#he also stretches the truth on those battles too.

[sleepynegress]

Can you explain more what you mean about Ridley Scott having old man gaze? I'm really curious lol

Back in the day... Ridley's day too, -Most mainstream big movies had that dynamic. Some leading white guy who was older than his love interest. This was that white male director's gaze. So it was standard. We didn't see it as fanfiction back then... But once it clicks into place.... The guy was a good 10 - 20 years older than his female love interest. Ridley Scott is 86 years old. 86. He is still directing the same kinds of movies with the same gaze as he did in the 80's. It's not about historical accuracy. It's about defending that gaze and that "tradition".

It's in the same realm of debate as "when will real cinema come back", a subject that is always brought up by or centered around old white male auteurs.

They act like it's about being tired of one subject dominating genre (IP and especially comic book films) but really, it's more about the increased inclusion, in both the players and the gaze steering the proceedings and audiences enjoying it. So, when Ridley is cussing about his disregard of accuracy, he's really being defensive of his gaze being so much less taken at face value, without basic interrogatives about it, these days. He's an old man yelling at a cloud. And having what used to be baseline normalcy in American film; instead inspiring knowing chuckles and eye-rolls, because of course, you cast the boring old standard of a too-old J. Phoenix and too-young V. Kirby, even when the reality (Jo was actually six years older than Napoleon) would have made that dynamic in your movie much more interesting... But upholding old cliches as "real cinema' regardless of the actual quality/watchability of the film matters more to him.

[universallychaoticpan]

Hiiiiiii can I request where Chuuya and Fyodor's s/o got captured by Dazai to be interrogate and torture for info but there's no need to do that because s/o just tells Dazai all the half-truths BUT IN RIDDLES and also s/o despite being put in an isolated glass room she is still very much in control of the situation and she can honestly get out of the room anytime she wants but not without spilling some blood ofcourse.

You really should get out more - that's what you were thinking anyway. Sure, getting kidnapped and interrogated by the ADA wasn't on your agenda for the day, but hey, plans change all the time. You smiled, flexing your wrists in the fragile cuffs keeping them behind your back.

The key was always remaining flexible.

So yes, you were quite relaxed. Your underground 'prison' was devoid of any distractions, but as always, you were never one to waste times when there were silver linings to be found. It allowed you time; time to think, to plot, to come up with a thousand escape plans, all involving varying degrees of blood and gore. Fyodor wouldn't come to your aid- you were sure of that much. Perhaps that would be insulting to others, but to you, the message was clear: he trusted you. He trusted that his little bird, his little love, his darling with the knife-tipped fingers and the bloody smile would find their way back to him no matter what. It would be child's play, getting out; another thing you knew for certain. Even with the ADA trapping you, you had deduced a few critical facts. One- they had hidden your current location from you, leaving you in the dark as to where you were. Two- the amounts of time between visitors averaged around an hour between each encounter. Three- They always came in alone, and there were only three suspects you'd come to expect. The conclusion you had come to made you smile even wider in your solitude: not only were they weakened significantly, their members were stretched far too thin to possibly stand a chance at containing you if it came down to it.

yes, you knew it sure as you knew your own name.

And it maddened the man sitting across the room from you despite his best attempts to hide it.

Osamu Dazai was quickly falling into a battle of wits with you, baited by your silence and your odd little smiles.

"You already know my question," he smiled, approaching you. "So I'll ask again for the last location of Fyodor's base of operations as you know it."

"And my answer has not changed, detective- you're an even bigger idiot than you look if you think I'm simply going to tell you." Instead of keeping your eyes lowered in some vain attempt to hide any 'tells,' you kept your eyes up. You stared him down, lips curling up into a pleasant smile. "You're welcome to leave and send in another one of your associates to try again."

He turns away, sneering as he striped off his coat, dropping it on the floor before revealing a wickedly pointed knife that reflected the slightly deranged gleam in his eyes. They chilled you, those eyes- how similar they were to Fyodor's, not in appearance maybe, but in their cool ruthlessness, in their kaleidoscopic depth that made you feel at once safe and critically endangered.

'I could hurt you, you know," he purred, slipping behind you, roughly pulling your head back by your hair and exposing the smooth column of your throat to him.

"You could," you agree, still smiling. "But what good will spilling my blood do you? Other than making me more inclined to lie in order to stop the pain...Really, what cards do you have to play? You have no way of proving what I say is true; anything I tell you is tantamount to sending you on a wild goose chase even if it is true. I suppose you could kill me, but then you've lost the closest chance you have at finding the man you seek." His eyes narrow as you chuckle. "And the longer you wait to decide what to do with me, the higher the risk grows that I will grow bored and simply walk away, leaving you lot empty handed." You swallow hard as the blade finds your jugular, a slip of a finger being the difference between life and death.

"And anyway, you've walked on the ground you seek already...it's not my fault you're too blind to see it. At this point your wasting my time, running in circles when you've found the answer. You dogs, detectives- you'd rather gnaw on the bone of a satisfying interrogation than tie up the loose ends you've already begun to unravel! The answer is so simple, you've never even thought to look- the easiest way to confuse smart people, I find, is to make the solutions to their problems the most obvious one."

You're close enough that you can register the look that crosses Dazai's face- the look of a man who's been given the all important device when it comes to solving any puzzle: a clue.

"Where?"

You let your head fall to the side, nicking your skin in the process. "Oh no, detective, I'm afraid that's all I'm inclined to offer.

Your intentions were clear - goading a man like Osamu Dazai was a dangerous game, and yet here you were. He spun the knife in his hands, until the point hovered directly above your heart. "Where?"

This time, you simply let your head fall back, smiling insipidly as you feel your ability floating at the edges of your consciousness, begging you to harness it.

"Really?" His voiced hissed in your ear, venomous and angry as he began to lose his patience. "You talk too much too often and choose now to be silent?"

"You talk too much detective-

next time, I would advise you to keep your eyes on the hands of your captives rather than their mouths."

In the time it takes to blink, you had him on the wall, as you used your hands to wrap the handcuffs around his throat and squeeze, his knife now tucked neatly against his pulse point.

"I warned you, detective- next time, I advise you to not let me get bored."

You smiled sweetly at him one last time, tightening the chain as you pecked his cheek.

"Do svidaniya!"

[starrylothcat]

Sparks

Hunter x Fem!Jedi Reader One-Shot

Summary: You and Hunter realize your long-hidden feelings for one another. Warnings: Wee bit of angst, kissing/making out, slight suggestiveness. This is my first fic! Excuse any formatting or grammatical errors...I haven't stretched my writing fingers in a long time. I also have no idea how Tumblr formatting works, haha. I needed some fluff after that finale. This one got away from me...3,000 words. Please leave your thoughts and enjoy!

@wanderer-six tagged as requested! :)

The bonfire was now huge, burning fast and bright, much to Wrecker and Omega’s delight. Sparks flew in to the clear night air, illuminating the figures sitting around it. 

Clone Force 99 and you had just finished a tiring mission and were taking the night to decompress on a desolate, forested planet. The bonfire was actually your idea, a memory you had stored deep in your subconscious from when you were a very young Jedi Padawan. After a tough training or difficult mission, your Master would often start a fire while you meditated and reflected. The heat and cackling from the flames helped calm you, oddly enough. It was something that you continued to do, even as a Jedi General during the war. It was something that burned bright in the darkness. Something that you were all now desperate for in this new Imperial galaxy.  

