#go check out her write-up of the verse it's neat

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[boombox-fuckboy]

any podcast recommendations for guys Going Through It. im a sucker for whump and i’ve already listened to TMA and Malevolent sooo

Fiction Podcasts: Characters Going Through It / Experiencing the Horrors

Gore warning for most, here's 15 to get you started:

I am in Eskew: (Horror) David Ward is arguably the Guy Going Through It. Stories from a man living in something that very much wants to be a city, and a private investigator who was, in her words, "hired to kill a ghost". Calmly recounted stories set to Eskew's own gentle, persistent rain. The audio quality's a bit naff but the writing is spectacular. If you like the writing, also check out The Silt Verses, which is a brilliant show by the same creators.

VAST Horizon: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Thriller/Suspense Elements) And Dr. Nolira Ek is arguably the Gal Going Through it. An agronomist wakes from cryo to discover the ship she's on is dead in the water, far from their destination, and seemingly empty, barring the ship's malfunctioning AI, and an unclear reading on the monitors. I think you'll like this one. Great sound design, amazing acting, neat worldbuilding, and plenty of awful situations.

Dining in the Void: (Horror, Sci-Fi) So, the initial pacing on this one is a little weird, but stick with it. A collection of notable people are invited to a dinner aboard a space station, and find not only are they trapped there, but they're on a timer until total station destruction: unless they can figure out who's responsible. And there's someone else aboard to run a few games, just to make things more interesting. The games are frequently torturous. If that wasn't clear.

The White Vault: (Horror) By the same creators as VAST Horizon, this one follows a group sent to a remote arctic research base to diagnose and repair a problem. Trapped inside by persistant snow and wind, they discover something very interesting below their feet. Really well made show. The going through it is more spread out but there's a lot of it happening.

Archive 81: (Horror, Weird Fiction, Mystery and Urban Fantasy Elements) A young archivist is commissioned to digitize a series of tapes containing strange housing records from the 1990s. He has an increasingly bad time. Each season is connected but a bit different, so if S1 (relatively short) doesn't catch your ear, hang in for S2. You've got isolation, degredation of relationships, dehumanisation, and a fair amount of gore. And body horror on a sympathetic character is so underdone.

The Harrowing of Minerva Damson: (Fantasy, Horror) In an alternate version of our own world with supernatural monsters and basic magic, an order of women knights dedicated to managing such problems has survived all the way to the world wars, and one of them is doing her best with what she's got in the middle of it all.

SAYER: (Horror, Sci-Fi) How would you like to be the guy going through it? A series of sophisticated AI guide you soothingly through an array of mundane and horrible tasks.

WOE.BEGONE: (Sci-Fi) I don't keep up with this one any more, but I think Mike Walters goes through enough to qualify it. Even if it's frequently his own fault. A guy gets immediately in over his head when he begins to play an augmented reality game of entirely different sort. Or, the time-travel murder game.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenobiologist and a xenoanthropologist visit a dead city on a distant world, and find something awful. You hear her logs first-to-last, and his last-to-first, which is interesting framing but also makes the whole thing more painful. The audio equivalent of having your heart pulled out and ditched at the nearest wall. Listen to the supercut.

The Blood Crow Stories: (Horror) A different story every season. S1 is aboard a doomed cruise ship set during WWII, S2 is a horror western, S3 is cyberpunk with demons, and S4 is golden age cinema with a ghostly influence.

Mabel: (Supernatural, Horror, Fantasy Elements) The caretaker of a dying woman attempts to contact her granddaughter, leaving a series of increasingly unhinged voicemails. Supernatural history transitioning to poetic fae lesbian body horror.

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural) An amnesiac researcher with difficulties staying dead investigates strange creatures, eats tasty food, and even makes a few friends while exploring the town they live in. A character who doesn't stay dead creates a lot of scenarios for dying in interesting ways

The Waystation: (Sci-Fi, Horror) A space station picks up an odd piece of space junk which begins to have a bizzare effect on some of the crew. The rest of it? Doesn't react so well to this spreading strangeness. Some great nailgun-related noises.

Station Blue: (Psychological Horror) A drifting man takes a job as a repair technician and maintenance guy for an antarctic research base, ahead of the staff's arrival. He recounts how he got there, as his time in the base and some bizzare details about it begin to get to him. People tend to either quite like this one or don't really get the point of it, but I found it a fascinating listen.

The Hotel: (Horror) Stories from a "Hotel" which kills people, and the strange entities that make it happen. It's better than I'm making it sound, well-made with creative deaths, great sound work, and a strange staff which suffer as much as the guests. Worth checking out.

[aidanchaser]

Sometimes I think I write fic just to make cute headers.

Anyway, I also wrote chapter 3 today. Can you tell I'm avoiding grading?

Song fic based around The Butterfly Effect by FJØRA

Read chapters 1-3 on Ao3 here. Read Chapter One: Verse One on tumblr here. Read Chapter Two: Chorus on tumblr here

Read chapter three on tumblr below:

the butterfly effect when you open up your soul “Yes, Alya, I’m awake, I swear,” Marinette says into her phone as she tumbles out of bed. “I’ll be right downstairs.”

It isn’t Marinette’s fault that Vision Violette akumatized Alya’s sisters last night and a short babysitting sleepover turned into another all-night battle on the streets of Paris. She doesn’t know how Alya has the energy to be on time, but maybe Alya is still riding the high of being a hero for the first time. She certainly seemed to enjoy herself as Rena Rouge.

“You can’t tell her,” Tikki says, as if she is reading Marinette’s mind.

Marinette mumbles an agreement around her toothbrush. She can’t tell Alya that she is Ladybug, as much as she might want to. Alya is her best friend, after surviving a few misunderstandings, and they can share their superheroics, but they just can’t tell each other that they share their superheroics.

Marinette spits her toothpaste into her sink. “But once we defeat Vision, I can tell her.”

Everything will be easier then. Whenever that day comes. Marinette can tell Alya that she’s been Ladybug the entire time. She and Chaton Chique can share their identities with each other and the three of them can be the best of friends.

And maybe, if Marinette is strong enough and brave enough to take down Vision Violette, she’ll be strong enough and brave enough to confess her love to Adrien Agreste.

She swipes the wrapped gift from her desk as she hurries downstairs.

Alya is waiting in the bakery’s cafe with a raised eyebrow. “Hair?” she says.

Marinette drops her bag and Adrien’s gift and dashes back upstairs to comb her hair. She is about to tie it back into two pigtails, but the elastic goes flying out of her hand and behind her bed. She digs through her desk drawer for another.

“Marinette, you’re going to be late!” Tikki sings.

Hastily, Marinette takes her one remaining elastic and pulls her hair up into a bun, but that’s worse. That’s the old Marinette. With a pained groan, she loops the elastic around her wrist and rushes back downstairs. At least her hair is neat. She’ll bum an extra hair tie off of Alya or Mylène.

She hurries back downstairs and grabs her bag off the floor as she hurtles towards the door.

“Forgetting something?” Alya asks.

Marinette panics and runs her head to toe check—hair, face, teeth, shirt, pants, shoes, bag, phone—then she turns and sees the gift in Alya’s hands. She let’s out a startled scream and takes it back before running out the door.

She won’t be late today. She can’t be late today.

Today, she has to be brave.

the butterfly effect so long gone from the world “Adrien, this isn’t what our powers were made for,” Nooroo whines.

But Adrien ignores him. He fumbles through the drawer of his bedside table for a clean shirt. He’s moved his daily essentials as close to his bed as possible. Steps are a limited resource, and he has less and less by the day.

“Don’t go to school today,” Nooroo begs. “Stay home and rest. If you stop, maybe there’s a chance to recover.”

Adrien is foolish for getting himself into this, but he isn’t stupid enough to believe Nooroo. His mother used the peacock once and it still killed her. It may have taken fourteen years, and Adrien thinks he’ll be lucky to get fourteen weeks at the rate he is going, but he doesn’t care.

“I just have to get the miraculous from Ladybug and Chaton Chique,” he says, and pins the butterfly brooch and the peacock brooch inside his shirt. The gems disguise themselves into solid silver crests. “Once I do that, none of this will matter.”

“It does matter,” Nooroo insists. “You can recreate the world a dozen times, but the fingerprints of the old world will linger.”

Adrien’s phone rings before Nooroo’s words can settle into his ears.

“Yeah, Chlo, I’m ready,” he says as he picks up the phone. “Be right there.”

It hurts to stand, but he does it anyway. Mentally, he counts out his route: seven steps to his bedroom door, fifteen down to the foyer, eight to the front door and five to the door of Chloé’s car. Then time to sit, rest, recover, before he has to walk into school.

“I believe in you,” Duusu says in a voice that splits the difference between unreasonably naive and downright patronizing, before disappearing into his pocket.

Adrien takes a deep breath and begins the trek downstairs.

Chloé kisses him on each cheek and helps him into the car without question. If she’s noticed his slow movements or his hesitation between standing and sitting, she hasn’t said anything. He finds it a bit odd. Polite is not a word he usually associates with Chloé, but he wonders if Vision’s tendency to target people who have been hurt by Chloé’s selfishness has given her cause for self-reflection. It would be nice to know that Vision has done some good for others, even if he hasn’t managed to do any good for Adrien.

“Adrien,” she gushes, as she falls against him in the back seat of the car, “you will not believe how exhausted I am—utterly exhausted.”

“Oh?” he says, knowing it can’t compare to his exhaustion. Not only is he worn down from the fractured peacock miraculous, he’d been out late last night trying one more time to get the ladybug and cat miraculous. He’d thought a multiplication power would be the thing to finally overwhelm Ladybug; he’d been proven wrong.

“Just look at these bags under my eyes!”

“I don’t see anything there.”

“Well, obviously you don’t see anything. Do you think I would dare leave the house without concealer?”

Adrien can certainly relate, but he isn’t as eager to lament about his exhaustion as Chloé is. “Did you stay up late finishing Ms. Mendeleiev’s physics assignment?”

“What? God, no. Sabrina’s doing that for me.”

“Chloé, you can’t keep asking Sabrina to do your homework for you.”

“I have way more important things to do than homework,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“Organizing your shoe collection is not important.”

“Not like that! Like—” Chloé hesitates, then leans against the car door. “Like, you know, important stuff,” she mumbles.

Adrien fidgets with the pair of rings around his finger. He doesn’t press. He’s got enough of his own secrets that he can allow Chloé to keep a few, too.

let the light wash over Marinette keeps her eyes on her shoes as they climb the steps of the school’s entrance. Her hair is a curtain, shielding her from the world around her. Her initial determination has condensed into a writhing mess of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

Like butterflies.

Alya nudges her with an elbow. “I think that’s him.”

Marinette glances at the car pulling up. It’s Chloé’s car; she’s had the plates memorized for years. But sometimes he comes to school with Chloé, something she finds horribly unfair.

Though even Marinette has to admit, Chloé has been better since Adrien started going to school with them. Or maybe it’s only that Chloé has someone else to entertain her, someone who isn’t Marinette.

Chloé exits the car first, and her heart pounds in anticipation. Then Chloé turns and Adrien steps out of the car. Marinette immediately notices the way Adrien takes Chloé’s hand. Her breath catches in her throat and she buries the gift behind her back.

Alya tries to shove her forward, but Marinette balks.

“He’s holding hands with Chloé—Chloé of all people,” she hisses.

But they aren’t holding hands. Once the start walking up the steps, Adrien’s hands are on the strap of his messenger bag and Chloé is waving to Sabrina.

“You finished that psychic assignment or whatever, right?” Chloé calls loudly, unconcerned that a teacher might hear that she is cheating on her work.

Sabrina, waiting dutifully at the bottom of the stairs, tilts her head in confusion. “Er—you mean physics?”

