well. Her gaze avoided his eyes, tensed she looked up to her husband, back to the guys around, her fluttering eyes quickly jumped over Charles´ silhouette into nowhere.

In Charles mind it begged all the time: “Look at me! Look at me!”

And he almost had broken the glass of his drink, as she finally sunk into his eyes. Being so near to one another hit them even more as before, from the safe distance. Charles had forgotten everything around, his dry mouth tried to form some words, his mind went head over heels with all the things he wanted to say to her, but luckily nothing came out. Camilla knew it, in this millisecond their eyes told it all, and her gaze desperately begged him to stop.

Charles knew, it was right. But, nonetheless, it ached so much again as he watched her laying her arm around Andrew and leaning against his shoulder. It looked totally awkward, her eyes told another language as her body tried to do, and still it was right, Charles tried to convince himself.

Andrew tapped her bottom, while his eyes wandered away to the cleavage of a blonde beauty. Charles hated him in this second.

They still shared weekly letters and postcards after the party. And in one of her last letters she mentioned to be invited, or better Andrew was invited with company, to Balmoral for the Games` weekend. His grandmother didn´t lose one word about it, no matter how hard he tried to get this topic. She knew his situation, of course. But she still hoped Charles would free his heart for another lady, at least so far to lead a marriage built on friendship. Deep inside her she knew, it was hopeless.

This was the situation Charles tried to cope with, as he impatient watched the Range Rover parking on the opposite side of the courtyard.

First Andrew jumped out, immediately lightening a fag, then the driver followed and opened the car boot. Charles pressed almost against the window pane now, he could feel his breath reflecting, even through the curtain. And finally the back door opened and first a pair of boots emerged, steadying on the footboard, until she jumped out too.

Breathless Charles watched her, for him like in slow motion, immediately turning around, looking up to his window. She had visited Balmoral often enough with him, she knew the place. Actually she just couldn´t see him hidden behind the curtain and the reflecting window pane, but she just felt he was there. As their eyes met Charles breathed without noticing: “Hello darling…”

Camilla turned back to the car and caught her jacket that Andrew threw to her. Hastily she wrapped it around her shoulders and took a suitcase, stumbling with it to the entrance of the guest´s wing. With swinging steps Andrew followed her, a suitcase in his hand as well, but still smoking.

By passing the door Camilla quickly turned around to his window again, but didn´t stop her steps inside.

Charles still stood frozen behind the curtain. It was wrong, so very wrong. Why on earth he couldn´t storm out, welcome her with swirling her around in the air before kissing her breathless? And actually, why on earth she wasn´t with him all the time? Why she did arrive here with her HUSBAND, the title that actually should belong to him?! But Charles demanded himself to not fall down into his dark thoughts, to blame himself endless for his misery, to muse about how it could be or should be. Often enough it ended in his bed, his head buried into the pillow and covered under the blanket, crying until no tears were left. And if he got up again, nothing had changed.

But there was still something that gnawed on Charles…he had helped her out of the car, after he had made sure that she was kept warm in her jacket, particularly in the cold wind of Scotland. And for nothing in this world he had let her carrying her heavy baggage…Yes, he always had treated her like a princess, it was just natural to him to carry the woman of his dreams on his hands. He knew, she put no value on it, and Andrew would never change.  But, still…he never had seen her smiling and beaming to Andrew in the way she did it to him, he never had watched her giving Andrew the adoring gaze he got by reaching out a helping hand to her.

Although, she loved Andrew. It didn´t matter that she probably loved him, Charles, more and of course in another way. It was just the fact that sometimes killed him.

Charles hit against the window frame, he just had to stop this now. He had to do like she always said: think positive. But thinking positive was so much easier with her by his side…

He scuffled over to his sofa and laid down, in rolled-up position. This was always one of the best ways to get calm in his lovesickness. Just lying there, trying to avoid the bitter thoughts, and waiting. Sometimes for hours.

On one hand it felt so good to know her near to him, just a few yards away. And even for the whole weekend. But on the other hand, to know that she just right now was there with her husband, in one room, let him feel worse again.

There would be a dinner this night, but until then there were still a few hours of space. Maybe he could send someone, inviting them into the drawing room for a drink? And, probably, Andrew would refuse and send Camilla alone…But what would happen then? No, this wasn´t his greatest idea for today…Instead he could go out for a walk! But, no! If anything would happen meanwhile, if she would ask for meeting him?! Alright, she will not. But he just can´t go away, if she was around. He just had to wait.

He scraped through the next hours, trying to watch TV and read books. Less successful. The more the dinner neared, the more his pit of stomach tumbled and the more his heart bumped. 

Somehow he felt relieved as his valet emerged to change him into his evening dress. At least something and someone to distract. Yet he felt his blood pressure raising up and his mind wandered into the guest´s wing again and again.

Impatient walking up and down in front of his grandmother´s door he felt almost fainting now, and she didn´t need more than one gaze to know what was up with him. But she didn´t mention anything, she just grabbed his arm and they started in the direction of the Dining Room.

The little crowd applauded, bowed and curtseyed by their entrance. Charles hadn´t noticed one of them really, with one wink of his eyes he had found her, almost hidden behind Andrew´s shoulder. As always if she felt nervous, her corners of the mouth were slightly sunken down and her eyes fluttered around. But her heart won over her nervousness, as she dared to look up directly into Charles´ eyes.

She couldn´t do other, she happy and wide grinned, her eyes flooded over with joy to meet him, they sparkled with bliss and love for him. Charles was infected immediately, he grinned back to her and grabbed his bow tie, his sign of nervousness. And his eyes told the audience what he felt for the lady which now blushed and shy looked down on the floor.