You didn’t speak much of your past as a Jedi at first. It was too painful, too fresh. But as you spent more time with Clone Force 99, you became more comfortable sharing small snippets on occasion, much to the excitement of Omega who hung on to every word. Echo would also sometimes add his own stories from his old squad, which would then inspire Wrecker to tell stories (sometimes embellished ones) of their missions, reminiscing on battles won. It was nice to connect again, to have those who understood you, as you were now all outcasts. Chewed up by the war and tossed to the side, now struggling to find your place in the galaxy.

Somewhat recently after Order 66, they rescued you from bounty hunters who had suspicions you were a Jedi. You tried to keep it a secret, but Hunter found you out with his heightened senses. You warily came clean to them, telling them the truth. 

You were only supposed to stay with them for a short time, only until you found a new place to hide. Hunter was wary with having a Jedi on board, especially since they already had a target on their back. But a short time turned longer. You were helpful on missions and were careful to never expose yourself as a Jedi. Omega became particularly attached to you, and Hunter saw how much Omega was benefiting from a woman on board. You also became close with them, especially Hunter. You both connected over the baggage of being a leader, and what it meant to fail as one as well. Other feelings began to blossom, that neither you or Hunter knew how to act on, or even if you should. You found yourself talking to him late in to the night, discussing next mission plans or plans from the past. But you both always left those conversations wishing you had said more. 

Tech had just carefully landed the ship on the empty, forested planet in the only clearing he could find. It was Hunter's idea to do inventory, seeing when you would need to do a supply run next. You casually mentioned the bonfire memory as you were all rummaging through gear and supplies, as this planet reminded you of that distant memory.

Omega’s eyes widened and asked, “Can we do that tonight? That sounds fun!” while looking excitedly between you and Hunter, who was sitting down and cleaning his knife. He chuckled, a low chuckle that made butterflies swirl in your stomach. Something you’ve realized has been happening more often. But you pushed that thought aside, for now. 

“Sure, kid. This planet is empty enough. I don’t think it will attract too much attention.” Tech adjusted his goggles and looked up from his datapad. “I do not see any settlements on this planet. There is no current need for worry.” He said before becoming absorbed once more in his research.

Wrecker, with much glee, shot up from begrudgingly organizing his gear, and announced, “Fire, I like this idea! This is boring anyway. Let’s take a break and go gather some wood!” He turned to look at Hunter for approval, who shrugged and nodded. “Omega, let’s go!” Wrecker hurriedly threw the rest of his unorganized gear on his bunk. Omega grinned, also happy to get away from inventory, and began after Wrecker down the ramp of the Marauder. She stopped at the top of the ramp and looked back. “Thank you!” She beamed at both you and Hunter, and skittered after Wrecker. 

Hunter had put his knife away and was now leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, gazing at you. You felt your heart beat quicken when you matched his stare.  “You’ve done it now.” He teased as he watched Wrecker and Omega run toward the tree line. You shrugged with a small smile as you stood up from putting the last piece of equipment back in your gear pack. “Well, I have to admit, I need a break too. Let’s just hope they don’t burn the whole planet down.”

Hunter released a low chuckle again and you felt heat rise up your neck. “With Wrecker involved, I’m not too sure.” Echo quipped from the pilot seat, where he was researching where they could get supplies before the next mission. “Given the current wind speeds and our distance from the trees, it would be difficult to start a blaze that big.” Tech called from under a piece of machinery he was now working on. “But I have to agree with Echo. With Wrecker involved, statistically the odds are higher.”

You gave a small laugh, which made Hunter’s heart involuntarily quicken. It was your laugh that he often thought of deep in the night, when he was having trouble sleeping. The way your shoulders moved when you chuckled, the way your eyes glinted when you smiled. How sometimes he’d find himself almost getting out of his bunk to wake you up and take you in his arms, telling you how he feels as his lips meet yours….

A sudden crash snapped him out of his thoughts, setting his senses haywire. You heard the sound too, and you looked at each other and ran down the ramp to see what the commotion was, hands on your blasters. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Wrecker standing with Omega at the tree line, who were both excitedly picking up branches from a dead tree Wrecker had just knocked over. Hunter ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t help but always be on high alert, especially with Omega. He could see relief in your eyes as well, once you realized it was nothing to be concerned about. You lightly touched his arm, asking “You okay?” “Yeah…” he breathed. “I’m not used to…calm.” You nodded, understanding.

“I guess we better enjoy it while it lasts.”

Your lips ghosted a smile, realizing you were still touching Hunter’s arm. You moved your hand, suddenly embarrassed. Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Echo coming down the ramp to see what the commotion was. He also needed a break, and was interested in this fire idea. “Yeah, you’ve really done it now, _____.” Echo teased as you all looked at the growing pile of logs and branches that Omega and Wrecker had collected. “Hey, don’t just stand there, come and help us!” Wrecker called as he balanced more giant branches in his arms. You gave Hunter a look and continued down the ramp to help.

The sun was getting low, and Wrecker was adding the last log to a massive pile he and Omega collected. You were collecting small sticks and brush for kindling. Wrecker put down the last one, wiping sweat from his face. “Phew! Do you think this is enough?” He huffed. “If you are trying to light a fire big enough for the entire Galaxy to see, then yes.” Tech said casually as he came down the ship’s ramp, also now having his interest piqued. “Oh, it’ll be a massive fire, I can’t wait!” Wrecker exclaimed as he winked at Omega. 

“So now what? I’ve never made a fire before. Hunter, can you teach me?” Omega asked, looking up at Hunter with large, pleading eyes. Hunter looked at her softly. “Yeah, sure kid.” He glanced at you and then put his hand on Omega’s shoulder, leading her toward the log pile. 

As Hunter and Omega began to make a space for the fire, you and Echo were maneuvering some of the bigger logs for everyone to have a seat once the fire was going. Since this planet was desolate, you used the Force to move some of the larger logs. Hunter noticed out of the corner of his eye, always secretly impressed with your graceful power. It was rare when you used it, and it captivated him. 

“What’s next Hunter? Hunter?” Hunter snapped out of his thoughts and Omega was looking at him, curiously. “You were staring again.” She said quietly. “I don’t know what you mean, Omega.” He lightly scolded, trying to change the subject.

She gave a small smirk. “You sometimes stare at _____.” Hunter cleared his throat. “And I see her stare at you sometimes, too.” She said matter-of-factly, looking back at the pile of kindling they had placed for the eventual fire. “I think she likes you.” Before he could respond, you had suddenly appeared behind them. “How’s it going?” You asked. Hunter bristled, hoping you hadn’t just heard their conversation, not even realizing you were approaching. “It’s uh…going well. I’m just about to teach Omega how to actually light the fire.” 

“I have something embarrassing to admit.” You said sheepishly. “I actually don’t know how to start a fire, either. My Master just always used his lightsaber.” You laughed and Omega smiled. 

“Mind if I watch?” You sat down next to Hunter, eager to learn as much as Omega was. Or maybe you were just eager to be close to Hunter. His senses were suddenly overwhelmed with your scent, another thing he was noticing lately. His stomach felt like it was on fire. Get a grip, Hunter. he thought. He snapped himself out of thinking about you once again, and continued with his lesson. “Im going to start with the hard way first. Say you’re stranded without gear. This is important to learn.” He took a small stick to use as a spindle and a small flat piece of wood. “This takes awhile and is a pain, but this is the most basic way to start a spark.” He began to spin the spindle between his hands quickly in to a divot he had made on the flat piece of wood on the ground, held steady by his foot. Omega watched intensely, soaking up every word and action. You saw a small gleam of sweat form at his brow, and watched the concentration in his eyes. Your heart fluttered again, suddenly imagining his sweaty brow and intense look above you in a moment of passion. The smell of smoke brought you back to reality, before your imagination went further. Hunter had made a small ember that was smoking. He carefully moved it to the kindling and gently blew on it to start a small flame.