“Oh, whatever it is, you know what I mean,” Chloé snaps and holds her hand out for the paper.

Adrien smiles at Nino, casually knocks his fist against his friend’s, then looks up to where Marinette and Alya are standing.

Something in his smile shifts—warms—relaxes.

let the sun come closer There’s something different about Marinette today. It takes Adrien a moment to realize that her hair is down.

He likes it. He doesn’t love it—he loves when he can see all of her face—but he likes it. It’s different. It feels freer, more confident.

Marinette tucks one side behind her ear and his heart stutters in his chest.

Maybe he does love it.

He hardly notices the ache in his muscles as he climbs the steps to the school. Soon, he and Marinette are on equal footing.

She stammers something at him, but he doesn’t quite hear it. He’s too busy staring at the way her lips move, at the way her eyes light up when she talks, at the blush coloring her cheeks.

Then she presses something into his hands. The paper is soft and crinkles beneath his fingers. He peels back the wrapping to find a denim jacket, hand embroidered along the lapels with a jade and pink floral design, much like the lucky charm tucked away in his pocket.

Chloé appears at his elbow and her sneer cuts through the haze that had shrouded Marinette’s stammered words.

“Denim?” she laughs. “What year is it?”

“Chloé,” he says in a low but sharp voice, and she shuts her mouth, but her upper lip stays curled in disgust.

“It’s nice and thoughtful, or whatever, I guess,” she grunts, as if it pains her to be tiniest bit considerate. Still, she mutters just under her breath, “But it’s still from Dupain-Cheng.”

“Thank you,” Adrien says to Marinette, though he can’t think for the life of him what he’s done to deserve this gift.

She smiles and his knees go weak—though he thinks that has more to do with how long he’s been standing than it does with her smile.

Marinette catches him, and it’s like lightning in his veins. It hurts where her fingers press into his but his heart pounds with a renewed vigor he hasn’t felt in years.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

He manages a smile. “I’ve never been better.”

colors take their form

[victorluvsalice]

Happy Birthday LiddellVxnDort!

@liddellvxndort, it may not be the skinny tall white guy/girl you were hoping for, but have something Bloodlines-related to celebrate your nineteenth year upon this planet. :) The context is, it’s just after the Giovanni raid, with Alice, Lizzie, and the others getting settled back into the apartment, and Lizzie has a few questions for her sister. . . Hope you enjoy!

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

"So, um – who exactly is this mysterious third sister of ours that I've only just met?"

Alice snorted. "She does look strangely similar to us, doesn't she?" she agreed, glancing over at Madeline. Her friend was currently making a fuss over Emily's hair, picking it up in handfuls and telling a bemused Emily how it "shined like the spun gold of Rumplestiltskin." Hopefully that doesn't become the poor girl's nickname now. . . "I've sometimes wonder if she's some relation from an obscure branch of our family tree. . .anyway, yes, that's Madeline, Maddie for short. No last name – she doesn't recall it, unfortunately."

"Doesn't recall?" Lizzie echoed, frowning. "What happened?"

"The Embrace, from what I gathered in our first conversation. It – affected her a lot more strongly than it did me." Alice sucked in a breath just to fuel a sigh. "You see, when you become a Malkavian, your head. . .well, if it isn't already 'wrong' somehow, it becomes wrong very fast. I was reliably informed I was one of the lucky ones of the clan."

Lizzie's frown deepened as she watched Madeline pile Emily's hair atop her head, trying to make some sort of elaborate hairdo. "So that's why she talks the way she does? All roundabout metaphors and weird nicknames?"

"Mmm – whatever the curse did to her mind, it basically destroyed her ability to speak plainly," Alice confirmed. "She knows how to get her point across, more or less, but it can take some mental gymnastics to decipher."

"Well, good thing you're good at that." Lizzie ran her fingers through her own hair. "And frankly, I'd rather have a vampire like that – bouncing off the walls and calling us things like 'jewels for eyes' and 'birch boy' – around me than some Giovanni smirking at me through a barred window and saying unflattering things in Italian." She huffed, scowling. "Bastards – I suppose I should be grateful to them in some small way, as without them I'd still be a lost and angry phantom stuck in the remains of our house, but. . .you heard what they wanted us for. You know what they were trying to do."

"I do," Alice confirmed, gritting her fangs as she recalled Nadia's cracking voice explaining, "They weren't supposed to have their personalities! They were just supposed to – you know – do what they were told. . ." "Hence why I don't feel particularly cut up about slaughtering good old Uncle Bruno."

"Yes, well, you know what it all reminded me of? Bumby. Him cornering me and droning on and on about how I had to be with him, how we were destined to marry and make lots of little Bumblets, how loving him was my goddamn purpose." Lizzie's fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. "And I just – tell me caught him after the fire," she begged, face pained. "Tell me they prosecuted him to the full extent of the law and then some."

Alice pressed a hand against her undead heart, trying to support it against the guilt. "Oh, Lizzie – I wish I could," she whispered. "But he managed to convince enough of the right people that it was Dinah's fault. It wasn't until years later his role in the fire was discovered." She allowed a cold smile, fangs fully on display. "Which was after I finally remembered the truth myself and shoved him in front of a train, so. . ."

"Well, that's – a train?!" Lizzie stared at her. "How the hell did you get away with that?"

"My victim was kind enough to use that portion of the Underground for his sordid activities and thus had the security camera that would have caught me in the act disabled," Alice explained, smirking. "And by sheer luck, we were the only two people on the platform that day. I managed to spin the incident as an accident, and once his crimes came to light, no one seemed particularly keen on looking into the matter." She clasped her hands behind her, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Still, worry over some overeager bobby poking their nose into how much I actually had to do with his death is the whole reason I'm here in California. I was looking to leave my past behind – make a fresh start."

"I guess dying and being turned into a vampire counts toward that," Lizzie said blandly. "Our lives are something else, aren't they, Alice?"

"Oh, they are." Alice looked back over at the others. Victoria had joined Madeline at Emily's head, and was now showing her how to braid the other woman's hair, to Madeline's delight. Behind them, Victor and Sam leaned against the kitchen counters, chatting – probably about music, given what she new of both. "But – it's not as bad as I thought it might be, when I first turned. I found Madeline and got her away from those terrible sires of hers; found Victor and saved him from dying in the clinic; found Victoria and – well, I guess getting Tommy Flayton to stop harassing her so much counts for something. And now I've found you, Emily, and Sam, and saved you all from Giovanni servitude." She smiled at her sister, warm feelings filling her undead form. "I hate to say it, but – being dead seems to suit me."

"It is pretty awful that we seem to be doing better after we've both been violently killed than we were before it," Lizzie agreed, before casting her own soft smile at the tableau nearby. "But if this is our new normal, I think I can – er – live with it, so to speak."

"Jewels for eyes! Keymistress!" Madeline waved them over, pointing at Emily (who was trying very hard not to giggle). "Come help!"

Lizzle binked, then raised an eyebrow at Alice. "Keymistress?"

Alice held up her necklace, Lizzie's old room key swaying at the end of it. "I did tell her this was yours."

"Ah." Lizzie shrugged and headed over to the impromptu hairdressing session, Alice by her side. "Well, maybe I can get her to call me Gatekeeper instead. I always fancied myself as badass as Sigourney Weaver ."

[artthemasquerade]

Maybe in this new world we can find happiness

Sooo I've been watching the Devilman Lady anime(its really neat so far, love the horror vibes and the dark storyline for anime Jun) and I already feel so bad for Jun in there, and I know things are only going to get worse for her. And also I have been reading  @themightynanto ‘s Devilman/Devilman Lady fic Devilman: The Rebirth (linking the first chapter here so you can check it out, its fun) and was rather inspired to think up my own devilman lady fic, though this one is a crossover between the Devilman Lady manga and anime, since there are parts of both versions I really like.

CW: mentions of rape

Of course I would need to finish watching the anime first before I even think of planning and writing this AU out but basically I was thinking that somehow the two worlds get merged together, it happens during the end of the anime where anime!Jun kills Lan and near the end of the manga, but manga!Jun wakes up to remembering she's half of Satan early and ends up fighting Archangel Micheal when he tries to kill her. Ran and Ghost!Akira try to help but just as manga!Jun is killed she uses what Satan powers she has (only half since she's only half) to get them to safety. The two big fights in both worlds causes them to be unstable and Devilman verse God merges the two worlds together since he doesn't want the devilmen/devilman beasts to exist and is trying to restart again and along the way Ran and Ghost!Akira end up falling into anime!Jun and clutching onto her taking her with them before landing in the new merged world. Not sure what the overall plot of this fic idea would be besides character focus on Akira, Jun and Ran having to deal with the lost of their worlds, Akira and Ran losing manga!Jun and anime!Jun losing her friends and the better world where humans and Devil Beasts/Devilmen can live in peace, Jun and Ran having to deal with the trauma of suffering rape, Ran coming to terms that she is Satan and also their budding relationship (cause you know me and my need for polyam ships XD) I think once I've finished the anime and had more time to think on this I'll have a clearer picture but I wanted to make this art since I couldn't get it out of my brain. Btw Ran has short hair and black streaks in her hair cause she does look a lot like Lan Asuka and well I can see Jun having a hard time looking at her and not have flashbacks about the woman who manipulated and raped her, and I can see Ran wanting to do her best to make her feel comfortable cause she does understand some of Jun's pain there.

[mego42]

a birthday rec post!

for @foxmagpie​’s birthday i’m celebrating her beautiful brain with five of my fav of her fics. If you haven’t checked them out i highkey recommend you fix your lives post-haste bc like my taste in people, my taste in fic is impeccable (though i am open to counterarguments if you guys have others you want to add on).

Snapshots: Photobooth

gOD this fic is so cUTE

i say fic but it’s tech an anthology of delinquents future snippets and this is just one chapter and while i’m here i heartily rec all of it

truly a galaxy brain concept on megan’s part, she’s tormenting us with a(n exquisite) slow burn in delinquents but also giving us the goods so we know what to look forward to

i love having my cake and eating it too, is what i’m saying

especially when the cake is as sweet and delightful as this one

look it’s a really neat trick to be able to write rio as a giddy sap of a teenage!! person and still have it feel totally in line with his adult canon self somehow idk how she does it but i’m so glad she does

Subjunctive

i’m gonna start us off by promising you guys i think about this fic an extremely normal amount

i also want to disclaim that i know beth gaming a douchebag named parker in a bar isn’t an homage to buffy bc megan’s refusal to watch is a source of endless torment BUT no one can stop me from taking it as one

anyway

i think one of the things that gets me with this fic is how neatly and efficiently it weaves in beth and rio’s (brief) history with the exact right amount of pining that i’m fully on board and rooting for them to get together not just hook up but it doesn’t take away from the bouncy, light, fun feel of the fic

plus oh my goD is it sexy

now elizabeth

who gave you the right????????????