The butterflies in his stomach let almost burst his jacket, inside him the light was switched on. And somehow there was hope again. He didn´t know to what, reality told him otherwise. There was no way for them, being her lover till the end of his life wasn´t a real option, if to be honest. But, there clearly was hope deep inside him.

Charles almost stopped walking, his eyes were still glued on the woman he still called his own. Unremarkable for the rest of the party his grandmother pinched into his arm, demanding him to go on. She had realised the little incident, but ignored it.

As a matter of prudence someone had placed them at the Dinner table out of each other´s sight. Charles wasn´t sure if his grandmother had her hands in the seating plan, but at least so he was able to eat something and to try some half-eared conversation. What didn´t mean that he wasn´t aware of the person three people away from him, of the dark blond hair touching her bare shoulders in the way he wanted to kiss her there, of her slim fingers holding the wine glass, though they actually should hold his hand and her eyes, shyly rushing round the table, the eyes that should sink down in his. And he was aware that she had eaten almost nothing, that her usual lively conversation stuck in small talk with a friendly, but low voice.

She avoided his gaze, as he left the Dining Room linked with his grandmother again.

Silent Andrew and Camilla followed the small crowd of guests into the guest´s wing. Andrew fumbled his cigarette box out of his pocket, lightened a fag and offered one to his wife. Camilla didn´t recognise it, lost in thoughts she scuffled along. Andrew tapped her shoulder, mumbling with the fag between his lips: “Hey…puppet…!” Camilla winced, looked at him and lightly smiling shook her head. Andrew frowned, usually she never would deny a cigarette. Of course he had noticed the incident in the Dining Room. And though they hadn´t talked about it, he knew that something happened between Charles and his wife some months ago. And that she obviously still struggled with it. As long as their family life wouldn´t touched by this and their reputation, Andrew wouldn´t mind if they now and then recalled the great love they shared. And still did, Andrew knew as well. He also had his fun in life, and he never wanted to stop it. But he was sure Camilla could cope with the feelings for Charles.

He laid his arm around Camilla and pressed her against him, while still walking along the long corridor. “Hey, poppet! We are here for having fun, aren´t we?” He pressed the cigarette between her lips and moaning, but smiling Camilla took it out of his hand. Satisfied Andrew tapped her bottom, but Camilla pushed is hand away: “Not here, Andy!” Andrew shrugged shoulders, “not here” sounded not that bad.

Most of the guests wished a good-night and retired in their rooms. Two or three of the gentlemen decided to extend the night in the hall, in front of the fireplace with a bit of whiskey. They invited Andrew, but he wide grinning laid his arm around Camilla again. “No, we are very tired. Thank you.” He grinned even more and the gentlemen tried to press down their appreciative chuckles. Camilla kept a straight face.

They hadn´t even closed their door, as Andrew snapped her and pressed against the wall, his tongue pressed into her throat. But Camilla vetoed and tried to push him away from her.

Andrew stopped, took away his hands from her breasts and touched her shoulders. He tried to stay calm: “Hey, poppet! What´s up? No baby is here tonight. No house chores. Nothing, just the two of us!” He tried to kiss her gently, but Camilla turned her head away, trying to hide her raising tears. With a low voice she said: “I´m very tired tonight.”

Andrew sighed and leaned against the wall. Maybe it wasn´t the best idea to accept the invitation. But, it actually didn´t matter, Charles would be a part of her the rest of her life, if in Scotland or not. But somehow he felt angry. They had a weekend off, since ages finally. Away from all the hectic in life. And now this…

Andrew grabbed the door knob: “So then. Good night. Don´t wait for me.” He tore open the door and stepped out. But he turned around and got frightened a bit by the tears that run down the cheeks of his wife. With a lower voice again he said: “Maybe you should make some things clear in your life, Milla.” Camilla gulped, pressed her lips and sniffed. “Good night!”, Andrew said again before closing the door and rushing down the steps to the gentlemen in the hall. Camilla whispered back: “Good night.”

Slowly she undressed herself and took a long hot shower. She avoided the gaze into the mirror, to see her sad eyes would force her to think about her life even more. But, anyway, her thoughts were with the young man on the opposite side of the castle all the time. And by switching out her light and snuggling into the bed sheet she couldn´t stop dreaming how wonderful it would be to lay in his arms now. Two hours later, shortly before Andrew got back, she finally found some sleep.

In contrast to the young man in the opposite wing. Charles went immediately to bed after diner as well, his head full of thoughts. He remembered her eyes in the Dining room, her happy smile, but he tortured himself. He imagined that not hundred yards away from him she laid in the bed with her husband. And maybe…

Charles heart was pierced from a red-hot dagger.

But, no. It just couldn´t be. Not after she had looked like him like that, not after she almost died while dining. But maybe…

He embraced his twenty five years old teddy bear, Mr. Billie. This frayed toy was even more precious to him, since he learned that Camilla owned the same bear as well. She got it at the same Christmas as he himself and named him Sir Snuggle. Sometimes, for fun, they had placed both their bears in the middle of their bed, falling asleep in a tight embrace.

Remembering this happy times Charles smiling kissed the bear and buried his face in it. He was sure, he could smell a light flavour of Camilla and Sir Snuggle.

At dawn he finally fell asleep.