“Woaaah, let me try!” Omega gasped excitedly and went to work the same way Hunter did on a new piece of flat wood. You watched as he patiently moved her hands to the correct position, gently correcting her when appropriate. For a dark and broody Sergeant, you recognized his moments of softness. Moments that he also sometimes shared with you, which you knew were special, especially coming from someone as guarded as him.

After trial and error, and some frustration, Omega finally got her own spark. “I did it!” She yelled. Hunter smiled.

“Good work, kid. You might just be a natural. Now, carefully put it in the kindling.”

She gently moved it to the already growing flame and looked at Hunter for approval. “There you go, you did it. That was all you.” Omega beamed and said  “Now it’s _____’s turn.” She jumped up and brushed dust and dirt off her knees, and began to walk away. “Wait, where are you going?” Hunter asked. Omega turned and called,  “I want to tell the others the fire is almost ready!” She gave Hunter a look and ran back to the Marauder where the rest of the boys had gone to rest, before Hunter and you could respond. 

It was suddenly quiet, only the gentle crackling of the small fire was to be heard. 

“I guess it’s my turn to try, huh?” You said softly, realizing it was just you and Hunter for a moment. The sun was almost set, and the small fire was casting a soft glow on the both of you. “You don’t have to-“ he began but you stopped him.

“No, I want to! What good am I to the team if I can’t even start a fire? I need to impress my Sergeant." You smirked playfully. "Also, I can’t let a kid get the best of me.” You teased as you began to spin the stick between your hands.

“You bring other skills to the team, you don’t have to worry about fire making.” He stated. “Leave that to Omega and I.” He smiled, looking at you. “Also, you don’t need to impress me. You already do that.” Suddenly, you felt shy. Hunter glanced away from you, embarrassed about what he just said, wrestling with his feelings, wondering if he had said too much. 

“Thank you, Hunter. I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how grateful I am to you, and to your brothers, for taking me in.” Hunter looked at you. “You don’t need to thank me. But I’m glad you’re here. Part of this team.” He murmured, turning away from you and looking at the fire. “Me too.” You acted before you could think, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, closing the distance between you, forgetting all about the fire lesson. Hunter stiffened a little while facing you, feeling your hand on his unarmored shoulder. The touch he often thought about late in to the night. The touch he wondered if he’d ever feel. If he even deserved it. 

Once again, you felt heat climb up your neck to your face and you began to remove your hand, but before you could, Hunter brought his other hand and placed it on top of yours. Your feelings for Hunter exploded in your chest, realizing how handsome he looked in the soft light, his brown eyes shining in the dark, wondering what you should do next as you felt the heat from his hand encapsulate yours. You were taught no attachments, but that had no meaning anymore. Was this just desperation for something that used to be taboo? You tried to read his face, as he gazed intensely at you. Hunter moved closer to you, “____...I want to tell you something…”

Your intimate moment was suddenly cut short by voices as Wrecker, Tech, Omega, and Echo emerged from the falling darkness toward you. Your hand left Hunter’s shoulder and you practically leapt away from him, startled by the intrusion. You caught a small look of disappointment on his face. “Aww yeah, it’s fire time!” Wrecker bellowed as he held a huge armful of sticks and logs. “Let’s get this going!” You were still sitting near Hunter, and Echo gave you and Hunter a sly look as he sat down on a log near the still small fire, carrying ration bars. You were suddenly distracted by the giant roar as the fire grew due to Wrecker and Omega gleefully adding more and more wood to the fire, blissfully unaware they interrupted…something. Tech tried to explain the optimal way to place logs to get the most efficient fire, but his remarks were ignored and Omega and Wrecked piled more in to the blaze, and he soon gave up.

The heat blazed and sparks flew in to the air, the wood cracking and popping. The fire was massive, and Omega had never seen anything like it and was in awe. You saw Hunter out of the corner of your eye as he stared in to the flames, his face unreadable. You all enjoyed the light and intense warmth the large blaze gave, sitting in silence for a bit. You desperately wanted to be alone with Hunter again, as you listened to Wrecker tell another taller than life tale, with an annoyed Tech trying to interject the facts. Your memory was brought back to you and your Master, quietly enjoying the fire and reflecting on your day’s mission. After Wrecker finished his story, Omega turned to you, waiting for another glimpse in to your past. She understood it was hard for you to talk about, but was hopeful to hear something from before the Galaxy she currently knew. “Omega,” Hunter warned. “____ might not want to discuss it.” He gave you a soft look. The look almost melted your heart. You wanted to desperately take his face in your hands and continue what had started before. 

“It’s okay, Hunter. I have a story.”

You told Omega of your first solo mission as a Jedi Knight. You had  infiltrated a pirate base. It wasn’t too exciting, but to Omega it was the most amazing story she’d ever heard. Echo passed out the ration bars as you told your story. After you were done, you nibbled on your bar as you stared in to the flames. There was a comfortable silence as everyone ate, enjoying the small bit of calm before you were all off again on another mission.

After awhile, the fire began to dim and there was no more wood to add. Omega let out a yawn, satisfied with her first bonfire. “We should do this more often.” She proclaimed as another yawn overtook her. “Yeah kid, we can.” Hunter whispered. Wrecker had already fallen asleep, laying over a log in an uncomfortable position, snoring away. Tech nudged Wrecker, also ready to go back to the ship to sleep. One by one, they went back to the ship, leaving you, Hunter, and Echo. Echo then stood up, bidding you both a good night. “I’ll leave you two to it, then.” He raised an eyebrow and then he was gone before you either of you could respond.

Once again, you were alone with Hunter and the slowly burning fire. He looked at you, the fire reflecting in his eyes. 

He never thought he’d be grappling with feelings like this. Especially for someone like you. But you cared about him. Worried about him and his brothers, something he’d never experienced before. It was new, and frankly, it scared him. He’d never admit it out loud, but that was the truth. But here he was, with you within arms reach again, staring at him and waiting for what might come next. You looked beautiful, ethereal in the glow of the now small fire. “Hunter…” you whispered as you maneuvered closer to him, like you were before earlier in the night. Your hand was close to his on the log you were both sitting on. You couldn’t wait any longer, the tension between you was about to snap. “You wanted to tell me something earlier?”

He stared intensely at you, trying to find the words to say.

“____, I…I wanted to tell you…I care about you.” His voice was deep, almost inaudible. You fully took his hand, looking right in to his eyes. He was suddenly overwhelmed, waiting for your response. “Hunter, I care about you too.” The second he heard you whisper those words, he boldly closed the distance, acting purely on instinct, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, quick kiss. He pulled back slightly, hoping he didn’t mess this all up. 

“____, tell me to stop and I will.” Hunter’s voice was husky and deep. Almost a whisper. It sent shivers down your spine. “Never.” You murmured as you brought a hand to his face, gently cradling his head. Relief washed over you, happy you finally revealed how you felt. He closed his eyes and leaned in to your touch, sighing a deep sigh. You moved your hand from his cheek and gripped his collar, needing more. You pulled him back to your lips for a more passionate kiss. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders as the tension between you dissipated, flying in to the sky with the embers from the fire.