Missed Call

the way this fic stresses me out

weird opening to a rec, i know but hear me out: the mounting tension is a perfectly paced build that sets up the culmination to hit like a hammer

it’s also a really excellent study in how isolating fear and stress can be and how even the most well-intentioned comfort can be the least comforting thing in the world and idk maybe that’s a weird thing to rec about it too but i think that’s so real and messy and i love how the discordant note of it plays into the tension

i know it’s not meant to be but it plays as an excellent counterpart to back to our cocoon which is only not on this list bc i made the stupid ass decision to stick to five but you should def consider that recced as well

I Will Collect and Capture You

look if you haven’t read this fic yet idk what to tell you

i really wanted to stick with stuff i hadn’t recced a bunch before but i love this one too much to leave it off but since i’ve yelled about it a bunch already i’ll be brief

while it is technically a wip, each chapter feels like a complete standalone arc so if you’ve been sitting on this one, stop making bad choices

features peak brio mess and jealousy and a metric fuckton of angst, but also weaves in some tenderness and humor and a hefty amount of god tier smut

truly this fic has it all

Crush

THE WAY I LOVE THIS FIC

look, i am not usually an OC person when it comes to fic, i’m here for what i’m here for, you know? but mar and elena are apparently the exception to that rule

it’s also a testament to how rich and in-depth the delinquents verse is that it can support such a built out, fully realized side-quest style fic for two characters who, while fairly close to the central plot, aren’t remotely the focus of it

also i know this fic is all about mar and elena getting together and do not get me wrong, they are the absolute cutest and everything about their story makes me scream, the part of this fic that really makes my heart go haywire is the mar and rio of it all

idk precisely why but i am ridiculously invested in rio having bffs on ruby and annie’s level and gOD does the relationship with mar megan’s crafted deliver on that like whoa

everything about their relationship from the literal reality of it to the way that rio’s an indelible part of mar’s mental landscape is pitch perfect and so, so precious to me

(and LOOK i KNOW that is not LITERALLY THE YEARBOOK DRAWING i am AWARE it should be a DUGOUT i TRIED MY BEST)

ily babe, i hope you have an amazing day 💖

[stiltonbasket]

Stilton, I was the anon who said that Wangxian getting together before Nightless City would make canon events extra heartbreaking and now I know just how 💔💔💔💔 the Qiongqi Dao ambush became 😭. For a less angsty prompt, something from Wangxian's happy year at the Burial Mounds with A-Yuan

(brief note: this verse is entirely prompt-based, so please send in more prompts/reblog for more updates!)

Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to Yiling City

(care of Master Xie Yanling, addressed to Lan Wangji)

Didi,

   To address the problem you mentioned in your last letter, I think Wei-gongzi might have better luck with a Lan-made spirit-trapping pouch to cleanse your crops of resentment. Such mild resentful energy may not respond to Cleansing, and he mentioned that larger spirits keep answering whenever he uses Chenqing, so I think your only solution may be to pick out the resentment piece by piece. However, I know nothing about resentful cultivation, so you need not feel obliged to try it if Wei-gongzi does not agree, but I have enclosed a package of spirit-trapping pouches just in case. If you have no use for them, they can always be sold, or you can save them for night-hunts in the future.

  Please inform Young Master Wei that a delivery of twelve white-jade figurines will be coming with the next trader, and he will recommend a jeweler in the next town whom you can sell them to. I regret to say that we still do not have enough silver to spare, but I have nearly half of my future bridewealth left, and there is no better use for it than to aid my brother and my future brother-in-law. Write to me at once if you need anything, and give my best to Xiao-Yuan!

  All my love,

     Xichen.

Lan Wangji finishes his brother’s letter with a soft smile on his face, taking out the silk spirit-trapping pouches to show to A-Yuan before putting them back into their box. He has not been back to the Cloud Recesses in over six months, though he warned no one of his departure before he left; he came to see Wei Ying and bring him news of his sister’s engagement, and then he ended up staying the night before Wei Ying asked him to live at his side, and be with him always.

It was never a choice, in the end. Lan Wangji would have chosen Wei Ying over his own fated zhiyin, even before his soulmate died on that horrible day in Heijian, so choosing Wei Ying over his sect and his family takes only a split second.

Together, the two of them have transformed the Burial Mounds into a home. Lan Wangji is no stranger to hard labor, and Wei Ying’s stubborn resolve could outstrip Shufu’s even at its weakest, so they went to work together and wrangled the resentment-ridden forest into a line of neat potato fields, chopping down the trees for firewood and long sections of log for houses. Not long after that, the Wens were all able to go to their own warm homes every night, and dine on large bowlfuls of rice and potatoes and turnips every day.

And what the Burial Mounds could not provide, they have ample money to pay for--because Lan Wangji sold his silver hairpiece in the village, and turned out all his emergency funds so that A-Yuan could keep his little stomach full of all the rich beef and vegetable stew a baby of two could want. During his last monthly check-up, Wen Qing was so pleased with his progress that she actually praised Wei Ying for it, and Wei Ying himself is growing strong and golden-skinned in the fields, so that he can wrestle with Lan Wangji in the evenings for A-Yuan’s entertainment and push the market wagon alone instead of relying on Wen Ning.

I am happier here than I ever was in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji thinks, blushing like one of Sishu’s ripe tomatoes as Wei Ying breezes by with a shovel and kisses the top of his head. You have given me the world, my heart, and you said you had nothing to give!

“Oh?” Wei Ying teases, making Lan Wangji blush even harder at the realization that he said that last aloud. “When did I say I had nothing to give, hmm? Who was it that combed your hair and cooked spicy porridge for you last night?”

“It was you, my heart,” Lan Wangji acknowledges, folding his brother’s letter back into its envelope. “And if I were not a cultivator, I would have spent the morning having runs in the latrine.”

Wei Wuxian throws his head back and laughs. “But Lan Zhan, A-Yuan ate it too! And he was fine, wasn’t he?”

“I ate his share for him.”

Wei Ying pouts at this, and continues to pout until Lan Wangji kisses him a few times to make him smile. “What did Zewu-jun say?” he wonders, trying to catch his breath when Lan Wangji pulls away for a moment. “Is he well? What about Lan-xiansheng?”

“They must both be doing well, or Xiongzhang would have told me,” Lan Wangji assures him. “But he suggested the use of spirit-pouches to make the lotus seeds safe to eat. Shall we try it tomorrow?”

“Aiyah, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!” Wei Ying cries, striking his fist with his palm. “We can’t get the traces of resentment in the crops to listen without holding everything else back, so we’ll have to clear the plots one at a time.”

Suddenly, he frowns and glances at Lan Wangji’s belt. “I don’t know if one pouch will be enough, though,” he mutters. “How old is yours, xingan? They have a ten-year lifetime, don’t they?”

“Three years, I think. But Brother sent a box of new ones, so we should have plenty to experiment with.”

“A-Yuan wants!” their son complains, plucking at Lan Wangji’s long skirts before reaching up for Wei Ying in a silent plea to be carried. “Give pouch, please?”

“You can have a pouch when you’re older,” Wei Ying tells him. “For now, A-Yuan should listen to Xian-gege and go take a nap. It’s too hot for little radishes to be out without a hat.”

Wen Yuan sulks all the way to the Demon-slaughtering cave, and then through the lullaby that Wei Ying hums to him, but he falls asleep without a fuss just as Lan Wangji gets up and puts away his qin.

“Lan Zhan?” his beloved asks, drawing a light blanket over A-Yuan’s shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“You wrote A-Yuan’s lullaby, didn’t you?” Wei Ying is watching him through half-lidded eyes, whirling his dizi between his fingers, and Lan Wangji freezes in shame at the implication. “It’s a love song.”

It takes all the strength in his body to nod and keep fastening Wangji back into its case as if nothing were the matter. “En.”

“It’s a love song for me.”

His voice is rougher now, he thinks.

“Yes.”

“You sang it to me in the Xuanwu’s cave,” Wei Ying murmurs. “It was mine back then, too. But Lan Zhan, your soulmate--before the war, she must have still been--”

“My zhiyin was alive then,” Lan Wangji says heavily. “And I mourn them still. But the song was named Wangxian from the moment of its birth, and I wrote it not long after you left the Cloud Recesses. My betrayal will forever be the greatest shame of my life, but I chose you even then, and I do not regret it.”

Wei Ying begins to tremble. “What would you have done if you had the chance to meet her?”

“Loved you anyway,” he whispers. “What could I have done, if not that?”

It was you from the beginning, he wants to say. Wei Ying, it’s always been you.

It was Wei Ying when he tried to force his way past Lan Wangji at the gates of the Cloud Recesses, and Wei Ying when he put a volume of longyang into a book of Lan An’s poetry, and Wei Ying even when Lan Wangji’s soulbond was singing with his zhiyin’s happiness. For no matter how wrong it might have been, and how uncouth, and how much of a betrayal, Lan Wangji has never wanted another; and if he ever met his soulmate, he would never have been able to love her as he loves his chosen beloved.

Suddenly, he realizes that Wei Ying is crying, and then he buries his face in Lan Wangji’s neck and sobs.

“I thought it was only me,” he gasps. “All this time, I’ve been in mourning--but wearing this sash feels like a lie when I’m with you, and I didn’t dare take it off, but--”

“Then take it off,” Lan Wangji urges, with his own eyes full of tears. “None here will judge you, Wei Ying, least of all me!”

And then Wei Ying kisses him for what feels like hours, until the sun is low in the sky and Wen Ning comes calling after them for dinner--and then Lan Wangji takes Wei Ying in his arms and kisses him in return, for they are wholly each other’s now, and Lan Wangji will never leave him again until the end of their days.

[gunterfan1992]

Interview with Half Shy (the songwriter of “Monster”)

For the last few months, I’ve been collecting information for a second edition of Exploring the Land of Ooo that will also cover the production of Distant Lands. This means that I’ve started to look into the new songs that we have been graced with this year, and this of course includes “Monster,” the beautiful track from the masterpiece that is “Obsidian”. And so I reached out to the song’s writer, Half Shy, who was kind enough to chat with me via email about the songwriting process!

(Photo courtesy of Half Shy)

In many ways, Half Shy is living the creative Adventure Time fan’s dream: She got asked by Adam Muto himself to write a song for “Obsidian” after he heard her music through Bandcamp! (I’ve dabbled in fan music before, and the fact that someone from the show might listen to it just blows my mind.) What an opportunity; I am so excited for her!

Since a second edition of my book won’t be coming out until after all the Distant Lands episodes air, I thought it would be best to share my Half Shy interview now. Read on for the fascinating behind the scenes story of how Half Shy and “Monster” came to be..

GunterFan: What is your origin story? How did you get involved in music, and how did the Half Shy project come to be?

Half Shy: I’ve been making music pretty quietly since I was in high school with a keyboard and guitar. I played one or two shows a year after college when I could find a friend or my brother to get up on stage with me, but I don’t really have that performer gene in me naturally. I get too much in my head and forget what the lyrics are to the song I wrote, or what the next chord is. Total brain freeze. So that whole experience is a bit of a mental drain. It’s something I think I’d like to dig into and figure out, but right now I’m really enjoying the time writing.

Even playing a song for my friends I still get pretty nervous. That’s where the name Half Shy comes from. I’ve always been interested in making things that by their nature draw a bit of a spotlight, but at the same time, I am just really quite nervous about the attention.

I recorded my first songs under my old name Hey V Kay in my bedroom and started putting them up online one at a time. When I got enough I thought about packaging it up into an album, but then got really distracted by learning how to fix up motorcycles and going to automotive tech school. When I eventually got back around to it I named the album Gut Wrenching.

After a few years I realized that I didn’t want the day-in-day-out life of a mechanic, I just wanted to know how to fix cars for myself and to have that knowledge in my back pocket. I got back into making music but grew frustrated at the process of writing and recording songs. I felt like I wasn’t able to capture the ideas I had in my head. Like trying to draw on your computer with a mouse. Doable, but it’s not going to come out like you’d hoped.

So these last couple of years I’ve focused more on learning the technical aspect of it, from the initial ideas and lyrics, to the recording and mixing. During that process I put out Bedroom Visionaries, and while writing I happened upon the name Half Shy in an old Thesaurus which felt instantly right. Learning all of that has been fun, I even went as far as to create my own book to solidify a daily writing routine (lyricworkbook.com). All that has been a bit of a tangent from actually making much music though. I should be getting my books in December from the press so I’m really looking forward to getting back into making more music instead of dealing with printing presses, setting up websites, and sourcing ribbon suppliers.