[drmflm]

summary: on days when the canvas stayed blank, hyunjin was always there to bring out the colours in you

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader

wordcount: 0.7k

genre: fluff

au: painter

rating: pg-13

warnings: artblock/frustration, pet name (baby), skinship (kisses and gentle caresses cuz i am WEAK)

note: y’all when can i get a hyunjin? 😭 manifesting this type of relationship for myself lmao

The blank easel stared at you menacingly, the gateway to the land of your dreams eluded you, until the canvas became a doorway to your nightmares, a reminder that you couldn’t create the masterpiece that lay veiled within your heart.

It always seemed to be like this, the four walls that brought the studio to life often started shrinking in on themselves, the paints bled colours all over the floor, and the window grew dim and dull and filled with foggy, gloomy clouds.

At times like this, there was no remedy. This inner thing that took control of you was a thing with four legs, a stapled sheet of fabric over four pillars of wood, a readied thing, a thirsty thing. It hungered for your feelings, your gentle strokes, the paint that composed your life. But there was nothing inside of you. Your heart was blank—just like the canvas.

“Y/n?” Your boyfriend’s voice sounded from beyond your door. “Can I come in?”

With no response from you, you heard the door click before his beautiful face peeked in through the crack of the door. At your dismal state, he came in, gently turning you towards him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You just sighed, “nothing. I just can’t paint. I feel like my heart is just empty and yeah. I can’t paint anything.”

You felt him gently stroke your cheek, before leaning in and softly pecking the tip of your nose. He then pulled back to look at you and your canvas, soft pink hair fluttering and ruffled.

“What if we paint together?” He suggested, grabbing a chair and plopping down next to you. “Maybe it might give you inspo?”

You nodded, “yeah, that would be really nice.”

For a few minutes, you just watched him tenderly; as he set up the other easel and prepared his paints. He quickly got changed into clothes he didn’t care about—because when it came down to you two, a mess was always brewing.

Last time it was to make “body art” by painting tomatoes on your cheeks, or paint wars. There was even one time where he challenged you to painting something on the canvas without a brush. No matter what you guys did, it was always so much fun.

Once he was comfortable, you looked at him for a while, and he looked at you. You didn’t know what else to do, because you were stuck—stuck under his gaze.

“Y/n, shall we start?”

“Can we go for a walk?” You blurted, looking at him intently. “I can’t stay in this room for even a second longer. I’m sorry, I know you just got set up but—“

“Baby, it’s okay. If you’d like to go for a walk, I don’t mind giving you some space,” he said, twiddling his paintbrush between two fingers.

“No, no. Actually, I was wondering if you could come with me? I don’t wanna be alone right now. I think I need you, to keep me present, to keep me here.”

You looked away towards the window where the sun kissed the hills. You felt his hands gently massage your shoulders, and felt yourself relax.

“You know you’ll never be alone baby,” he whispered, “because I will always be here, now and forever.”

You took a deep breath before turning your head to him, “I love you.”

He smiled, a beautiful lovely thing that reached his eyes, “I love you too.”

So the two of you—both in your painting clothes—raced outside to enjoy the beautiful day, in awe of the beautiful flowers and the force of nature that composed the world you lived in.

Hyunjin snapped a few photos—of the landscape and perhaps one or two or a hundred of you—before the two of you trudged back into your shared studio.

And you don’t know what it was about him that brought out the best of you, but when you sat down at the easel, the only thing running through your mind was flowers and bright, beautiful, pink hair.

And by no means was your painting good—maybe you even messed it up a few times. But the smile staring back you, the gradient of the sun’s rise, the blooming petals that encased him...everything about it made it more beautiful, no matter if they were lopsided or mismatched or whatever.

Because it was him, and it would always be him. Now and forever.

© 2022 svt1117 . all rights reserved.

[leptonyx-constellate]

so. after some private discussion and further delving, we Most Likely (don't quote me on this, with a grain of salt, blah blah blah self doubt is a prick) have a CDD, probably OSDD [editors note 7.18.24: it's actually (most likely) DID]. depending on how deep the amnesia has to run (between every headmate? well, we don't have that necessarily unless someone opts out of adding a memory to the Collective Memory Bin. what we do have is amnesia between eras, with the amnesia getting worse the further back you go until you get "if a headmate from this era isn't there anymore then their memories just straight up do not exist" and "even headmates that formed during that era only have a foggy memory of their own experiences during then" during the very first distinguishable era; memories are also not shared between layers. on top of that, we have generalized memory issues that can lead to us forgetting things we'd heard quite literally seconds before, even when we're paying complete attention, and we have a solid amount of non-headmate-specific time loss), maybe DID [editors note 7.18.24: see above]. regardless, we are somewhere along the OSDD-1 - DID continuum, and which camp we're placed in depends entirely on whether we have "enough" or the "right kind" of amnesia in the eyes of others

now. to be absolutely clear.

1) we are still gateway, and the vast majority of our surface-level functioning (ie, with Yhine and how we function there) is deeply if not wholly metaphysical. we will still eat your teeth if you try to twist our metaphysical experiences into something psychological.

2) we're still mixed origins, still adaptive-spontaneous, still endogenic-out-of-spite (even if the adaptive origins played a heavier role than we originally realized). we've had enough identity-shattering realizations, we're not going to bend over backwards and rip out our own spine to be a Respectable Real System (derogatory) when we've already halfway fucked ourselves over in the process of trying to determine whether or not we had a CDD for the third fucking time in our life.