It was his turn to bring his hands to your face, cradling your head gently as he deepened the kiss, your heart feeling like it was about to explode out of your chest. The sensation of your lips moving on his was almost overwhelming. His hands were strong, yet gentle as they maneuvered down to your hips, leaving a trail of fire down your body. You both pulled away again, panting slightly, looking in each other’s eyes. All the unsaid words, all the silent looks, were now completely understood by both of you. 

Your hand that was on his collar moved to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his long, soft locks while your other hand gripped his shoulder. You whispered his name as he pulled you in impossibly close for another kiss, getting drunk on your scent, your body. 

His tongue slowly made his way in to your mouth, which pulled a groan from deep in your chest. Your reactions spurred him on, his hands on your waist ghosting underneath your tunic, his gloved hands moving over your bare skin making the butterflies in your stomach explode. You desperately wanted those gloves off, to feel his skin on yours. After what felt like an eternity, you parted for air once again.  The fire had now died down quite a bit, leaving you both in almost total darkness. You were illuminated by the stars, the only sound being your shallow breaths. You both wanted so much more, but now wasn’t the time. Hunter nuzzled his face in to your neck, and moved one of his hands from your hips to grasp yours, which had fallen to your side. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” He whispered against your neck, his heart thudding against yours. “Yes, Hunter.” You whispered back, squeezing his hand. He moved his head from your neck and brought you against his chest in an embrace, his chin leaning on your head. You both gazed at the glowing embers of what used to be the giant fire, wondering what comes next. But at least for now, you were at peace.

[pastelpaperplanes]

Has KnockOut ever been insecure of stretch marks given how he prides on his appearance? I’m sure Breakdown doesn’t mind them, though. Also, can Megatron feel anything with that tremendous scar on his back and how does Optimus react once he first saw it?

Knockout is definitely vain to a fault, always he was all the way back when he was still a nobel, this extends to not just his appearance but also his need to keep his snazzy clothes and armor in perfect condition, as well his bow pristine!

However, what he loves most in the world is the life he shares with Breakdown. The highs and lows they faced in life beyond the Autobot Kingdom, scars and scratches they earned along the way–all are memories of how hard they fought for their life together and how much they loved the fact that they got to fight and WIN for that love.

The marks he received in life since bonding Breakdown are met with pride! (Breakdown lets little get past him to hurt KO, that and Knockout is a mean shot with his bow, both are the other’s protectors! lol, scars received are few and far in between)

Knockout’s stretch marks from Wildbreak– his greatest gift from Breakdown, his greatest gift to the love of his life, are by far his proudest yet. They made that baby!!! And that is the greatest joy and challenge Knockout has ever faced, but the best part was that he got to face it with Breakdown.

Yes, and ofc Breakdown loves the marks. Obsessed w them even–they belong to his super strong, soft, and hot hubby

As for Megatron’s burn marks, nope he does not feel them much at all, the burns were very deep and fried a lot of his nerves. It wasn’t always that way of course, healing took. years.

Optimus has seen every single one of his scars. When asked, Megs would talk his audial off telling Op the stories of each proud mark. Some range from petty fights with his brother long ago, some from his time in the gladiator pits, others from dumb youthful decisions, he's a story book ready for Optimus to dive into, he only needs to ask.

His first reaction to seeing them was of course shock, but secondly he felt truly sick. Of course at Megs, nor the melted, glassy flash, but the fact that someone could do something like that to another person. Megatron has long since been used to that look of shock, those who have seen it rarely can school their features–he eased the situation with yet another story.

The largest scar, his burns, now that is the one that everytime he talks about it, Megs cooks up a whole new story to pair it with. Megatron’s favorites are “I feel asleep in a hot spring” or “Fireworks and High Grade don’t mix” and “You see my dear Sir Orion, there is a reason why I am not allowed in any kitchen ever again so long as I live”. Optimus doesn’t really wonder anymore. He knows all too well that some well placed humor is just a mask for the too painful of stories. He does know that he has never seen a ‘burn’ scar quite like Megatronus’

“In a great flash of light, the Allspark disappeared and Left King Ultra and Megatron gravely wounded…” so the stories go. Those in the battle rumor that Megatron made a scramble for the Allspark and the artifact lashed at the unworthy King of daring to filthy it with his hands, King Ultra being too close, sadly being burned as well in It’s rage.

Megatron has his own side of the story. Not that many beyond the few trusted of his People he’s shared it with know the truth, perhaps one day the little Knight may be ready.

[crossovershipstournament]

FINALS: Max Goof (Disney)/Yakko Warner (Animaniacs) VS Huey Duck (Ducktales 2017)/Wakko Warner (Animaniacs)

Propaganda for Max Goof/Yakko Warner:

I just like them. I think its cute. Romeo and juliet vibes because theyre from different studios, Disney vs warner brothers. They're both funny, dorky guys, and they bring out the best in each other. Plus only child vs overworked older child turned parent is a really good dynamic too.

YAX SWEEP

#YAX SWEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!

#yakko x max opened my third eye #this needs to be a thing

Cameo of Max's VA expressing approval of the ship~!

#YAX SWEEP #LETS GOOO

#yax propagandists ASSEMBLE

#yax sweep #they deserve it

Ok I keep forgetting to submit my own Yax propoganga but I have put so much thought into them.

They have the same sense of humor, we literally see them tell almost identical jokes. They’re both such dramatic showoffs and they both are schemers, they're both the brains of their group (friends v family)

They’re complimentary.

They’re foils.

Beause Yakko isn’t as open with his emotions, he’s more sarcasti. But Max has been truthful about what he feels since Goof Troop. It's there on the surface and he communicates and understands in ways that would be SO good for Yakko. They're two sides of the same coin. They are opposites but they support each others weaknesses. Yakko wants so badly to make people laugh, and it’s so important to him to do so. His self worth is connected to it, but Max doesn’t like his laugh and suppresses it. It practically writes itself. So yeah, there’s all the fun WB/Disney forbidden lovers, but it works off a dynamic that would already work really well. That's why I like them so much

YAX!!!! COME ON GUYS!!!!!! What is love if not filling the other person in smiles and laughter? What is love if not being the best of friends first, the perfect duo. Partners in crime that egg each other on!!! Yakko and Max deserve a kind ending, vite yax!!!!!!! Also, through Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Yakko and Max exist within the same universe. They're so close. It's not a stretch to see them interact and understand each other. They deserve this!!!!!!!!!!!

YAX SWEEP! COME ON LETS GO

#we need the brother battle! #animaniacs #yax

Go vote for Yax I am begging yall. Two snarky teenage boys who care so much about what other people think about them, finding acceptance and joy in their shared humor, and new family in the people their companies warned them about?

Like, from Dot and Wakko's side, moving away from Yakko and his boyfriend for a moment.

Dot and Wakko need someone to be friends with outside of themselves. They need familiarity and kindness.

Who better to open the Warner's to a kinder life, than a toon from a company all about the power of familial and romantic love? The themes that surround Max and Goofy, as well as many other Disney's, are exactly the kind of thing that those kids need the most.

Yakko being happy is a the first part, but having the Warners brought into the family by Goofy Goof, the man with so much understanding and love to give, who GETS kids, and has always let Max be a kid and help him through it, his appearance through Yakko amd Max knowing each other gives the Warners a positive adult figure in their lives who will be there to support them instead of criticize them for being "too much".

Yax isn't JUST about Yakko and Max, it's about the connections these kids make that starts with the eldest opening himself up. It's about learning the world around them isn't just filled with people who want them locked up.

The world is also filled with people who embrace their weirdness and energy, and who will guide them. Even if you just like yax as friends, you have to see the potential there is for all of them

The Warners and the Goofs, to have lives grow richer.