GF: What is the story behind "Monster"? How did the show get in contact with you?

HS: I keep a log of “Song Starters” with neat things I’ve heard in the world, and I would look through it every now and then and notice just how many came from Adventure Time. Eventually I thought well, I have to make a song about this show that just keeps breaking my heart. It was around the time I was nearly done with the first [Adventure Time-inspired] song “In My Element” that I got an email from Bandcamp saying ��someone bought your album (Bedroom Visionaries).”

I get maybe one or two of these a month at most so I love to go in and say hi to the person and say thanks, be curious about who they are, [and] what they’re all about. Turns out it was Adam Muto, the executive producer of the show. (I asked and he has no idea how he happened upon my stuff. He guessed that I must have tagged something #adventuretime and he just happened to see it.) So I sent him an email saying, “Hey wow thanks for checking out my tunes. Also... holy crap you’ve made the best show I have ever seen in my life.” [I] played it real cool like. After finishing up writing my second [Adventure Time-inspired] song “Betty” I couldn’t help but fangirl real hard [and I sent him another message saying], “I’m sorry this is probably awkward, but I really love your show and I wrote these songs about it.” He was incredibly kind and shared them with his Twitter Universe, and a while after that I got a random email from him saying basically, “Hey, I’m working on this thing I can’t talk about, would you be interested?” I was like… well you know I’m pretty busy working at a sign shop so I’m gonna have to pass on this once in a lifetime opportunity (J/K. Obviously I fan-girl squealed and said yes immediately).

We chatted a bit about what the project was going to be and the direction. He mentioned there [would be] two Marceline songs in the special, [and he asked if I] would I be interested in giving the love song a try? Trying real hard to suppress my instant imposter syndrome I was like, “Yea, totally I’d be into giving that a shot!” So I read through the story and loved the idea of the dragon mirrored in Marceline, thinking through how they’ve both built up a protective shell, how she grew tough for a reason, but now she can open up and be vulnerable with PB.

From there I wrote the initial demo with the first two verses mostly intact and we went back and forth a few times editing it down into the final version. I recorded the final parts for the show in my little home studio in Seattle.

GS: When you were writing the song, what emotions, thoughts, or ideas were you channeling? Was there any sort of memory of event that you were trying to artistically "catch" or "recreate" with the lyrics or music?

HS: As far as channeling an emotion, generally I’d say just the experience of existing as a human. It can be so hard to open up and be vulnerable. I can remember that feeling even as a young kid—getting really excited about something and having someone completely trash it or look at you like, “Why are you so interested in that? It’s dumb.” [It causes us to grow] a little more weary to share ourselves because we know that hurt and embarrassment. The pain of being misunderstood is something I think a lot of us can relate to. Then having to decide whether to keep sharing those vulnerable parts of yourself or think, “They’re just not going to get it, I’m going to get hurt, so why bother?” and then stop putting yourself out there. You lose a lot with that thick armor though. You might feel protected, but you’re not feeling a whole lot of anything else other than the weight and chafing of it (I had a whole lot of armor-related metaphors that I didn't end up using.).

I struggle with this in songwriting too. I’m not the bolt-of-lightning type. There are pages and pages of cliches, total garbage, bad jokes, and cheesy lines that I have to get through in order to get to something that I am excited to put out there into the world: “Here I did this thing, I know it’s a little (this or that), but I made it... What do you think?” It’s hard to open yourself up to hearing the other end of that question.

I filled about 5 little pocket notebooks just thinking through the story, ideas, and trying to get this song right. I wanted it to feel familiar and honor the past songs of the show ([e.g.,] using the ukulele and referencing a few of the familiar chords from “I’m Just Your Problem”) but also be pretty open and vulnerable and different for [Marceline]. [I wanted to] show that she’s going through some tough emotions but also figuring herself out and growing.

GF: I feel like “Monster” is, at its core, an ode to the “Bubbline” ship. How do you feel about your song being intimately connected to one of the most famous LGBTQ+ relationships in animation? Do you have any general thoughts on Marcy and PB, Bubbline, etc.?

HS: Oh, I’m a total fan girl of Bubbline. The whole story of how Rebecca Sugar and Muto slowly morphed it into this deeper relationship is just great. As a part of the LGBTQ community myself it really means so much to see the representation of characters like yourself portrayed in an intelligent way. Growing up I was too young to fully understand what was going on but I saw Ellen getting cancelled, and [I] heard people around me saying they’d never watch her show again after she came out. That stuff sinks in as a kid and so to have these characters who are not only intelligent, but funny, complex, and unapologetically strong who also happen to be queer is really great. I love that the story here isn’t about their orientation, but that they’re people struggling with how to be open and vulnerable in a relationship.

It feels like something sci-fi and animated shows do so well—to show that ridiculousness of limiting who a person should and shouldn’t love. Marceline is a 1000+ year old half-demon/vampire and PB was born from the Mothergum of an apocalyptic radioactive world, but you’re going to get hung up on them loving each other? It sort of brings it into perspective in a really interesting way.

GF: Do you have any other thoughts about the experience that you'd like to share?

HS: Just how lucky, thankful, and honored I feel to be a part of my favorite show, writing a song for one of my favorite characters. It’s also incredibly cool how the people on the show are so willing to connect and collaborate with their fandom. Everyone [on the production crew] was very open and a real joy to work with.

I’d like to give a huge “Thank you!” to Half Shy for agreeing to participate in this interview; she really was quite amiable! If you’d like to hear more of her music, check out her website and her Bandcamp. You can also follow her on Instragram here and on Twitter here. And of course, here is Half Shy’s awesome video of “Monster”.

[retvenkos]

olive!!! babe!!! how r u???? i'm currently rereading the blood of olympus (& realizing i have a fat crush on jason. whoops.) & thinking of u!! ig i have been living under a rock, but my fyp has been showing me content for it, but-- any thoughts on the new live action atla show?? (also, music recs! five seconds flat by lizzie mcalpine is the most gorgeous album i have listened to in such a long time? her writing is so refreshing, and reminds me of ur writing!! build a problem by dodie also has some bangers in it, that i feel u would a d o r e) anyways ily, and i hope u r having a great weekend! <33

omg, cass!!!!!!! where have you been???? i've been doing alright for myself, how are you? and lol, i was also thinking of finally picking up and finishing the percy jackson franchise, but i have a long list of books to read, and a schedule that won't let me get to them until december, sdghjhgds. i hope you enjoy blood of olympus and, from what i have gathered about jason from Tumblr Osmosis, he is a good one to have a crush on. i support that decision, lololol.

and okay,,,, so i have not heard much about the atla live-action other than the fact that the story is going to take some.... ~artistic liberties~ with the plot, and honestly? no offense, but i'd rather something else. like the comic being animated, or at atla-verse show that focuses on other avatars rather than rehashing the story we already know and love. however!!!! that being said!!!!! from what i have seen of the casting choices, it seems like there's some great choices and i'm interested to see what they do with it! i'm excited for all the young actors to have such a cool opportunity, and my sister and i already have plans to tune in.

and i will definitely have to check out that album! you and lindsay always give the best music recs, and i think that's rather neat of the both of you. ily too and hope you have a wonderful week!

[brumesque]

MUN INFORMATION: aries | 20+ | he/him | gmt8+ | discord available for mutuals

This is an independent and low activity roleplay blog for HILDA WARE of FINAL FANTASY XIV and related expansions. Warrior of Light verse available upon request. #ENDWALKER SPOILERS will be tagged! If you’d like for me to tag spoilers for older expansions, please let me know.

I am a private blog. Which means that I will only interact with you if we follow each other. If I don’t follow you back within a week, you’re welcome to unfollow as it means I do not see our writing meshing or you are simply not a roleplay blog.

BETA EDITOR user. Please only use it when interacting with me!

CREDIT:

avatar: vvernacatola @ DEVIANTART old icons: milesducemdominus

NAVIGATION:

about | verses | memes | promo | thread tracker

OTHER BLOGS:

@charmingbrute | @senetaf

RULES UNDER THE CUT FOR MOBILE USE:

These are just mun preferences that I’d like people to check out in case they have questions for me or with the character I write as. They aren’t rules, but more of a reference to make roleplaying with me easier.

GENERAL 

This is a roleplay blog. The character in question is a Hilda Ware from SQUARE ENIX’s critically acclaimed MMORPG FINAL FANTASY XIV: ONLINE. Warrior of Light verse available upon request.

This blog is not spoiler-free. If you’re not up to date with the Main Scenario Quests, this is your sign to close this blog to avoid being spoiled and look at it next time when all of that has changed. I do tag #endwalker spoilers and would be willing to tag spoilers for older expansions upon request.

Anything else you hope to know about the character that’s not listed anywhere, you can learn through interactions or ask me about it. I personally prefer to have such things be discovered through roleplay rather than discussed by me.

Open to criticisms and such. The game has a wide lore and I’m not above missing information. I would like to be corrected if there are errors in my portrayal that I do not know of.

This blog is NSFW. 

I will not ship with minor writers/characters. Hilda is 21+ I am 20+ and fine with NSFW but only with my fellow adults.

I am multi-ship and multi-verse!

I am aware that Hilda being a lesbian is popular fanon. I think it’s neat. I think people have the right to interpret her in any way that they want. But that is all that is: a popular fanon. I am not here to argue the specifics of her sexuality or defend why I have chosen to make her bisexual. If it has chemistry, I don’t see why I can’t give particular ships a try. Unless you have canon proof that she only swings a certain way, this’ll not change. If you disagree, you are welcome to not follow this blog.

Because of the biphobia that is rampant in this community, I have chosen to not follow people first. In both respect for people who do not want to see me write her this way and also just to avoid discourse.

Tracking the tag #brumesque. Feel free to also mention me via @brumesque. If you see that I haven’t liked your thing for me within three days, please let me know! I might have missed the notification.

Discord is available upon request.

Please don’t rush me to do replies.

Please don’t hesitate to shorten your reply to me whenever. I don’t care about matching lengths, but I do try to match my partner as best as I can.

All ask responses are welcome to be continued!

You may call me Aries! I go by he/him pronouns.

BLOG

This blog is independent, private. I only write with mutuals.

I am very accepting of Original and Multi Characters. My only limit is real life people such as celebrities, politicians, youtubers, etc.

I like aesthetic and GPOSE blogs, but I am a roleplay blog and therefore would only really follow other roleplay blogs. I prefer it if you have a proper tagging system in place as well.

I’d appreciate it if you won’t steal any writing I do on this blog.

When writing with fellow fem presenting characters, I usually refer to my partner character as they/them. This is to avoid confusion and not at all an attempt to misgender your muse. If this bothers you, please inform me!

Icons or pretty graphics are not required to interact with me.

I do not own the blog theme I have used, but it has been heavily modified by me so it will not look like the one from the original creator.

CHARACTER

I only write Hilda within the Final Fantasy verse. Doesn’t matter if it’s from other titles within the series. I’d love to interact!

I could give writing her with other fandoms a shot provided I’m familiar with the source material or you’d be willing to inform me about it.

Will write Hilda at any given point of MSQ. If undetermined, I will default to Endwalker!Hilda.

Pre-established relationships will not be altered or reset.

For me, each expansion takes a wholeass year. I refuse to believe everything happened in one year. Square Enix has to kill me first.

The muse is canonically a powerhouse as WOL. This isn’t me god-modding in any way, but know that you initiate any combat interactions of the sort, she won’t fall down easily.

All kinds of relationships are welcome in this blog

[sk1fanfiction]

Hello! I saw that you reblogged the "I wish you would write a fic where..." post, and I have two ideas for the Running From My Destiny verse that might make neat scenes. The first I can't really make a summary for since it's such a general idea, but I'd really like to see a Quirrellmort POV. For the second one:

Malfada Prewett meets the Weasleys. This... does not go as well as her parents thought it would, even if they didn't have particularly high hopes.