3) this only came up because we realized we fit the polyfragmented description almost to a T (we have trouble distinguishing fragments from whole headmates because so many only front once and then hang out in Yhine for the rest of their lives, and we have a policy of "assume complexity unless proven otherwise" to avoid being a dickhole to each other, and that's the only "criteria" we're somewhat iffy on. then again, we only have access to Yhine, maybe there's more fragments in other layers, who knows), but pretty much every single in-depth resource we found either implied or directly stated that being polyfrag is a CDD-only thing. had that not been the case, we would have gone through a lot less stress and strife trying to figure this shit out, and possibly would have been able to learn about this at a much less emotionally fraught time. (context for that last conjecture is on our main blog, not going to detail it here)

tl;dr, we (almost certainly) have A CDD (which one entirely depends on how lenient or stringent you are on how much/what kind of amnesia "counts" to have DID), this is the only thing that's changing about what we are and what we call ourselves, and we're pissed because this only came up after seeing basically every resource act like you have to have a CDD to be polyfrag (which near guaranteed that we Are), and had that not been the case, we wouldn't have had to put ourselves through excess stress and anxiety and frustration during a time when we're already distraught because of other major personal life things. regardless of whether or not you think being polyfrag is a CDD-only experience, surely we can all agree that it's fucked that we had to go through that just to be able to describe our experiences in a way that makes Other People--who likely do not necessarily have our best interests in mind--Happy. absolutely none of this tangibly benefited us beyond "we get to describe ourselves more accurately (as polyfrag specifically) with slightly less worry about people jumping down our throat". "oh but think of the long term!" in another world, the "long term" would be we figure out we have a CDD in a much less distressing way during a much less stressful time, and are ultimately healthier and happier.

ugh.

[milimeters-morales]

i only started readin the dd comics because i wanted his dialogue to be accurate in this fic but idk i really want miles to interact with luke and jess and foggy now with dd being the gateway. like i can’t start reading about them yet because i’m stuck on this path but eventually the ripeter world will expand

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Chapter Three

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” 

“Hey, I’ve got this.  It’s important to make sure we know before this meeting, right? And it’ll only take a minute..  I know how hard it is for you to see her like that..heh…or at all.” 

“I will be here if you need anything, simply call.” 

—---------

Ethan was standing barefoot in one of the many blooming, cliffside gardens of the Heisenberg estate when Eva’s voice faded.  He closed his eyes and passed through the liminal space, which he now understood was simply a gateway to the real layers of the Mutamycete’s realms.  

Passing that one thin layer that almost-touched reality meant that he disappeared from where he stood in the garden.  Physically, he was now completely within the mold network.  

It was a way to travel that he’d gotten more comfortable with in the last few months, if comfortable was the right word.  Thanks to Eva, he was beginning to understand the network he was unwillingly a part of.  

This–moving, it felt like flipping through pages of a book.  Ethan spoke to the ever-present yet startlingly shy choir of whispers that moved around him.  

Take me to Miranda’s garden.  

The first time he went there, it had been involuntary, nearly a disaster, and Miranda had a hand in his partial appearance.  Now that he chose to travel within this world, he could be safer about it.  Sort of.  

The “garden” was not a real place–it had no counterpart in the outside world–rather, it was one of Miranda’s created spaces.  It was a deep lake where hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies floated under a mass of liquid that he wasn’t entirely sure was water.  Sometimes it changed to black, and sometimes a bloody, disgustingly deep red.  He saw it in his nightmares.  

Instead of manifesting under the water, face to face with scores of decaying bodies, Ethan found himself on the rocky shore of the lake.  Large stones made a border around the dark water, where gentle waves created lapping sounds.  

Willing himself invisible was something he had no problem learning, much to Eva’s delight.  In an instant he looked down, seeing the golden shimmer that dissipated like sparks around him.  He could not see his own body.  Ethan paced along the water’s edge.  

He chose this spot simply because Miranda seemed to spend more time here lately.  Eva guessed it was to help phase out of ‘memory’ mode, where Miranda had been reliving nearly a decade of her own life with her daughter on a dreamy, ever-repeating loop.  Moving into her own created space where she could focus on her “power” meant that she was more interested in that, than her daughter’s life and memory.  

To no one’s surprise, really.  

The “garden” was something Miranda had created after she touched the mold in the cave, but not much else was known about it.  She could quickly sense Eva in these places she’d made, but so far, she had not sensed Ethan.  This would be his third time in this miserable place, and he hoped, one of his last.  He needed the connection with Miranda’s consciousness to “jump” to the next memory he wanted to see.  To see if his, and Eva’s, hunch was correct.  

But where was Miranda, dammit?  Ethan strode farther out toward the beckoning, murky waterside, his eyes tracing the line of the water’s horizon across the foggy shores.  

It felt like a terrible spot to be, void of any other landmarks save the faux-treeline, faded mountain backdrop and the fog itself.  The lake was medium sized, but endlessly deep.  Still, on the surface, she had nowhere to hide.  There was only water, and several rock formations nearby, away from the shore.  

He would have to swim to get to them, and he had absolutely zero interest in doing so.  On his first venture here Miranda had sat on those stones, and once, seemingly prayed, or spoke to something that Ethan could not see.  

As the midnight moon rises on black wings….

Something bubbled, moved.  He froze, watching the water, and then nearly ran back toward the tree cover when Miranda’s head emerged from the water.  She shook her head as her body rose, moving directly upward.

At first he thought she was floating upward, but he realized as his stomach turned, that tendrils of mycelium were wrapped around her bare legs, pushing her upward from below, and now drifting toward the rocky island.   