And more, with them being from seperate companies, their worldview would be able to grow to incorporate new ideas and thoughts. The Warners aren't very open with their emotions, so a father son duo who have always been open and communicative would be able to show them the benefits of doing so themselves.

Plus, watching the Warner Siblings wreak havoc with a smile, hurting no innocents, would be exactly the type of thing to make Max smile.

He could help do smaller damage control if need be as well, he's been accounting for his and his Dad's Goof Luck since he was born, and for the fallout of his own insane schemes. Adding in the brilliant and mischievous mind of Max Goof to the minds of our puppy children trio is golden.

They deserve each other, deserve kindness and acceptance. ALL of these kids do. And every single one of them get that through Yax.

#they mean everything to me #and if they make it to the finals i will cry literal tears #GO VOTE FOR YAX ‼️‼️

#YAX SWEEP LETS GOOO

#COME ON YAXXERS!!! #VOTE FOR YAX!!!

#GO VOTE FOR YAX ‼️‼️ #LET'S GOOO #YAX SWEEEEEEPPP

votee for the yaaaaxxxx

#CMON GUYS VOTE YAX #YAX SWEEP

#yax nation needs to win #go vote!

Propaganda for Huey Duck/Wakko Warner:

Huey and Wakko are classic opposite attrack characters, while also touches of "you're drawn to people who remind you of your family" thrown in. They're both very autistic coded characters (because their shows are cowards and refuse to say the word) but in opposite ways. Wakko is very outside of the norm where as Huey holds himself to a strict set of rules. While Huey adds a bit of routine to Wakko's life, Wakko encourages Huey to cut back, go outside of his comfort zone at his own pace and also relax a little. Wakko reminds Huey of both his siblings, excitable and dramatic like Dewey, and laid back (compared to his siblings) and mischevious like Louie, where as Huey reminds Wakko of his own siblings. A bit more uptight and bratty like Dot, and intelligent and encouraging like Yakko. They also bring out different sides of each other, Wakko can be gross and messy and Huey somehow finds it charming, and Huey can help Wakko see that he's intelligent and creative in his own ways rather than being outshined by his own siblings. They both also have anger issues, and Wakko would be great at helping Huey to feel his anger rather than always keeping it hidden away. He makes Huey feel seen and heard and taken care of because Huey doesn't have to be the Older BrotherTM around Wakko. Basically just opposites attract autistic kids who help each other come into one another.

#yall need to vote for my baby angels #wakko/huey sweep #please #they deserve it #their shows treated them awfully

#MY BABIES VOTE WAKKO/HUEY YOU LEGALLY HAVE TO ITS MY BIRTHDAY

#HUEY WAKKO SWEEP YOU LITERALLY HAVE TO VOTE THE BABIES

VOTE HUEY/WAKKO PLS PLS PLS MY DARLINGS MY BABIES MY LIL GUYS

ALSO IF WAKKO AND HUEY WIN THEYLL GO UP AFAINST YAKKO AND MAX WHICH IS VERY FUNNY

And if they win I’ll release never before seem Huey/Wakko art that I’ve drawn

#CMON GUYSSSSS #WE CAN DO THIS#HUEKKO SWEEP #WE STILL HAVE 2 HOURS #we need the brothers to battle

Please vote for Wakko/Huey! They need each other to help balance each other out and to grow as people! They are so cute together.

(Also want to see a brother vs brother to figure out who has the most heartwarming relationship,but that's secondary to this)

#hey if you guys love me you'll vote for wakko and huey thanks

#VOTE HUEKKO #WE NEED THE BROTHERS TO BATTLE

#if u vote Wakko/Huey I will draw whatever request you want this is my promise to you

Art Credit: Max/Yakko art by @/doodle-poofes Huey/Wakko art by @/justadoll and @/krillconnessieur

[blackjackkent]

Poking through Minsc's camp dialogue tree for Reasons. Lots of fun commentary on Jaheira and the other BG1/2 characters, some of which I didn't encounter in my initial run:

Player: You and Karlach must have a lot in common. Minsc: Indeed! A berserker after my own heart. Though hers is made of hellish heat, and metal, and... some manner of coin-operated device? Player: Don't mock, Minsc. It's killing her. Minsc: I would never think to mock! She is as fine a warrior as any I've met - Mazzy Fentan stretched two spans tall!

--

Player: Have you and Jaheira always had such a quarrelsome relationship? Minsc: We have! Is it not wonderful? Player: Do you even know what 'quarrelsome' means...? Minsc: To irk your friend so that she wishes to fill you with some crossbow quarrels - but knowing she never will, for fear of hitting your hamster. There is no need for sweet words between companions such as we. Too often those are the weapons of flatterers, and frauds. But she who will beat you about the head with the cold and pointy truth? That is a true wychlaran.

--

Player: You clearly care for one another - so enough of the arguing. Minsc: ...I know you mean well, my friend. But Boo, being your friend, wishes to share some of this cold and pointy truth I mention. 'Mind your own godsdamned business.' My hamster's words, not mine Jaheira: And I am in total agreement. See? No arguing.

--

Player: For such a sacred title, you hand it out pretty freely. First Dynaheir, now Jaheira. Minsc: You suggest that Minsc uses the term lightly? Simply leaps from Dynaheir to Jaheira, with no caring for the custom itself? An unworthy thought - and WRONG! In between there was also Aerie, my second witch. She needed a protector, and Boo suggested that it might as well be Minsc. And when she went her own way, Minsc and Boo set to thinking: There is power in the wychlaran bond. Far too much to be wasted on weeping. To use that power to serve the living does not sully the dead - it honours them.

--

Minsc: You do not know this custom? Great Rashemen is ruled by the Masked Ones - wise women you might call 'witches'. To each wychlaran is bonded a berserker bodyguard. To dog her heels and watch her back, until death claims one or both. So it was with Minsc and his witch, Dynaheir. Until she died, and Minsc had to carry on without her. But Jaheira was there - to help Minsc take vengeance, and to kick his backside when he fell to brooding. As any true wychlaran would.

--

Player: What is your fondest memory of adventuring with Bhaalspawn? Minsc: The bards sing of fallen gods and mighty battles, but that is a small part of any saga. They do not sing of the times in between. When Sarevok's butt had been kicked so hard that we thought he would never return, we settled in Baldur's Gate for a while. Gorion's Ward, Imoen, Jaheira, Minsc, Boo... and Dynaheir. My witch. She hated the city at first. Too busy, she said, too noisy. Too many people. She complained of the smell, although she complained of Boo's smell too and he smells of fresh honeycakes, so Minsc believes her nose was confused.

Then, one day, we walked past a shop full of wonders. Tiny magics fizzed in the air, and wizards from every corner of the world bickered and bartered. Sorcerous Sundries. Dynaheir fell in love. Dragged poor Minsc there every day, and made him stand watch while she browsed the shelves. Minsc frowned and complained. He felt more like a babysitter than a berserker. But how Dynaheir smiled.

Not long after, Minsc and Boo were captured, and Dynaheir was dead. I would gladly be a babysitter again, to see her smile. That is what I remember, more than any battles against Bhaal and his spawn. Yes, Boo. I know you miss her too.

--

Minsc: Minsc may have been mistaken. Boo presents compelling evidence that Astarion may in fact be a vampire. Player: That he is. But one of the good ones. Minsc: Minsc has met many vampires, and never one whose smile did not hide treacherous teeth. But... as you say. This world is a strange and wondrous place. Minsc has seen the soul of an angel in a child of Bhaal. Once, even a kind banker.