OR

Malfada absolutely does not get along with her cousins; she loves them anyways, though.

I hope the prompt(s) is(are?) fun! It's cool that you're doing this; it seems like it'd be an interesting experience. Have a nice night! :)

Thanks so much for the prompts! They were both very cool ideas! Hope you have a nice morning/afternoon/night as well!

ᑫᑌIᖇᖇEᒪᒪᗰOᖇT/TᑌᖇᑎIᑎG TO ᗩᔕᕼEᔕ

(spark)

Quirinus Quirrell surveyed his classroom, then glanced down at his attendance sheet, running a shaking finger down his list of names.

“P-Parkinson, P-Pansy?”

“Here, Professor.”

“P-Patil, P-P-Parvati?”

He’d always been ashamed of his stutter. There wasn’t a time he remembered not feeling afraid of his own voice. He expected peers, now students, to laugh at him and make him feel smaller and smaller, until he was annhilated.

“Here, sir.”

He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and focused on the next name.

His heartbeat stuttered in his ears. Something seemed to click. To focus. And when he spoke, his voice was as composed and steady as he’d always dreamed.

“Potter, Harry.”

“Present, sir.”

He could not help but look up at the speaker. But it wasn’t as if he was one looking. Rather, someone or something else had nudged their way to the front of his brain, gazing at the small first-year in the second row, scrawny, bespectacled and overall unremarkable, except for the round-rimmed glasses and bright green eyes that seemed to stir some distant memory, as if he had seen them both on another person.

Dead. And yet he felt more alive than ever.

He shuddered, and moved on, taking note of the remaining few Gryffindor and Slytherin students.

(ember)

It had been mere days since Quirinus had returned to the school; mere weeks since Voldemort’s disembodied spirit promised him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

No longer would he be the bullied, cowed Professor of Muggle Studies.

No longer would he be an afterthought.

There is no good and evil, only power, he reminded himself. Whether he vanquished Voldemort or brought him back to life, he would be great. And that was all that mattered.

And so, he had found himself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, performing spells that he did not understand (but the other, strange new part of him did) and renewing the runes drawn around an ancient bloodstain.

But now, he was sitting in his office. And that green-eyed, unremarkable boy was sitting across from him (though the part of him that was Voldemort whispered, Quirinus, he is the one).

“Do you think I should be worried at all about the shadows?"

Harry Potter’s voice seemed to be coming through several miles of water. For his part, Quirinus felt frozen, and yet, more clever and powerful and strong than he ever had. His limbs had new life, every square centimetre of his being thrummed with magic, and he felt a strange, vast understanding of everything around him; even the boy’s mind.

"You were right to come to me, Harry Potter.” And there came the new, clear voice again, but it faded quickly. “If you are at all interested in learning to... control... to develop... your power, I may just be able to point you in the right d-d-direction."

(flame)

Halfway through the Quidditch match, something strange had come over Quirinus. That same terrible focus and perhaps not-so-mysterious power.

And every nerve in his body sang with the same fierce joy: Kill him, kill him, kill him! They’ll never trace it to you! Dumbledore is not here to see! KILL HIM!

Quirinus had not taken even a single year of Ancient Runes while he was at Hogwarts, and his affinity for the Dark Arts had always been weak. But now, he sat quite calmly in the professors’ box, muttering an Ogham chant and tainting the air with foul magic.

He saw what the others could not; Harry Potter was being consumed by his own shadows. The boy reached for his broom, hanging on with the last of his material form. His eyes were glassy and empty, and everything in Quirinus sung with the triumphant knowledge that his strange enemy was close to death. The Reaper was coming.

The two Weasley boys circled around him, trying to save him (foolish children, none can save him from Lord Death himself!).

It was the girl that snapped him out of his focus; she threw herself into the box like a wildcat let loose and despite the protests of the professors around him.

But it mattered not. Her precious brother was fast losing his grip, and soon the great Boy-Who-Lived would be nothing but a stain on the grass below; a tragic accident—

“INCENDIO!I”

The box crackled with flame, and the thing inside Quirinus howled in anger; yes, she should not know that, but fire would save the boy, sap the shadows.

Even as Snape shouted at her, it was her victory, not his, because Harry Potter had pulled himself back on the broom to safety.

How hard is it to kill an eleven-year-old child already cursed by a parasitic monster? You are just as much of a failure as they say you are!

And yet, thought Quirinus, he did not know if it was the thing, or himself howling in fury at his inability to kill the boy.

(ashes)

He did not like her. He did not like either of the Potter children at all.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter sometimes, when he delved into his mind and forced the Obscurus to manifest, savoured his terror and the fear-filled memories of his Muggle relatives. When he entertained the idea of using him as a weapon against Dumbledore, now that he had shielded the boy from Legilimency from anyone but him and instilled within him a fear of his Headmaster.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter when the Dark magic had burned out, and he lay helpless on the floor of Quirrell’s office.

Quirinus found that he liked to toy with the child; make him feel as helpless and utterly annihilated as he once had felt.

After all, he would one day kill Harry Potter. He would make the life bleed out of those green eyes and watch them go still and glassy (like his mother’s, he remembered now), someday soon.

Even as he Obliviated the second child who dared to intercept his search for the Stone, Quirinus knew the end was dawning.

With shaking hands, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled death. The weak, prim Quirinus who would have balked at the very idea of polluting his body with such a thing was no longer important to him. After all, what was nicotine and tar and his disgust at the idea of a smoking habit when the spirit of the Dark Lord lived within him?

No. He had been chosen for greater things.

Tonight was the night the end begun.

Quirinus signed the bottom of his letter of resignation, put out the cigarette, and placed in it his brand-new ashtray.

And yet, he cried.

“I have given you my all, My Lord,” he said, and his voice, his own voice was steady. “And now I am nothing.”

𝙼𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚊 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚝/𝚃𝚘 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝚄𝚙 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚕

August, 1986

“Just give it a chance, will you?” asked her dad, taking her luggage out the boot. “You won’t know you hate it until you try it.”

Everyone seemed to be giving her the same stupid advice today. When they stopped to get petrol during the drive from London, some weirdo in the petrol station had told her “Cheer up love, it might not happen!” She had responded by sticking her tongue out at them.

Mafalda frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned against the car.

“I don’t see why I can’t go to Roedean.”

“Well, you’re a witch, Mafalda.” He wiped his forehead and frowned. “Bloody hot, isn’t it?”

Witch. She hated the word already. Yeah, some of the girls at school were into Ouija boards and palm-reading and whatnot, but Mafalda didn’t go in for all of that nonsense.

The kind of nonsense that got Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon killed.

“And what do they call you and Mum again?”

Her dad sighed. “Squibs.”

“Yes, Dad! It’s not very nice, is it?”

She glared at the house as if it had personally offended her. It was tall, maybe four or five stories and so crooked that there was no way it hadn’t fallen down by now. A couple of brown chickens hobbled around the yard.

And in here lived the people who had sent her father off to Muggle boarding school, as far away from them as they could possibly manage, as soon as they could.

As her dad strode towards the door, Mafalda followed, kicking a rusty cauldron as she went by.

Before Mafalda could make her great escape, her dad knocked on the door and a plump, short, red-headed someone opened it almost immediately.

“Alfred?” she asked in a squeaky, shocked voice. Then, she glanced furtively behind her as if to check that no one was listening. “Alfred, what are you doing here?”

Her dad frowned, fanned himself with the collar of his shirt, and beckoned her closer so that the rude woman could look her up and down.

“Come on, Mals,” he whispered. “In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”

Yeah, her hair probably looked a mess and the dress Mum had forced her to wear was all creased, but Mafalda didn’t think she would look particularly nice if she’d just spent three and a half hours in a stinky, sweaty car.

“Well,” said her dad, “this is your niece, Molly, and she’s a witch just like you. Got her Hogwarts letter last week and everything; Professor McGonagall said we should come over and see you. Of course, her mum and I know next to nothing about the wizarding world and Mals just barely remembers your brothers—“

Mafalda couldn’t help herself.

“You’re my aunt? Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon’s sister? Why’d you never come to see me?”

The woman — Aunt Molly — went red in the face.

“Come in, Mafalda,” she said tiredly. And at her father’s hard look, she added: “Come on then. Both of you. In.”

Once they were inside the cramped, cluttered kitchen, she was introduced to her cousins. Mafalda kind of tuned out for most of it because most of them were younger than her, bloody annoyingly loud, and she wasn’t the World’s Biggest Fan of small children, but she did pay attention to Charlie (thirteen and Gryffindor Seeker) and Bill (fifteen and a Prefect of Gryffindor House). The youngest boy was crying his eyes out because someone turned his teddy bear into a giant spider, but Aunt Molly didn’t seem to care. A ugly-looking sweater was knitting itself on the sofa.

While she obviously knew what a Prefect was, Mafalda had no idea what a Seeker was or why everyone was making such a big deal over Gryffindor or more to the point what Gryffindor even was!

“Who’s that, Mummy?” asked the youngest, a little girl with hair the same violent red as Mafalda’s.

“Your cousin, dear,” said Aunt Molly tiredly. “She’s just come to meet us, her father’s a Squib you see—“

The little girl screwed her face up.

“I don’t wanna Squib cousin!” she yelled.

Despite herself, Mafalda flinched, and her dad did, too.

“Don’t worry, dear. She’s a witch, just like you.”

As if that made it any better.

“I don’t wanna,” the girl repeated, glowering at Mafalda.

“Look,” said Mafalda harshly. “We’ll just leave, get our Squib selves out of your way and on the three-and-a-half-hour drive back to London. Thanks for nothing.”

“You didn’t call, Alfred,” said Aunt Molly.

Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated.

“There’s no way to contact you, Molly. No phone, and you don’t get our kind of mail. Where am I going to get my hands on a trained owl?”

“She can sleep with Ginny,” said Aunt Molly, nodding towards the little girl.

Mafalda gave Bill, who seemed like the most sensible one of the bunch, a look that clearly said, I am not going to bloody sleep with that demon and that’s final.

“I can sleep with Charlie, Mum, and Mafalda can have my bed.”

Aunt Molly beamed. “What an angel,” she said. And to Mafalda. “Come, dear, let me take your trunk. We’ll all go shopping in Diagon Alley tomorrow, doesn’t that sound nice? Alfred, you wouldn’t mind—”

“—Not letting the world know you have a secret Squib cousin, you have nothing to fear, I’m well practiced, Molly.”

Charlie stood up. “Can I show her around the house, Mum?”

The youngest boy looked up, too.

“And can I have a piggy-back ride from her?”

“You’re too old, Ron!” said the snootiest-looking boy, who was sitting in the middle and had the least amount of dirt in his face.

“I’m not too old!” shrieked Ginny, waving her freckled arms. “I’m only five years old, Mum! I want a piggyback-ride!”

“When your dad gets home from work,” said Aunt Molly.

“You’ll get used to us,” Bill whispered.

I don’t have to like you, thought Mafalda.

“So are you coming?” asked Charlie. “We’ve got to de-gnome the garden. You should come too, Uncle Alfred.”

Dad said he’d come with them, but would rather watch. De-gnoming apparently seemed to involve spinning the tiny, screaming, spiteful little (animals? creatures?) until they shrieked with giddiness, then tossing them as far as you possibly could, which Mafalda was very good at, and Bill and Charlie were all too happy to cheer her on, even convincing her dad to join in, too.

"Don't mind Ginny," said Bill as he flung a particularly angry gnome over the hedge. "She doesn't know anything about anything. And it was wrong of Mum to push you away, but I hope we can be friends still, and that you'll come to Hogwarts with us."