She held something in each hand, and blackish-maroon water cascaded down, dripping off her pale form as she gracefully stepped onto a flat stone.  Miranda was only forty or fifty feet away.  She had been in the midst of transforming, he realized as he stumbled backwards subconsciously.  The long blackened claws were now fading into feminine hands, her almost spidery body shrinking to the petite form he was familiar with.  She hummed in approval of this and stroked her cheek with one hand, still holding whatever she’d fetched from the murky water.  

She was naked.  Remembering what lay at the bottom of this lake, Ethan truly thought he might be sick, but he forced himself to watch as she spun on her toes, facing the area she’d just emerged from and raising one of the items in her hand over her head in a triumphant gesture. 

It was a heart, he saw with a sinking feeling, and Ethan took respite in the tree trunk he was now backed up to, sagging against the rough bark as though the pine needed to hold him upright.  Not only was Miranda wringing the heart’s blood over her head as she’d done with Ethan, but she now spoke something else unintelligible–Romanian, he could tell–and then after her remark, she sank her teeth into the muscle.  

It squelched, and he grimaced.  Ethan didn’t need to see more, he remembered.  She was here, and that was what he needed.  

With an exhale, he tried very hard to focus on literally anything other than the image of naked Miranda eating a heart, and he mentally spoke the request linked to the woman’s consciousness.  

Show me her memories–where she put the crystals of the people below the water.  

The only reason that Eva had known the purpose of this macabre ‘garden’ was thanks to Miranda’s notes, which on this topic had all but vanished over the years.  It seemed it was one of her first ‘tasks’ after being infected with the mold.  Rendering souls inside the mutamycete unable to move or communicate by drowning them, and then somehow transferring whatever was left of them into a crystal.  

As Heisenberg explained it, it was not a death.  It was worse; she was creating a network of batteries.  Souls to be utilized as power.  Her power.  These “bodies” were suspended, frozen in a state where only Miranda had access to their energy, while the essence of their humanity–a nuisance that was not needed–was split into a crystal and discarded. 

In addition to the mass murder of the village that happened just before Ethan’s arrival, it seemed Miranda had orchestrated a reign of terror on the Mold’s consciousness as well.  It was likely one reason that the voices were so timid around her, as well as a reason that Eva hadn’t met a plethora of other people catalogued by the Mold in her time there.  

The sound of Miranda’s almost sensual eating of the heart paused and she looked in Ethan’s direction, one eyebrow quirking as though she sensed him.  

“Who disturbs me?” she asked sharply, and Ethan raised his eyebrows.  Anytime now, voices. 

The scene began to shimmer and he knew he would soon leave this stratum, as the edges of his vision darkened.  

Miranda couldn’t see him, but she was powerful enough to sense him, and likely the moving, responsive network of the mold as well.  

She called a name that Ethan didn’t recognize.  Jochen?

Just as the scene darkened and Ethan felt the earth tip away from him, she called another name, and that one he did recognize.  

“Mia?” 

—---------

Ethan found his feet easily, and stepped into a trail in a moonlit forest.  He shivered and heard his heart suddenly, thudding loudly in his chest.  It was perhaps due to almost being seen by a naked, blood-soaked heart-eating crazy bitch, but also to the name she’d said.  Why would Mia be there? 

Ethan nearly fell over a rock when he realized he was walking behind a blond woman.  So close that he could reach out and touch her.  Despite his original inkling that it was Eva, he realized moments after that this woman was definitely not Eva.  

She walked with purpose, and an almost hedonistic feminine gait.  She was clad in simple black, but even from the back Ethan could see that it was far more revealing than her “Human” clothing choices.  

And she smelled coppery.  Like blood.  

Miranda. 

This was her memory–he was in no danger here, at least not immediately.  The mutamycete was simply pulling information from history: in this case, from Miranda directly.  The same way it replayed all of the moments from his own life after his body was re-absorbed.  

Eva postulated that the Mold tried to replay scenes to better store them, especially ones that it “liked”, but he didn’t know anything about that.  The whole idea was creepy.  As if the mold watched lives, and had thoughts about what it saw.  

He began to walk in step with her.  If he’d known Romanian, Ethan might try to speak to the woman, but he only knew grocery store words, how to order beer, and the occasional curse.  But from this angle he could see into whatever she was carrying–a basket, full of –oh, fuck, disgusting-dead crows, and among them, a bed of jagged crystals.  

So that was how she got rid of the humans, he realized with fresh horror–the parts of them that weren’t useful in her energy network, her “garden”, were bonded with….other physical beings.  In this case, it appeared, birds.  That would explain the sacrifices.  

The crystals were all coated in blood, and her hands were bloody.  

Miranda was nearly skipping along the dark path, and Ethan noted that she seemed drunk.  His long legs slowed until he was behind her again.   To see less was somehow easier.  

The only good thing about this situation was that he did recognize where he was walking.  He and Eva had made this hike a month ago when they first started unraveling Miranda’s plans, trying to get one step ahead.   

On the mountain range that kept the village isolated was Lacul Vrăjitoarelor, or, “Witch’s Lake.”  (“Of fucking course that’s its name,” Ethan had spat venomously at the map, which caused Karl to chuckle, and Eva’s eyes to widen at his sour disposition.) 

It was not too far of a walk from the village, but Karl had confirmed it was out of the Mutamycete’s reach–the mold did not seem to grow anywhere around it.  He had raised a magnetic field around the area, while Eva tried to locate any trace of the mold, but none existed.  It was likely past the ‘border’ of the mycelium.  

And here was Miranda, with her basket full of bloody crystals.  

If their guesses were correct, she was isolating harvested souls to a ghoulish, swampy lake where they could never be recovered or reunited by way of the Megamycete.  