--

Minsc: Ah, the great Blade of Frontiers! A fine name - Minsc has no idea what it means, but it suits young Wyll's air of mystery well. It is good to know the city did not go unprotected while I wore pigeon droppings on the Wide. Jaheira did her part, of course, but she prefers to scowl from the shadows. The city needs a name - a face! Preferably, a furry companion too.

--

Player: What are your thoughts on Shadowheart? Minsc: She hangs split between her two sides - like a flipped coin that Boo once ate while it was still in the air. But, like Boo, after a great struggle within, I think Shadowheart has finally brought that coin to earth. She is a Sharran no more - and free of her wretched and evil fellows! Player: Hard to believe Shadowheart grew up in that place. Minsc: My old friend Keldorn told me that the righteous must end their rage when the battle is done. But when Minsc thinks of those villains tormenting our gentle moon-witch, he wants to kick them in the cloisters!

--

Player: Shadowheart walks a dark path - but we can trust her. Minsc: You are asking Minsc to be pragmatic. That is a word that Jaheira uses to win arguments. It does not work on Minsc because Minsc does not know what the word means.

[thursdayinspace]

Hello “touchstone” anon here from tigers blog. I love to hear your analysis on Mulder and Scully relationship both right before and right after iwtb. You can include the revival if you want but it’s not really my cup of tea. Thank you!!

hi anon! I think their relationship around iwtb is really interesting and i have read a lot of very different takes on it. For me, it makes absolute sense for them to be where they are at that point.

Mulder has been isolated for a long time, and he isn't doing well. All his life, he's had a purpose—his search for the truth and a belief in the fact that the world was worth fighting for. All of that has been taken away. Add to that years of unprocessed trauma, and it's natural that he's fallen into a deep hole. He needs something to hold onto, but he can't have that. He's in hiding. There doesn't seem to be any kind of future for him.

Scully has gone back to work. She exists in the outside world and in her and Mulder's world, essentially living a double existence, torn between responsibilities in two universes that can never, ever touch. It takes a toll on her, as does the fact that it's hard to see the person you love suffer the way Mulder is suffering. But how could she even begin to help him? He can't go to therapy. He's in hiding. And she's too close to him. A partner can never be a therapist. The situation he's in is her situation as well. She's caught up in all the same shit, having to battle her own traumatic experiences along with facing the hopelessness and sadness at home every single day.

When he's offered the chance to help out on that case in exchange for having all charges against him dropped, of course she has to insist that he take that opportunity. He needs to get out of the house, he needs a chance at having a life and a future, a chance to be okay again. But because he's Mulder and because he's had to sit still for years, he throws himself into it head-first and completely, going straight back to the life that already destroyed them once. Could she have known that would happen? Of course. Was there any alternative? Of course *not*. It was his only chance to get to live a normal life again.

But their relationship had been strained before they were offered this chance, for all the reasons mentioned above: his isolation, her inability to help him, their trauma. They love each other. They always have and they always will. But love doesn't fix everything. Due to everything that happened to them and due to the situation they're living in, they're not able to take care even of themselves, much less of each other. You cannot carry someone else's burden for them. And especially not if you can't even carry your own. So there are cracks in their relationship. Big ones. It's hard to be happy when you see your partner going through hell without being able to help. More than that: it can lead to you withdrawing from them, because you don't want to put your own burden on their already aching shoulders, and also because you can't handle theirs for them either. That has nothing to do with how much you love someone. Our strength as people is not unlimited.

So throughout the movie, they go through a true roller coaster of emotions: she pushed him towards taking this deal so he would be able to lead a normal life again. He accepted because he knew he couldn't go on the way he was. And then she has to watch him slide back into old patterns right away, staring into the face of untold horrors, and she knows, she remembers what that did to him the last time around. She was there all those times he nearly destroyed himself for his mission. and she's tired. From everything they've been through, including the last few years where she was stretched thin between two worlds. She can't live that kind of life anymore.

But they do love each other. They have never given up easily. And they don't do it now. They're really, really close to breaking up, and I know there are a lot of takes saying that they do, at the end of the movie. I don't see that. He goes off on his own to save that missing woman, and she follows him to save him. But I think she realizes something there: she realizes that this is who he has always been and that there really isn't any middle ground. There is no room for negotiation. She can accept him like this or she can leave. And I think he realizes something similar: he realizes that she was serious when she said she can't do this anymore. So he has a choice between two options too: go back to his old life or live the quiet life with her that she wishes for. The thing is, they don't make a decision by the end of the movie. But when she leaves that morning, she leaves for work, and nothing more. That kiss by the car is not a goodbye. It's a promise to keep trying.

They're not okay after iwtb. Far from it. In terms of their relationship, they have solved very little. But they have become aware of what their problems really are. I don't think they really get to the core of it. That doesn't happen until just before the revival. But they get a little closer to the truth. Close enough for them to know that ignoring all that is wrong will only hurt them more in the long run. They are headed towards a breakup here. There are still too many things they are keeping from each other, about what they are truly feeling in the wake of everything that happened since 1993. They still try to protect each other from their own pain, and that's no way to live. But they have gained a new foothold. One that will not be strong enough to fix their relationship, but one that will allow them to break up without hating each other when they reach that breaking point.

That wording is very intentional: it *allows* them to break up. They need to spend some time apart to figure themselves out and to separate the good parts from the bad parts of their relationship. To figure out what it is that they're fighting for. The breakup is absolutely necessary for them in order to get back to a place from where they can eventually build a solid relationship. But there we're heading into the revival and this post is long enough. So. That's my take on it. iwtb is open-ended where their relationship is concerned. and I really like that. :)

[majorproblems77]

ITS YOUR BIRTHDAY?!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY<3333 HAVE A LITTLE GIFT:

Taking up the blade was essential for most of them. For Sky himself, he had gotten quick lessons even before his adventure, his quest that changed his entire life. He would find his Loftwing no matter if he liked sword-fighting or not. Thankfully, though his lessons were short, he knew enough to cut through rope and save Crimson before the Wing Ceremony.

Part of Sky had always wondered what would’ve happened if he didn’t graduate, or if he declined going in the clouds with Zelda. Would she have still gotten whisked away by that black tornado, or would she have never had to face the truth? Or if it was inevitable, would the Academy still allow him to go after her, down where dangers awaited? Would they have sent another, or made him lose precious time to earn the graduation before sending him?

He had always wondered, if he could’ve stopped all the suffering that he and Zelda went through. He always knew that Demise shouldn’t have been able to utter the curse that doomed all of Sky and Zelda’s descendants, that somehow through all of his wounds and exhaustion, he should’ve been able to stop the curse. It was always his fault.

The reason why the others had to take up whatever sacred sword was bestowed to them was because of the hardship they were facing, because Sky was always too late.

But it was remarkable to see their growth, how they handled monsters with ease and how they handled everything with the Courage of a Hero. How Time used his Courage to swing that giant sword and get everyone into a sense of order. How Wild used his Courage to face dangers with a broad grin and didn’t let his guilt get in the way of nocking his bow and firing arrows at his targets.

Sky imagined that he used his Courage to rescue those in need, whether that was from a threat, or a nightmare, or simply a moment of fear. He wondered what the others thought, if they had the same idea or if it was something entirely different.

However, it was always a constant reminder that the only reason they needed this was because of him, because though he defeated a God, he couldn’t stop words from being spoken into the threshold of a future Kingdom. Every time he looked into the glowing eyes of enemies, he was reminded of that moment, being too exhausted and injured to drag himself up.

Even with a powerful, intelligent blade, it was up to him.