Mafalda, despite herself, thought that was an entirely reasonable proposal.

Maybe she wasn’t going to hate the wizarding world.

It turned out that unfortunately for the sake of her sanity, Charlie loved to talk while he was working.

“Have you heard about Quidditch, Mafalda — oh, good one, Uncle Alfred! That must have gone like twenty yards! Did you know the Antipodean Opaleye has no pupils? What House are you going to be in?”

And yet, she found herself (ew) getting a bit fond of them already.

[btssmutficslovingfan01]

Seducing Suga - Part 2

⮱ Summary: You were happy to find out that Yoongi likes your rap skills, and your original plan involved him, but then the unexpected happened.

Back to 🌼 PART 1 🌼 ⇖

⮱ Words: 2k

⮱ Pairing(s): Yoongi x Reader, t i n y Jungkook x reader

⮱ Genre: Smut, Angst

⮱ Warnings: Cheating, graphic depictions of sex, swearing

                                _______________________

“I’m just moving forward, no matter what happens behind me,

Even with the tears running down my cheeks I, I, I am a survivor.” You finish recording the demo as the girl group looks at you with curious wide eyes. You weren’t just singing, you were crying. The leader of your girl group, Nadi, made sure to give you a tight squeeze before patting you on the back and sending you out. It was official, you were the biggest loser of an artist the company had produced.

You’ve been crying a lot lately, and everyone knows it’s because of your idol boyfriend. Because of certain obligations, you had to come clean about your relationship to Yoongi, so that your company could take measures to help you come up with a cover story. You weren’t in a good place with him at the moment, since you hadn’t texted each other in a little over a month and you expected him to text you first.

Your company had declared you their new solo artist and you just had to work on a collaboration with BTS. This one wouldn’t feature a rapper though, you were to record vocals with Jungkook and they wanted you both there to get a sense of your sounds together. Old fashioned producers prefer it that way. 

You know you’ll have to meet Yoongi, Namjoon, or Hoseok but most likely Yoongi since he was on the list of producers for the song. You already released your first album and you were planning on dropping two singles. The first one would be the finished version of “Survivor,” the song which you just recorded a demo for, and the second one will be the song you’re working on with Jungkook.

“There you are! The girls told me you were crying? Come on honey, look over the lyrics for your new song. Jungkook himself wrote it after sitting down for five minutes. This boy has a knack for writing about feelings.” Confused, you take the sheet of lyrics from her hand and you see them handwritten in cursive english. You could tell the song was meant to be sung in Korean but for whatever reason, Jungkook decided to translate them to English.

“If there’s a love that must be true,

That would be the love I have for you.

No matter what may pull us apart,

In the end you have my heart.

P.S I hope this collab makes you feel better, I know you’ve been hurting just as bad as my brother has been.” You sigh at the note, smiling and feeling my spirits lifted higher after reading Jungkook’s neat handwriting. You thought it was sweet that he still believed in old pen and paper as his main form of communication. Obviously, he has a phone and he could’ve texted you, but he opted for the letter.

You open up your phone and send him a picture of the paper. A few minutes later he replies back, and you talk more about the collab. Then you stop talking after he tells you he has to practice. It has been a while since you sat down and talked about your life with anyone. Normally you stay away from talking about work when it comes to Yoongi, but it’s so natural with Jungkook.

You decide to sit down and start writing. “Dear Jungkook,” You start.

Your POV

The day for our first collaborative project has arrived. After sending each other letters back and forth for the past month or so, me and Jungkook were joined at the hip. So much so that Jimin pulled me aside to tell me off about my closeness with Jungkook and how it was like I was forgetting about Yoongi.

“How is it any of your business, Jimin? Me and Jungkook are friends. If Yoongi thinks there’s something more, that’s his problem. Did you know that I was heartbroken after he decided not to text me after telling me he needed a break? We haven’t even talked to each other since then. Things aren’t the same between us. I didn’t realize how much I had in common with Jungkook until after that happened. So in a way, I’m glad that me and Yoongi are no more,” As soon as I say those words, Yoongi steps out of the shadows. “Gah! Where did you come from?”

“I was having my coffee in the other room. I heard about what you said. It sounds like you and Jungkook really hit it off. I’m happy for you, really,” He sets down his mug on a coaster nearby. “So that’s why I wanted to tell you that we should break up.” I feel a pang of sadness inside but it’s nothing compared to the immense longing in my heart I have for Jungkook. The positive feelings took over the negative ones, and for the environment and mood in the studio to be good, I needed to concentrate on that.

“Okay. I agree with you. Shall we start?” I ask him as an artist would to a producer, and he nods, sitting down with a blank look on his face. This time, it really does look blank. I can’t read him as well as I used to, I suppose.

Me and Jungkook ended up spending four hours together, and after a lot of time holed up in the studio, we were a lot closer than before. Enough for him to kiss me during our 30 minute break. I returned the kiss gingerly, savoring the taste of his strawberry lip balm. This boy smells and tastes good.

“Will you please go on a date with me?” He asks after recovering from the long-winded kiss.

“Yes.” I smile in response, happy to jump back into recording with Jungkook. We even filmed a Bangtan Bomb, and it was so obvious that there was a spark between us. But the closer I got to Jungkook, the more gloomier Yoongi got. 

“And it’s time for Yoongi to hop in the booth with you. It’s the rap verse.”  I check the paper quickly, noticing that Jungkook hadn’t written a prior note about Yoongi.

“There’s a rap verse?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah, I added it after hearing you guys together. It didn’t sound like enough…” He dissed my singing skills right in front of me! We sit through two grueling hours of that before we’re dismissed for the day.

I grab Yoongi’s collar and I drag him towards the janitor’s closet. “How romantic. Isn’t it sweet that we have candles already here to set the mood?” I raise an eyebrow, pinning him against the wall.

“Shut up. I just wanted to be happy and I was starting to really like Jungkook. Why do you always have to ruin everything?” Seeing his blank expression soften, my heart started to race. What’s wrong with me now?

“Your lips say one thing, but your eyes say another,” He shushes me as he suddenly has me pinned to the wall, reversing our predicament so that I was in his trap again. “Maybe we should see what your body says.” Before he puts a hand on me, I stop him.

“Yoongi…” He stops midway, making sure he has my full consent before proceeding. “...Kiss me.”

We start off slow, with kisses so fiery they could melt my heart into a puddle. Yet my heart was encased again, as my body was telling me to act on impulse. The lust takes over each of us, pushing us into the wall-literally, as Yoongi’s tongue slipped into my mouth and I parted my lips so that he didn’t have to force his way in. Our tongues danced together as our lips collided in a sad, forbidden way, and we pulled apart for air after the anticipation had died down.

“You didn’t think we were stopping just there, did you?” I feel his hand circle my thigh and I warm heat shoots up my core. 

“I don’t know. Depends on what you want.” He lets his hands linger for a bit, groping me in ways that should make me feel dirty but instead I feel excited. The thrill of the moment makes me feel good.

We kiss again as he pulls off his shirt and I lose my own, our bodies filled with lust for only each other again. I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time.

“Shit, I’m hard. You feel that? You make me so hard, princess.” I roll my eyes at the cliche line.

“Don’t call me “princess.” I ain’t royalty. Call me by my name, kitty cat.” I allude to his nicknames from the fanbase, mostly cat-based since he resembles a cat with how tired he is whenever a camera is in his face. Little do they know that behind the scenes, Yoongi is a hard worker and that is why he is tired all the time. He barely had time for me when I was his girlfriend.

“Don’t call me kitty cat. It’s bad enough I gotta deal with crazies on a daily basis who baby me and call me lil meow meow.” I suck in a deep breath when he drops to his knees, his fingers hooking on the sides of my panties before he pulls them down. I shudder at the feeling of the cool air hitting my sensitive region at first, and I practically melt when Yoongi puts his lips on me.

I groan and buck my hips as he savors my juices, making me climax with just his lips and tongue. He smirks, burying his head further between my legs as I smother him with my clit, stroking his smooth tufts of grey locks as he kisses me to my orgasm.

“Yoongi, Oh it feels too good. Fuck yes.” I moan as he drives me over the edge, slapping my clit with his fingers before lapping up my juices. 

“That felt good, didn’t it sweetheart?” I nod, unable to speak as the aftershocks of my orgasm leave me unable to stand straight for a minute. He helps me up, lifting me to my feet since my legs forgot how to function from the crazy orgasm that Yoongi administered. “Well you’re in for a treat. Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work. Now, sit back and relax.” I nod as he makes me sit with my legs wide open in a chair and he strips down completely so that I have a great view of his giant dick and cute butt. “I’m gonna fuck you now, is that okay?” He asks as I gulp, feeling thirsty as he lowers his cock into me slowly.

“That hurts.” I groan, earning an apology from him before he turned me around and unclasped my bra so that I was fully naked as well.

“Shit, such a nice ass.” He spanks me as I bounce on his dick, moving involuntarily since he was the one slamming into me in the first place. I feel his warm hands on my ass, taking in the pleasurable feeling of his cock sliding into me with ease, as he was hard and dripping. I realize somewhere in the middle of riding his dick that we forgot to use protection.

“Yoongi, are you cumming yet?” He shakes his head, his pale cheeks flushed red as sweat drips down his forehead and our bodies cling together from the extra sweat. He looks a bit more exhausted than usual, but that’s probably because he was tasked with fucking my brains out for over an hour now.

“Shit, I’m close now. Y/N, hold me.” 

“But I-” He kisses my neck, holding my hips in place as I attempt to bounce off his lap, and before I can say anything his hot white semen has painted my inner walls. Cream drips down my inner thighs, leaking onto his stomach as I pop off his dick with an evident look of fear on my face.

“That was amazing, babe. I haven’t cum like that since—”

“I’m not on birth control, Yoongi,” And with those words he freezes, his look of pleasure replaced with fear. “That’s not all. I just cheated on Jungkook. Oh my god.” I feel my heart beating out of my chest, blood rushing to my head all at once before I pass out.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph! How you’re doing? First of all, I wanna say that I love your lists. So, I was wondering, do you have some long Johnlock fics? Like, with a bunch of chapters and all that. Thank you!

Hey Nonny!! 

I absolutely do! And you know what?? I’m gonna be selfish: No one has ever EVER asked me for my shorter long fics, so I’m going to take this opportunity to finally release this list, because it’s been sitting in my drafts for YEARS lol. BUT you can check the list below for the links to all my longer-fics lists! Happy reading!!

NOVELLA LENGTH FICS: 20-25K

See also:

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant by teahigh (E, 20,776 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel, PTSD, Codependency, Fluff & Angst, H/C, Smut, Demisexual Sherlock, Experiments) – John wonders if this is how it’s going to be: A life speaking in code, because they’re both too stupid to figure out how to say, “I love you.”

Winter's Delights by Kate_Lear (E, 21,173 w., 1 Ch. || Holmes Family, Christmas, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Bed Sharing, Domestics) – Sherlock takes John home for Christmas to meet the extended Holmes family. Part 1 of Winter's Delights

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 1 Ch. || Texting, Humour, Post S2) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w., 8 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty's plans? John's supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w. 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

The One With the Proposal by kim47 (E, 22,375 w., 3 Ch. || Fluff, Romance, Marriage Proposal) – Proposing shouldn't be this difficult.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Mastrubation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba (M, 24,579 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, H/C, First Kiss/Time) – Sherlock owes Mycroft a favor. Mycroft calls in that favor by offering Sherlock's consulting services in a charity auction. Sherlock and John soon find themselves at the country manor of Mrs. Ives-Patton Smarmington III - not very coincidentally a long-time friend of Sherlock's mother - where they are reluctant participants in her Murder Mystery Weekend. It's a play within a play for Sherlock and John, and their roles for the weekend event bleed over into their real lives, waking the sleeping dragons within.