The ecstatic woman approached the water’s edge and dipped her feet in, spinning as if dancing in the shallow water.  Ethan paused with his hands in his pockets, the look of disgust clear when she paused in her spin, staring at him in shock.  

“Alătură-te mie?”

He actually understood that one, but Ethan shook his head slowly.  This was the first time she’d seen him, spoken to him in a memory.  And if history were anything to go by, the real Miranda could rejoin this ‘memory’ anytime she wanted, as if alerted by her former self of his presence.  

“Oh, you speak English,” she said in a heavy accent, and the wide smile that broke across her face was nothing but uncanny.  She wore dark makeup and her cleavage was…well, it was there, and then some.  Ethan’s eyes widened at her remark.  How was she able to know English if this was a memory? 

She pressed him.  “Don’t I…know you?”

“No,” he said very quickly, and dipped his head toward the basket.  “What are you going to do with those?”

“These….sinners?”  Her smile was still strong.  She was acting…seductive?  Was she flirting with him?  She gazed toward him with heavy lids and the smile morphed into a grin, then she bit her lip.  “Come in with me and see.” 

“Isn’t it bad enough that you ripped people away from their bodies,” he countered with a gesture.  “Without the insult of taking them away from the network that preserved them?”

“I do know you,” she said in that same heavy, sultry voice that suited her so poorly.  Miranda tossed the basket aside, discarding its macabre contents into the stillwater without a single thought.  “We were…together.” 

“Nope,” he said even more quickly.  Well, dammit.  If she was going to do anything different before she’d seen him, his chance was gone.  “Wrong guy.”  

Home, he begged internally.  Home, now.  

The ground began to wobble, but she stepped out of the water, unbuttoning her bodice thoughtfully as she began to circle Ethan.  His cheeks turned red as he reached up toward the necklace.  The compass.  Ethan gripped it so hard he thought it might shatter.  

Home?

She is keeping you there, came the fairy voice, in a hurried whisper.  Not the mold.  Eva.  

Wait there, I will get Karl.  

His heart doubled in speed.  

“Why are you holding me here?” Ethan said bluntly.  “I don’t want–”

“I am?” Miranda looked genuinely befuddled, and even stopped with the undressing.  “How curious.” 

So, memory-Miranda wasn’t doing it.  It was probably “Just had two hearts for brunch” Miranda who was preventing him from leaving.  Great.  All she had to do now was find him, traipsing along on her memory stratum, and interrogating her about her shitty soul-battery program.  

Ethan felt a pulling sensation.  In his feet, fingertips.  A magnetic field.  

“But we were together.  I was….someone, for you.  I shifted.  I remember it.”

“N-nope,” Ethan said as he struggled to stand upright, hand still clenched over the compass.  “Wrong guy, I told you.” 

“You were exquisite,” she said as if remembering the tastiest dessert of her entire life.  Just as Ethan cringed, he felt the pulling sensation turn into vertigo, and the scene, including Miranda, fell away into blackness.  Just as he was pulled, another memory entered his mind–blending with Miranda’s, likely.  

But it wasn’t the memory of her masquerading as Heisenberg.  

It was an intimate encounter between him and Mia.  The last night they were together before…Before Chris….

That flickering feeling overtook him.  Like flipping through pages of a book. 

Ethan again landed on his bare feet, stumbling, and felt a strong hand on his back.  His shirt was bunched up, and Ethan realized Karl was holding him by the scruff of his neck as if he were a dog.  When Winters abruptly righted himself, he turned and caught the bewildered, wide-eyed gaze of Heisenberg.  It immediately turned into a scowl, in which the engineer began gruffly,  “Just what in the hell–”

“It was my fault,” Eva interrupted, but Ethan stopped her. 

“It was not,” he began, but Karl was already arguing again.  

Ethan sighed and blinked in the early morning sun while Heisenberg ranted, “--supposed to just, wait for the next dumbass thing for you to get yourself into, like a goddamn cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs, I swear to fuckin’--”

“Shall we eat breakfast?” Eva asked in a withering, motherly tone, and Ethan cringed at the memory of the squelching heart.  He knew he was probably a light shade of green.  Without waiting for either of them, he shrugged away from Karl’s grip and headed toward the dining room.  

[foximator-blog]

if i had to choose a gate design for remakes it'd be the swap force design except the disc in the middle is replaced by a wall of the according element so it still disperses like the giants gates

Okay, but for a twist, since it'd still be the round gate frames, the door to the gates can be unique but still fit in the frame. And then they can have unique-ish animations when they open

Magic: A bronze runic door that resembles the base Magic skylanders stand on. When it opens the runes glow and they split into levitating triangular pieces as they move out of the gateway.

Tech: Metallic door, nothing too wild.

Fire: A door of volcanic rock that sets itself on fire before exploding as it opens.

Water: A wall of ice with fish in it that melts down into water as it opens, the fish flopping to freedom when the icy door is liquid again.

Life: A shrubbery themed door that reveals flowers and blossoms before it all blows out of the way, the flowers and leaves scattering in the wind.

Undead: Ghostly Crypt doors with laughing skulls on each side. Two skeleton hands open the doors, before ripping them off the hinges and pulling them down.

Air: A large fan blade that starts spinning faster and faster before flying out of the gateway as it's opened.

Earth: A rock wall that crumbles and shatters. Simple.

Light: A white crystalline wall that disappears in a flash of light. Also simple.

Dark: a wall of black foggy mist that forms a face and laughs before it mysteriously vanishes.

[politeanarchy]

Final Boss

Rallying your fading strength, you approach the gates. Their twisted metal shapes seem to writhe and shimmer in the foul vapors that fill the air. This is it.