And he failed.

“Hey, chosen, come join us!” Wild yelled from across camp, smile stretching his burn scars back.

The heroes sat around, waiting patiently as Sky hurried to join them, no longer wanting to stew in deep thoughts. He smiled back at the champion who sat down as well. The sun peeked through light clouds, bathing them in a warm light. Dew dripped from healthy, green blades of grass, brushing the bedrolls and logs. It was a beautiful day.

His smile became more genuine because even after all the blood and battle, even after all the loss and hardship, the sun still shone, the birds still chirped, and the heroes still grinned and laughed. Maybe he could also look past his failure, and look upon the future with a new perspective. Maybe he could just enjoy the present while it lasted.

I've been holding this because i love it sm, thank you so much!

My precious boy i love he

[garglyswoof]

:D Ahhh, prompt prompt prompt - how about a mash up, vampires meet kastle?? :D

She found out about it purely by chance. Some part of her had been thinking of life in Vermont that day, the skies in New York the same sheet metal grey as the dreariest of days in Fagan Corners. Her thoughts drifted enough for her to battle with her phone in a losing effort that ended with her searching the surprisingly online tiny local paper. She’d trawled through the articles, smiling at the news of 4H Club awards and greased pig races. There was a comfort in these reminders of her small town history, and when she hit the obituaries section she continued out of morbid curiosity. Was old Mrs. Wilkie still alive? Stern in her housecoat, fuzzy slippers, and ever-present broom like some modern-aged witch? How about the bank president who had tried to buy coke from her? Sure, it was a college town, but it was also a small town and most people didn’t ever get out. She had certainly felt trapped. 

“Former Penny’s Place owner Paxton Page…” The words crept into her brain slowly, as if reluctant to enter. She dropped her phone, her hand rising to stifle the sharp intake of breath.

Dad.

Things willfully ignored; things pushed back, hidden, and thought drowned rose to the surface, crested, and broke. She slid down to the floor, her hand shaking and still cupped over her mouth as if to hold it all in.

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

The drive was a long one and she went alone with her thoughts. She knew Foggy would have dropped everything to come along, and part of her still wished she’d asked, but…. this was better. She’d face this alone rather than explaining, though she owed Foggy the truth soon. She just wasn’t…she wanted a little more time, ok? From Kevin to Allied to almost dying in a prison to Fisk to now, Karen hadn’t had much good in her life, and Foggy and Matt, when he was tempered by apologies and guilt, were good.

Sometimes your heart makes judgments that aren’t logical, fueled by something just on the edge of your vision, just out of reach. In hindsight it’s why she latched on to them so quickly, something in her recognizing something in them. Enough to have her paying Matt’s bills when he’d vanished for months, enough to have her jumping right in as a strangely happy unpaid employee of Murdock and Nelson. Her heart panged at the memory of those first days, replete with casseroles and more flan than she could possibly eat in a week. Stretching the dollars to keep them afloat, the sound of Matt’s text to speech software and Foggy’s muffled curses whenever he tried to fill out forms on the ancient typewriter and failed miserably.

A flash of brake lights ahead jolted her out of her reverie and into the present, barrelling down the highway directly to a place she’d been forced to leave behind. Dad.

One hand gripped the wheel tighter, to prevent the shake, and the other hit the console in frustrated grief. Her phone jostled in its cubby from the motion and she wet her lips as she glanced at the screen, a picture of her and Foggy at Rosie’s, making bunny ears over what they’d thought was Matt’s oblivious face. Heh.  She still loved it. If anything it made her realize that Matt had loved it too.

Damn it. “Call Foggy”

“Mmpf? Karen?” His voice sounded far away, muffled.

“Did i wake you?”

“Yes but it’s ok because apparently,” she heard the sheets rustle, “ I am lying in a puddle of my own drool and it’s clearly time to flip.”

Karen smiled, her cheeks stinging with the stretch of it. “Late night at Rosie’s?”

“I’ll have you know I also frequent high class establishments.”  A pause. “But then I went to Rosie’s. We missed you there.” His voice was losing the grittiness of sleep and she could tell he must be upright now, imagined his hair stuck up in 10 different directions like it did after a face first desk nap.

“Yeah I uh, I went to bed early. I’m driving to Vermont.”

“What’s in Vermont?” Karen could hear the subtle eagerness in his voice and her heart panged with it. She really hadn’t told them much about her life, and she vowed to change it.

“Grew up there. Needed to take care of some family stuff.” She’d failed her first chance to open up, clearly, and tried to make it less obvious. “Dumb paperwork!” Even though she was driving she closed her eyes for a brief moment from the awkwardness of it.

Foggy was quiet for a moment, his voice soft when he spoke. “Well be safe, Karen. You back soon?”

“Yeah.” Her throat was closing up and she had to end the call soon. “Just, let’s hang out when I get back? Sunday maybe?”

“Of course.” Still soft, still accepting. Still more than she deserved.

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

The town was bright with spring green as her old Cherokee rumbled onto Main Street. She passed the hardware store, sun-faded display from her childhood still advertising weedkiller, the old barrel she’d always tried to climb on top of anchoring the door open. Many shops were closed, and she saw that most of them had town curfew signs plastered in the windows. When had that started up, she wondered.

She wasn’t immune to nostalgia, obviously, or she’d never… her heart clenched with the reality of what she was here for, and she turned on Sycamore, right on Laurel, her blinker clacking loudly. There were a lot of church signs up, not something she remembered from last time she was here. Not…not signs saying “St Luke’s Lutheran Church” either, these were like that weird stretch of road Marcie had talked about on I-70 outside Kansas, where every other billboard was Hellfire and Brimstone. 

THE DEVIL WILL TAKE YOU

FAGAN CORNERS IS DAMNED

She thought it strange, but when she crested the hill the diner was a shock piled on top of another. The sign was bright and clean, Sue’s Vittles, and she felt the rage rise up in her, an urge to tear it down, before she came to her senses. It wouldn’t just… have sat there forever. The town had to move on. She wondered when her dad had lost it, and how far in debt he’d taken Penny's Place. She wondered if she could have saved it.

She knew she could have, if he’d let her.

The return home tour continued on, her eyes rimmed with red now, wet with tears both shed and not. She had never felt so alone in her life. She drove three miles in the wrong direction to avoid the bridge and tried to think of what she was doing here even as she pulled into the town cemetery. She knew he’d be buried next to mom, and pulled a small bouquet of peonies out of the passenger seat as the engine settled, ticking. 

There was a new stone next to her moms, and she knelt, tracing the letters with her fingers. Paxton Page. She remembered her and Kevin making fun, popping the syllables, “Paxton and Penny Page” before they’d dissolve into giggles. Everything she thought of made her heart ache.

She sat there for hours, talking to her mom, saying what she couldn’t say to her dad. That she’d thought herself beyond redemption until Father Lantom had gotten through to her, that she still did, sometimes. She told her mom about Foggy and Matt, and then she told her about Frank. God, she’d needed this. She knew her mom would understand, more than anyone, about seeing through to the heart of people. She wondered where Frank was, wished she knew, wished she had some way of contacting him. Despite their last meeting and her anger towards him, she would never let go, not really. 

“Sometimes, just someone makes you feel safe, at least when you’re with them. And then when you’re not… I don’t know.” She shifted, sitting back on her haunches and idly rubbing a peony petal between her fingers.  

“Me and Frank. Wrong place, wrong time, maybe that’s what it will always be for us.” She said, staring at her mother’s name, carved in stone.