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

In response to the Jane ask, I totally agree! Her song, as vague as it might be in the newer versions, is very much about emotional abuse and her realizing/reflecting on it. In the other versions this is arguably even clearer! Besides the list in the first verse, there’s a line in the student run version that always get me, in the second verse after “with out my son your love will disappear”. Usually in the lastest version it’s “I know it isn't fair, but I don't care”, which can be a sign of even tho she knows that he has hurt her at this point, her love will still be there for her son. But the student run it’s something like “you’ll let us fall apart, try to break my heart” which I think is much more powerful in showing more of her self awareness at what would happen to her. Also that opening monologue before about if she was really loved or just checked all the boxes on a list before she could make him angry, she knew that he would be willing to destroy her if she didn’t do as he wanted (Cause Anne wasn’t some death that would never happen again and that only happened cause Jane was there, he was to said to have threaten Jane with the same fate cause of the pilgrimage of grace incident (also well it did happened gain two queens later). Also just a slight unrelated thing, I can sorta understand why people blame Jane for Anne’s death but also not really. It was a whole campaign against Anne, and we only know that Jane was yeah trying to be queen due to influence from her family and others trying make sure she was but I don’t think it’s her fault Henry (and others) decided the best course of action would be to kill Anne. Though I am not a big Tudor researcher, this is only from multiple weeks and hours of searching and learning cause of curiosity and someone could fact check me but that’s what i interpreted the history as. Random rant over) Also the fact (and I’m pretty sure this is true in the newest version), she says “loved” most of the time. The past tense is important there, cause yeah maybe she did truly think she “loved” him. And he may have been the only one she ever “loved” but that cause she probably didn’t get a chance to love someone else (when Henry says it’s you, it’s you after all). This is just speculation though, I can’t assume what a 500 year old historical figure was truly feeling but a character in a show is different and ready for analysis. For that I say that maybe she did “love” him but it easily could have been out of fear or wanting to just deal with the cards dealt to her. But at the end she realizes where she wants her love to be directed towards, and that’s her son and in “Six” her new found family.

And fun fact about her part in “Six” (I kinda learned from something on tumblr but can’t remember who but either way here it is.) it’s 200% about the queens as her family, with her pun at the end being the main signifier of this. “You could perhaps call us the Tudor Von Trapps” is a reference to the Trapp Family Singers, an Austrian singing family (if you see the wiki for them, they are apparently the inspiration for sound of music, Neat!). So from that you would think “oh she’s talking about Henry and her kids with him having a band” but then she says “Just kidding! We’re called the Royalling Stones!”. A Rolling Stones references and they were made by friends forming a band, so that can be associated that the queens are said friends in this case but also part of family that has grown! Also Rolling Stones have a song called heart of stone, seriously this is the most clever joke Jane had during the show and it makes me, a pun/joke lover, very happy to see this be such a character trait that it’s in the damn description for her character for an auditioning sheet (check out Citadle Theather and Six the Musical in google, i think you’ll find it.)

Anyway sorry about this long ramble, it’s just that even though I totally can see how people view Jane as “weaker” in terms of some writing choices made, I still think there’s a lot to talk about with not just her current incarnation but also the other ones as well. I wish some changes werent made to her song, but she is a still strong character about the effects of emotional abuse and maternity. There’s nothing bad about talking about those things, your right that it doesn’t make her any less feminist. Anyway ramble over and I hope you have a lovely day :)

Hello hun!

Please don’t apologise for rambling! I’m always so interested in hearing other opinions on the queens and I love the opportunity to discuss any queen at any time! Frankly, I’m just impressed you got the whole essay into one message! Have they gotten rid of the character limit? Sorry, not relevant to the question.

(Also sorry for how long this took to answer! Uni happened sort of happened and I didn’t want to half ass my response to such a well thought out ask)

I adore the older versions of Heart of Stone, especially the student run version! I completely agree that Seymour feels so much more aware of her place in Henry’s life in the older versions. In the older version she knows she wasn’t Henry’s true love (even though she loved him) and she knows her worth is completely dependent on her ability to give Henry a son. She literally says “nothing lasts forever, I’ll fade away”. That is such a powerful statement and I wish that line was still in the song! I still think these themes are in the new version, but they’re nowhere near as explicit. Plus the character development in the student run feels much more explicit, with Seymour saying “soon I’ll have to go, I’ll never see you grow” instead of “him grow” in the new versions. She’s clearly speaking to Edward in the older version, so the last half of HOS in the old versions (at least in my eyes) is actually directly speaking to Edward and not Henry as many people think. I still think this is true for the new versions, illustrating Seymour’s character development as she breaks away from Henry and rather concentrates on her son, but again I don’t think it’s obvious in the new version. The older version just felt so much more powerful and I think it presented Seymour as much more as a victim than the newer version...which I argue is true! Seymour was as much of a victim as any other character in the show and I think she deserves more sympathy than the show gives her, and for as much as I love the newer versions of six, you can’t deny that Seymour is reduced to a joke for half of the show. The student version is such a genuine and earnest version of Seymour, and I can’t help but love her. It’s definitely a testament to the actresses from the student run that their characters are still on parr with professional versions of the show!

(Im so sorry I don’t feel like I’m adding anything to your analysis, but you’ve really summed up my feelings perfectly! )

Weirdly, I think that the student run and studio run play with the idea of having a “heart of stone” better than the modern version. I love the contrast between the material things that Henry can buy versus the natural world. Material things can fade, but the natural world (and Seymour’s love) transcends that. It’s a really nice use of juxtapostion in that song and I just don’t feel like the newer versions play with those images as much as the older version.

I do sort of get why they changed it (I think Seymour spends upwards of 10 just listing different objects, which is powerful in its own way but I do think audience members could get bored of those verses) but I wished they had still somehow managed to keep the theme that Seymour as explicit. I still think it’s there in the newer version of the song, but I don’t think it’s anywhere near as obvious as the older version. It would make HOS more like AYWD in a way, and that would be brilliant. Six shouldn’t be afraid to tackle different forms of abuse.

I personally can’t comment on the whole Anne Boleyn vs Jane Seymour thing because I just don’t know enough about the situation. However I don’t think any of the wives should be burdened with the blame of what happened to their predecessors. It wasn’t their fault.

Also I’d never thought of the tudor von trapps vs the royalling stones indicating that it was a found family rather than a blood family, but it’s actually such a neat little detail and I think it makes complete sense! I have always maintained that Seymour’s “family” doesn’t have to be related by blood. Found family is just as meanigful and as important as a bloof family, and Seymour finding her place with the other queens and calling them her family rather than Henry is very powerful in my opinion. I just don’t think the “my family’s grown” lime has to be as literal as people take it. Thanks for bringing that line to my attention though!

Seymour isn’t a “weak” character, both in term of the writing and in terms of character development. As much as I love the older versions of Seymour, I still like the new versions and appreciate that Toby and Lucy decided to allow Seymour to be a motherly character and have that be treated as an equally empowering thing as the other queens. Some women want to be mothers and that’s okay!

Anyway thank you so much for this ask my love! I really enjoyed thinking about Seymour (since she’s not a character I talk about a lot). Sorry again for taking so long to respond ❤️❤️❤️

[bates--boy]

   So, now came the time for Peter to compartmentalize, because compartmentalizing was good for the mind when the soul felt like checking out. And thus, Peter compartmentalized:

          He was doing this for the collective; this was only a step above what he normally does, anyway, and he was getting paid more money in one go doing it; this was a new experience and he should be happy that he was experiencing this experience instead of being dragged through the neighborhood at four in the morning by overeager dogs and a cat; he was going to be a professional model and this was going to look so good on his resume.

          All the rationalization in the world couldn’t unlock his body from the flash freeze of embarrassment as the tits were applied to his chest.

           There was much deliberation on which size was appropriate for Peter. Though the A- and B-cup silicone breasts complemented Peter’s physique well, making him look more femininely athletic and less boyishly skinny, his shoulders were a tad too wide and the smaller cups didn’t fill out the bust of the dress quite right. There were the DDs and larger that balanced out the width of Peter’s shoulders, but they looked too unnatural, and they would require bigger hip padding that would hide Peter’s slimness that the dress required, making his employment there moot.

          Of the C- and D-cups, they went with C. No one was really happy with this decision -- a true compromise.

        So Peter had to sit there in his topless glory, struggling with a discomfort so great that it was nearly paralyzing, and resisting the fascination with his newly acquired assets and its accompanying urge to fondle them and feel their weight in his palms. The makeup artist swooped in to work his airbrush magic, spraying a shimmering foundation at Peter’s shoulders and collarbone to soften the bones and structure. As the artist worked, Peter distracted himself with working on his new song, “Batta Boy”. He couldn’t write in his notebook, not with the makeup artist practically in his lap to get close enough to spruce up his face, but he worked the lyrics in his head all the same.

           He had a chorus and a dry, barebone structure of a verse, and as Peter deliberated between using “heckle” and “hackle” as rhyme schemes or changing it to “shackle” (which meant changing up half of the song he already had figured out), the artist refilled his nozzle and went to work on Peter’s breasts. With a little bit of spray and a lot of dabbing with the blending brush, the lines of the breast forms merge so neatly with his skin that Peter believed, for just a second, that he actually could jiggle the bad boys in his hands without fear of them popping off.

          ...He really needed to stop thinking about fondling himself, or fondling an extension of himself, or maybe stop being so hyperfocused on the jelly tits altogether. 

         The manager, somehow holding a conversation with whomever on her earpiece line and giving out orders to what Peter guessed were interns, hustled Peter to the rack of dresses, where workers waited with his dress hanging on its own pole. Peter was glad for the tucking underwear he wore as the workers slid the dress up his body. When they fit the bodice over the chest and zipped up the back, Peter checked himself out in the expansive mirror, smoothing his hands down the front; a bulge would have ruined the mermaid fashion piece, would have been extremely noticeable through the blindingly white smooth satin that twisted and cascaded into a pool of fabric around his feet. He twisted his torso in the mirror; he knew that the dress provided full back protection, but he had to be sure that the... thing, the unpleasant reminder of a barely-escaped catastrophe, wasn’t showing. He couldn’t have anything ruin his big day... His fake wedding photoshoot day.

       Even when the manager grabbed his elbow and guided him to the first set, Peter had stylists buzzing about him, setting pearl pins into his headband twist updo, setting in the veil, laying a silver and diamond bib necklace on his collarbone, yanking on his earlobes to put the pearl earrings in, spritzing hair product on his head.

          Because the weather decided to be a gloomy gray, the tech crew had set up soft lights along the wooden bridge. At the center stood the altar made of twisted birch wood and decorated with vines of white flowers and lamps with tea candles; stepping closer, Peter saw they were safely battery operated.

         Like the smooth tide of water, the manager marched off after delivering Peter to the altar and the photographer swooped in to nudge Peter onto the blue tape “X”. 

          “Alright, Mister Peter,” the baby-faced photographer -- Leo? Luis? Peter couldn’t remember and went with El -- said as he toyed with the settings on his camera. “Let’s start off with a couple test shots, and then some real ones with just you, okay? Look at the camera, and...”

          Even in the test shots, Peter had to give the camera something, even something as subtle as a tilted head, slightly lifted chin, or a faraway gaze with parted lips.

          El went through the last few shots, checking the lighting and angles and quality. “Excellent!” El exclaimed. He deleted the test shots and waved a worker over, who hurried to the altar to hand Peter the bouquet and hurriedly backed away. El raised the camera once more. “Alright, turn slightly to the left. A little more, a tad more...”