Your armor, like yourself, is scarred and battered, bearing wounds from a thousand thousand desperate fights. Even with its original strength enhanced by all the magic you could buy, beg, or steal, it has barely survived. You pull the last healing and repair spells from your depleted pack, using some of them to mitigate the damage to your armor and yourself.

After some little thought, you also swallow the enhancement potions you have so carefully hoarded all this time. Their unnatural power fills you, and you feel your strength return and grow. They have cost you dearly, and you know that the long-term effects of using them will cost you more, but if ever there was a time to use them, it is now.

You draw your weapon, a grim tool worthy of one such as yourself. Your other hand stretches out toward the gates. Before you can touch them, they swing open before you. The music changes, its tempo increasing, its wild urgency stirring your blood as a thundering beat pulls your feet forward.

⁂

As soon as you are through the gateway, the metal bars clang shut behind you. A ring of strangely-colored flames springs up around the edge of the cavernous space you find yourself in. There will be no going back.

In the center, wreathed in swirling smoke and mist, you can see a desk. It is dark, heavy, solid, impressive in its sleek minimalism. Sitting behind it is someone who looks very much at home there. His charcoal pinstripe suit is precisely tailored, his hands are well-kept, and he has not a hair out of place, although the horns sticking out of it are a little unnerving. He smiles at you, and the firelight glints off his white, white teeth.

"Ah yes," he says. "Here you are. Right on time." He pulls a folder of papers out of a drawer in the desk, and begins to leaf through them.

"Yes!" you say. "I am here. I have tracked you down. I've escaped all your traps, discovered the secret passages through the maze, dodged all your cleverly-weighted platforms and trapdoors. I have defeated the minions you thought would protect you. I have prepared myself for this fight, and I am not afraid of you."

He raises a calm, unruffled eyebrow, barely looking up from his papers. "No? Well, I suppose you haven't had much chance to get to know me yet."

The magical elixirs you swallowed are swirling in your veins, making you dizzy and overheated. You shift restlessly from one foot to the other, desperate for motion, for a fight. This is not how you expected this encounter to go.

"Get to know you?" The idea enrages you. The wild energy burning through you lends inhuman harmonics to your voice as you shout, "I'm here to destroy you!"

You grip your weapon more tightly and try to approach the desk, but your movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. Possibly the effects of potions are conflicting with one another, but something seems more fundamentally wrong. Your mind is beginning to feel blurred, foggy.

You force yourself to breathe, to focus. "You're the source. All the evil in this land comes from you. I've dedicated myself to finding you, you devil. I've thought about nothing else for I don't know how long."

He nods, a brief acknowledging gesture. "Yes, that's right. The attention has been most flattering. You set out to be a hero. And by gradual stages, you have arrived…here."

"I've stopped at nothing to get to you!"

"Very true. How many villages have you razed? How many forests have you burned, how many rivers have you poisoned? How many people have you killed, so you could loot their corpses for your own material gain?" He shuffles the papers on his desk, reading down the neat columns of numbers. "Quite an impressive number, really. You'll probably get to have your initials on the high-score board, for a while. Until somebody else breaks your record."

Your patience is worn thin now, your system flooded with adrenaline, nerves stretched to breaking point. It feels as though the strangely-colored flames that surrounded you are now devouring you from the inside.

"Damn you!" you shout. "Stop talking, and fight me!"

He laughs at that, a low, patronizing, self-indulgent chuckle. You think there might be a hint of genuine amusement underneath.

"Don't be absurd, of course we aren't going to fight." He leans back and smiles, completely at his ease, and with an air of someone explaining something extremely obvious to someone extremely dim, he says:

"You work for me, now."

[tragicendinglover]

Murr's 2023 Birthday Card - Translation

Disclaimer: This was done with the help of the machine translation so it will not be too accurate. I apologize that it's not the best - I just wanted to have at least a rough translation somewhere! (Some parts will literally make no sense, so if anyone's reading and wants raws, let me know. Same goes for the other "translations".

Part 1 It was a few days before Murr's birthday. I was consulting with Shylock about how to escort him to the playground in Hanagiri. Shylock Oh. I see that you will be inviting people to the playground at Hanagiri soon.

Akira: Yes, I did. I had a lot of fun when I was taken by Shylock before, so I was happy if everyone else could enjoy it too.

Shylock: Thank you very much. I am sure my friend will be pleased to hear that.

Akira:But I can't think of a good way to escort Murr to that place. There are so many different ways, and I'm not sure which would please him the most...

Shylock: Hmmm, Murr is like a fickle cat. He will never obey you quietly. Therefore, you should not be overly concerned with Murr, but leave him alone to his own devices.

Akira: I'm an escort. Is that what this is about?

Shylock: The other party is Murr. It is best to let him do as he likes. And it might be a good idea to occasionally mix in something that is typical of you, the Sage. That is exactly what you should do to attract the cat's interest.

Akira: (My own way of escorting, huh...)

Murr:What are you two talking about?

Akira: Wah?

Murr was sitting next to me, looking as if he had been there from the beginning.

Murr: Fun? Or a trick?

Shylock: Which is it? Only the Sage knows the answer to that question.

Murr: Hmmm, the ringleader is a Sage. Well, then, they got me excited!

Akira: Well, on Murr's birthday, will you let me invite you to a place called Hanagiri no Yugijo? I'd like to escort Murr there.

Murr:A Sage escorting me around? That sounds like so much fun!

Part 2

Akira: The day of Murr's birthday arrived. I was waiting in my room until it was time to meet Murr.

Murr: Dear Sage, come on!

Akira: What? I thought we were still on time. Isn't the invitation flashing?

Murr: Yeah, I couldn't wait to write my name down! I couldn't wait to write my name! And I also cast a spell!

Akira: (When did you...?!?)

As proof of this, the gateway, decorated with flowers and ivy, which I had prepared on my desk, began to open with a small sound.

Murr: Arrived!

When the foggy view opened, I found myself in a casino room. The ceiling and furnishings were covered with flowers, and the room was filled with a mellow fragrance.

Murr: Wow! Look at that, dear Sage. Just like Chloe taught me to wear, it fits me perfectly!

Akira: It looks really good on you. That hat is really cool, too!

Murr: Yay! I got a compliment!

Akira: The people who are invited to this playground have their clothes magically changed.

Murr: Roulette, cards, dice.... You name it, we've got it! But who can beat me?

Murr's interest had already shifted to the casino, and he was walking around the room looking for his opponents.

Akira: Murr, is this the first place you want to play? There are many other spaces, so if you want to go somewhere else, let me escort you there.

Murr: Let's hear it for the cards then.

Akira: On the card?

As I tilted my head, Murr took a deck of playing cards in his hand and read the incantation.

Murr: Eanul Rambul! Now the cards have changed. Now the card has symbols indicating their locations.

Akira:Huh? Does Murr know what kind of space there is in this playground?

Murr: Yes! Casinos, rides galore, garden parties, and so much more! I asked Shylock about it before.

Akira: So that was it.

Murr: Come on, Master Sage. Draw a card from this list.

Akira: Okay, I'll see what I can do. Okay, I'll go to .........-here! (Coins, wooden horse, flower symbols...what? I think there has to be one symbol per coin to know where it's going. ......)

Murr: You hit the jackpot! Congratulations, my Sage! Now you can go to the three spaces depicted there.

Akira: What? I feel like I've used a lot of luck. ......

Murr: Don't worry. You're all right! Here.

Murr showed me the rest of the cards in his hand, which had the same symbols as the ones I was holding now.

Akira: I mean, was I supposed to go to these three spaces no matter what I did?

Murr: That's what I mean. Come on, let's go. Sage!

Akira: (After all, escorting Murr is not a simple task! )

Part 3

Next to the casino, we headed to the garden party space.

Murr: Look and see, dear sage.

Akira:Wow! That's an oddly shaped flower.

Murr: The shape of the petals resembles the screw winding of a spring. Then, let's name this flower "Nejitsusa"!

Akira: What do you want to do? Murr is going to name it?

Murr: Yeah, because this is a flower even I've never seen before. Maybe the magician who made this playground made this flower!

Akira: Then it doesn't matter if Murr names it?

Murr:That's what I'm talking about!

Leaving the garden party behind, Murr and I step into the next space.

Akira: I thought the same thing when I came here before, but this place is just like an amusement park.

Murr: Amusement park? What kind of place is that? Is it as crazy as this place?

Akira: It's a fun place. There are various kinds of playground equipment, the most popular being a roller coaster. The seats are lined up inside a box, and the box runs at great speed. You can fall from high places, spin around, and so on.

Murr:Scary and exciting! Hey, is that what it looks like?

Murr snapped his fingers, and the horses floating in the sky formed a straight line.

Murr:Eanul Rambul!

Murr cast the spell again, and the horses began to gallop through the air. The horses climbed high into the sky and then plunged down in a roller coaster ride.

Akira: Ha-ha! That's great! That's exactly how it feels!

Murr: Yay!!! That's a great answer! I kind of want to be a roller coaster too. See, you're a Sage, too!

Akira:What? Wow!

I found myself in the back of Murr's vehicle.

Akira: Murr, I'm just saying it's going to be a roller coaster ride.

Murr: Of course I compete with the horses. I give it my all.

The vehicle was flying through the sky at top speed before we had time to get ready for the next flight.

Akira: Aaah!

Murr:Ha-ha-ha! Feels good~!

At first I didn't have time to watch, but when I saw that Murr was enjoying himself, the fear in me eased.

Akira: (Murr, you look like you're having a great time.)

When you can afford to do so, you can see things that you could not see before. For example, the beauty of this space when viewed from above.

Murr: Let's spin around next time!

With soft light and colorful petals dancing in the air, Murr and I continued to fly in the curtain for a while.

Murr: Ha-ha! That was fun, Sage!

Akira: Yes, very much! How was it? How was my escort?

Murr: Escort? I completely forgot!

Akira:Haha. Actually, me too. I've been thinking about it ever since Shylock gave me that advice. How can I escort someone in my own way?

Murr: By the look on your face, it looks like you got your answer!

Akira: Yes....I am not sure if this is the correct answer... I don't know if it's the right answer... I thought it was about having fun with Murr. I was excited regardless of the escort from the beginning.

Murr: You're so smart to enjoy yourself, Sage! But I like your way of thinking. Because when you're having fun, I'm having fun. That's the best escort I've ever had!

Petals fell from somewhere with a sweet fragrance, and just like when I first came here, my surroundings were enveloped in a mist.

Akira:(The doors to the playground are starting to close... Murr, I wonder if he’s been fulfilled.)

Soon, the hazy vision opened up and we were back from the magic house.

Akira: Murr, I hope you had a good time tonight.

Murr: Yes, so much! I want to build an amusement park like the one in Sage's world here! It was the best birthday ever, it satisfied my curiosity!

Akira: I am glad to hear it. Happy Birthday again, Murr!