         Peter followed every direction. A demur gaze over the shoulder, a bold and full front-facing pose, a jutting of hips and emphasis of ass to show off the curvy fit of the dress, a “candid” moment of brushing aside a loose lock of hair. 

          “Pierre!” the manager called out as she made her return to the altar; Peter was about to correct her when he realized that she was talking to the photographer, and he was glad that the foundation on his face was laid on thick, because the way his face burned from not even being close to getting Pierre’s name right would have clashed awfully with the dress. “Burak’s ready!”

        El -- Pierre nodded and gestured for Peter to take a step back. Just like what he was subjected to, Peter saw that the supposed Burak was also swarmed with stylists fixing up the cream lapels of his white tuxedo. And the man was... huge. Okay, maybe it was the princely stride that made him seem gigantic, because he couldn’t have been more than 196 centimeters, and Peter has definitely met men taller than that even if he can count the number of them on one hand. But still, the way Burak took over the bridge like it was his catwalk, shoulders wide and sharp, grabbed Peter.

         It still didn’t prepare Peter for when the proximity between them closed, and he had to stand there, face-to-face, unguarded, in front of this...

         ...He didn’t want to say god, but when one stood before a man with a jaw so chiseled that they are willing to cut their palm just to touch it, and ink black hair in a neat and sweeping coif, warm honey skin that made the other person feel like warm honey inside, and amber eyes that made one feel like a cornered rabbit about to be devoured in the most thrilling way -- one became lost for words. 

          One became lost for breath, and Peter was surprised and relieved that when he said “Hi”, it didn’t come out in a choked, whimpering utterance.

         “Hello!” Burak said, and Peter forced himself to not imagine how such a deep voice would sound so lovely during pillow talk. He held a hand out. “You’re Peter, right?”

          “Yeah!” Peter said, taking the offered hand to shake. 

          “Introductions later!” Pierre called out. “Burak, take Peter’s hand and lift it up, give his knuckles a gentle kiss. Peter.”

         And the smile Burak gave behind Peter’s knuckle was too gentle, too unfairly divine, and Peter had two thoughts in that moment:

          He promised to turn away from atheism for the rest of his life if a god, any god out there, made sure his tucking underwear kept whatever erection he may have in check for the rest of this photoshoot.

          And he remembered that there was actual champagne on set. He was going to need some of it.

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 13 - Are There God? It’s Me A Winchester

Warnings: Witchcraft?? Some Angst

Word count: 1.9k

Where it all began. 

Summary: Mandy and Dawana cast the spell to shield her from Chuck and work against the Project to take them down. 

Guest OCs: Dawn Floyd (FC: Anna Diop), Camille Floyd (FC: Tati Gabrielle)

Guest Characters: Raphael [Supernatural; female vessel]

Note: Sorry for the delay on the chapters, I'm working on other writing projects and dealing with work and class.

_______

“I wish to know about your past” Joseph tells Mandy, standing in the middle of his church. Cupping her cheeks, looking down at her. 

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. “I-I’ve. I’ve killed people” she starts off, trying to keep herself from crying. “I’ve killed people. Innocent people. I wish to forget about it. Forget about it all, like it never happened”. 

He runs one of his hands through her hair, showing her comfort. While his other hand cups her cheek. 

“I’ve done bad things to people, I lost my girls because of it” she mutters, looking away from him. She’s not even acting anymore, this shit is all fucking legit, she’s hurting her own feelings just by telling him all of this. 

Reliving the painful memories she had to go through. Whether it was from 13 years ago, 20 years ago, or 7 and a half months ago, she’s feeling and hearing everything single word, and it still hurts her. No matter how strong she tries to be. 

Knowing she has to wait all of this out until the New Moon. She must be patient. Remembering that Raphael left something for her under her pillow, she goes to the room, her and Joseph share, and checks underneath her pillow. 

She finds her deceased husband’s journal. She smiles at it, unwraps the string that keeps it closed and opens it. Reading through it, Joel’s handwriting was always easy to read, it was neat, clean and he also had a very steady hand. Other than the monsters he hunted, he wrote about his life. 

His kids Paige and Katella, Mandy, his younger brother Brent, his childhood and upbringing. Trying to hold back her tears, a part of her wishes she could have her husband back. She knows he watches over her, and their daughters. 

1 month later. 

The New Moon is here, only 12 hours to go until 3 am. With the help of Dawana and her 14 year old daughter Camille. Mandy has everything for the spell. 

She had to keep a low profile from the Voodoo Priestess until the New Moon. Giving her instructions on where to meet her and the correct time to, and angle of the moon. That sort of stuff. 

The spell must be done as it should be, no screws up, can’t waste any time with this spell. Every second counts. They have their location ready, and all the supplies they need. 

Standing next to Joseph for his Sunday sermon, the church filled with his loyal followers. His Children, what he calls them. 

Listening to every word he says, thinking about the utter betrayal she is about to bring to the Project. Turning her back on them, stabbing them in back. 

Helping out the Resistance and the Whitetail Militia. 

With only 10 hours left, she keeps her low profile by being with Joseph for the rest of the day. 

Raphael appeared to her a few times that day to check up on her. Knowing that he’s risking a lot for his human, and a chance that’ll be cast out of Heaven for his disloyalty. Withdrawn from his wings and grace. Being deprived of his angelic powers, and living as a human on Earth. 

Being on the same boat as his older brother Lucifer. 

“You know I’m taking a huge unforgivable risk for you” he tells Mandy. Standing next to her while Joseph does his sermon in the filled church with his brothers and sister behind him.  

“I know” she responds to him in her mind. Looking over at the 3rd Archangel for a split second before turning back to The Father. 

“There’s a risk of me being cast out of Heaven for this disloyalty” he tells her, “God is too busy creating multiple universes and worlds to see this betrayal you, Dawana and myself are planning”. 

She knows all the risks, all God has to do is check on her situation, and see what she’s plotting. Then the next thing she knows there’s a huge mushroom cloud in the sky, and bombs are going off. Killing and wiping out all life on Earth. 

“I know, but a part of me feels like we’ll pull this off” she tells him in her mind, “We’ll get away with this, so called heist”. 

He looks at her with slight fear in his eyes, Archangels are Heaven’s most powerful weapon, they’re loyal soldiers to God. They’re his eldest children. Slightly more powerful than the average Angels, like Castiel, Balthazar, Samandriel, Anael and Gadreel. 

Raphael was always the introverted one of the Archangels, he kept to himself. He did his duties as one of Chuck’s strongest and powerful warriors. He always tried to be one of the loyal ones, like his older brother Michael. He wanted to be on his Father’s good side, the one thing he feared and that includes all Angels. Arch nor not, the one thing they all feared was being cast out of Heaven. Losing their wings and their grace. 

Leaving Heaven for a short time, like visiting Earth, and leaving Heaven completely are two different things. 

Within milliseconds he could go from being Heaven’s most powerful weapon to being an average weak human. Just by taking away his powers and wings. 

*****

After Joseph’s sermon, him and Mandy have a private conversation away from the others. 

“Amanda, I wish to speak with you privately” he tells her. She nods her head, and they go to their shared home. 

Inside the kitchen, he tells her about The Voice, in which she knows that it's Chuck talking to him.

“The Voice, God, he’s telling me about the New World. How everything will be. How you and I will be. He told me that the world is on the brink. That the world is on fire. Something is coming. I can feel it, you can feel it, can’t you?”. 

She nods, “Yes, I feel it. I feel the overwhelming tension it brings. Almost like an explosion of hot, burning air. That is toxic, but will make the world clean and free of sin”. 

He nods his head, agreeing with every word she says, “That is how it ends, with time, we will march to the Gates of Eden to our New World. The world God created for us”. 

Seeing how convinced and determined he is about the New World. Seeing how Chuck has convinced him about the Collapse. The End. The Reckoning. 

Telling him to save as many souls as he can for the Collapse, building bunkers to keep his people safe from the cleansing explosions. Being a modern day Noah, or Hell if you want to hear something that is older than Noah and the Ark. 

The Epic of Gilgamesh in Mesopotamian mythology, and history. Which is also 800-2,000 years older than the story of Noah and the Ark, where the story is basically the exact same thing, just different time periods, while one is based on facts with evidence, and the other is a fictional story from a book of stories. 

*****

With only 5 in half hours until 3am. Mandy gets another visit from Raphael in her home with Joseph. 

“Less than 6 hours Mandeline” he reminds her. She sighs, “I know. I’m just waiting it out”. 

“You know where to go?” he asks. She nods, “Yes, I know where to go. The land that is in the southern part of the Henbane River. It’s isolated from everything”. 

“Prosperity” he tells her, “It’s quiet and no one ever goes there”. 

She nods, “Does Dawana know where it is?”. 

“Yes, she knows where to go” he tells her, “She knows what time to get there. Just before the New Moon passes”. 

Mandy waits it out until 3am. It’s gonna be a long wait, most of the Cult, including Joseph didn’t sleep that night, he was busy working and writing sermons in the church. 

At around 1am, she told Joseph she was gonna go to sleep. An hour and 30 minutes later, Raphael visits her again. Teleporting the both of them to the south end part of the Henbane River. 

Prosperity, a ghost town that was abandoned by its owner so that he could take over his dead rival’s town Falls End in Holland Valley all out of spite. 

20 minutes until 3am, Dawana arrives with her daughter Camille who is a Voodoo Priestess in training. 

“We still have time to set up” Dawana tells Mandy, “This is my daughter Camille”. 

Mandy smiles at her, she’s probably the same age as her eldest daughter Paige. 

They set up their altar, making a circle of candles and lighting all of them. 

“Okay so we all take each other's hands and we say the verse together, in sync or else the spell won’t work” Dawana informs Mandy and her daughter.  

They all join hands, and wait for the New Moon to appear. Raphael stands away from them, watching them from 10 feet away. Hoping this will turn out the way Mandy said it would. As soon as the New Moon appears, as a white ring like shape in the sky, they all, at the same time, cite the verse in Enochian. Looking up at the New Moon. 

“Uranun Caripe Baglen Olgemeganza de-Noan Chiis Gosaa Zamicmage Oleol Ag-Sapah arphe, Oresa ethamz taa”. 

The wind starts to pick up, the candles stay in tack, not blowing out or in the direction of the wind. Still looking up at the moon. 

“Tabegisoroch, Zodinu, Ar zurah paremu. Zodimibe papnorge maninua zonac. Dodsih hoxmarch trian amonons pare Das Niis kures”. 

They finished the ritual, the night standing in complete silence for a brief moment. Standing inside the circle of candles, they ring of the New Moon shining down on them, making a perfect circle of moon light around their circle of lit candles.

“Is that it?” Mandy whispers, breaking the silence. Right after she asks that, a loud rumble is heard off in the distance, sounding like thunder, or the Horn of Gabriel. A lightning strike lights up the sky for a brief moment. 

“It worked” Camille whispers. Out of seemingly nowhere, a strong wind flies by, blowing out all the candles, leaving them in complete darkness.

“Raphael did it work?” Mandy asks the Archangel. 

“Yes, you are invisible to God now” he replies, answering her question.

He takes her back to Joseph's compound, before anyone could notice she was gone. 

Before he leaves, he tells her, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you from Heaven. Now that you’re invisible from God, you can work against the Project. Also Chuck won’t be able to see you. He’ll see another you”. 

She nods, “Yeah I believe you told me that already. He’ll see me doing my duties as The Mother”. 

The silence between the two, the sound of peggies talking outside on the compound property. 

“Get some rest, and do your bidding against the Project” he tells her, “I’ll check back on you within the next couple of days”. 

The sound of his wings fluttering, making a small breeze within the house, and he disappears. Leaving Mandy in the small kitchen of her home.