The gravestone stared back, mute, as the light dimmed and she ached with the silence. Evening fell quick in this neck of the woods, without the conflagration of light that made up the city. She shivered in the fall of the spring evening, her throat aching with tears spent but feeling better in the spending of them.

She leaned over the gravestones one last time, peonies settled at the base, and said goodbye.

Gathering her things she startled at the sound of a footfall, the first time she’d heard any noise since she’d settled in. It was hard to see in the fading light, but the man standing at the hood of her car looked like no one she knew, though she waved anyway, small town and all. He didn’t wave back and she shrugged and rounded the back of her car, warily eyeing him as she slipped behind the wheel, the curfew signs flashing in her mind.

Was there some sort of crime ring? Her brain ticked as she started her engine and the man stepped away from the Jeep, a dark slick of a smile caught in the headlights. Karen felt a frisson of fear and pulled away back onto the gravel, eyes in the rearview as she turned down the lanes that led to -

A closed gate, though she remembered from illicit midnights with friends that it was like a fence gate, unbolted and something she could lift and swing out. Karen reached into her purse and felt the comforting weight of her gun slip into her palm. The man wasn’t in her rearview mirror, but it was too dark to tell where he was. She put the Jeep in park and left it running, sliding quickly out of the seat and lifting the gate latch, spinning around and slipping her other hand up to grip the gun two-handed. It was no use, the darkness was complete, no lights to break up the dim beyond the Jeep's headlights, and she rounded the vehicle, shoulders tense, her mind racing, her -

A hand across her mouth, an arm across her chest, pulling her arms down and pointing the gun at the ground. She screamed behind the clamped hand, stamped her foot where she thought the man’s instep would be, snaked a hand up and smashed her elbow backward, hearing a satisfying grunt as the blow landed. She spun away from the arm banded across her middle, trying to transfer the gun to her now free hand, but he was too fast. Her wrist wrenched back, pain shooting up it, the gun falling to the gravel below. 

She could see him now, his hair dark, unkempt, his face attractive if it weren’t for the gleam of satisfaction in his gaze, if not for the - oh god oh god she’d known they were real Matt and Foggy had made fun of her but she’d known it and oh god she fought she kept fighting she had to escape, her arms thrashing, trying to duck and use his weight against him, but nothing shook that iron bar of an arm loose from her chest and the smile descended and with it those fangs, sharp and oh god she closed her eyes she let them slip closed because maybe this was redemption, this was closure, maybe this was…

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

ONE MONTH LATER

The city reeked of hot dogs. Hot dogs approaching rancid as the last of the summer sun baked the scent of an overturned delivery truck’s escapees into the street. Frank’s nose wrinkled with the stench as he ducked into an alleyway. The smell of piss here wasn’t much better, but Frank wasn’t here to avoid smells, knocking hard on an unmarked door. He waited, knocked again, heard an irritated voice shout back at him, accent thick even through the door.

“Don’t expect a delivery til -”

Frank lodged his foot in before the man could pull the door closed, stepping in and locking the man in a headlock with an athlete’s grace. 

“Get the fuck off -”

“Shut the fuck up.” Frank squeezed tighter, feeling the trachea beneath his arm. 

The man floundered feebly, choked gasps ragged as he lost the air to function. Frank maneuvered him into an office close to the door, pulling out some duct tape and lashing him to the chair, gagging him for good measure. 

The warehouse would be empty this late in the day - Frank had been monitoring it for weeks. Still, he let the captive’s head loll as Frank pushed out of the office and scanned the warehouse, moving low to the ground in a room clearing pattern ingrained into his bones. Clear. He checked the warehouse door, ensuring it was locked, and placed a nearby bucket of loose hardware on the lip of the door’s bottom edge, advance warning should someone decide to open it.

He circled back through the warehouse, eyes still darting about, up to the loft, behind the stacked crates, his footsteps less than a whisper on the concrete as he circled back to the office, unfolding a chair and straddling it, arms propped on the headrest, waiting for the man to awaken.

He did with a start, his eyes bulging and curses muffled behind the tape. 

“I’m just here for a few questions Aron,” Frank said, watching as the man’s eyes widened at the use of his name. “Word on the street is that your little Albanian enterprise here is bigger than Rudaj ever was,” Frank said. “Something about a secret weapon, huh?”

Aron’s eyes narrowed. You didn’t live long if you weren’t able to face a little questioning, and something in Frank’s demeanor told him that Aron held all the cards here. Frank needed to flip the program. 

He looked up, spotted the beam he’d seen in blueprints, and rummaged through his bag for some rope, tossing it over the beam before knotting one end through a set of shelves and forming a noose in the other. He slipped it around Aron's neck, patting the man on the cheek with a smile, before hoisting the man up to his feet, looping the slack in the shelves.

He removed the tape at his mouth then, deftly avoiding the spit and rolling his eyes at Aaron’s Balkan curses. “So what can you tell me?”

Silence, and once again a discomfiting smile spread across Aron’s face. Frank hated when they were difficult. He pulled the rope, reknotted it. Aron's back was rigid now, spine stretched as far as it could to lessen the pressure, breath harsh in the closed space of the office.

“If you don’t already know,” Aron smiled despite his struggle to breathe, “There’s no harm in telling you. You’ll be dead within a matter of hours.”

“Yeh? Good to know.” 

“Even if you are the Punisher.” A ragged breath. “Yes your reputation precedes you. It also means nothing.”

Aron’s idle threats were wearing thin. “Okay.” A tug at the rope. 

“Superhumans.” Aron rattled out. “Stronger than you. Faster than you.” His eyes glittered. “They’ll drain you dry.” He coughed, and Frank caught what it was trying to cover. A shift in the eyes to a point over his shoulder. Frank ducked and rolled and heard the swish of air above his head, shot back with an elbow and caught air himself. A faint footfall, a flap of fabric, where the fuck was this guy?

Fast. Too fast. Impossibly fast, Frank thought as he was thrown out of the room, his head cracking on the wall outside. He shook it off even as he was moving, realizing he needed to put distance between him and the threat. He vaulted into the main warehouse, analyzing the terrain, potential weapons. Superhuman. Drain me dry, huh? He knew he had only seconds, ducked behind a crate and backed against a wall where pallets stood leaning. A flash of movement and Frank heard laughter as the heel of a hand smashed against his ribs. Broken, he had a moment to consider while the other hand closed around his throat.. Pain and rage clouded his vision and he knew he had one chance, one chance or it was all over. 

In hindsight he’d probably wonder if it was worth the choice, but for now survival instincts kicked in and he cracked a plank off the pallet behind him and brought it up with all of his strength, trying not to breathe in to avoid the pain dulling the blow. His assailant’s grip on his throat proved his downfall, removing the advantage of speed. The plank hit its mark, the adrenaline and training allow the jagged edges to pierce through skin and muscle, through ribs. A high-pitched keening, terrible in its inhuman sound, issued from the assailant’s throat, and Frank watched features swim in and out of view. Pale skin, a jagged scar cutting across a pair of thinned lips. A mouth split in pain, and there, there - he couldn’t be sure but he also knew it couldn’t be anything else - incisors long and sharp. 

The hand tightened on his throat briefly, muscles trying to continue past the ceasing of life, and the vampire in front of him dropped to the floor, wheedling noise still issuing from its throat, fading now with the dying of light in his eyes. The eyes, Frank thought, were the worst. Sclera shot through with red, but so human. Equal in death, the light gone. He fought his failing consciousness, he needed to get out of here before more showed up. He knew that face. Knew him from the papers, when he was human. The Albanians leg up on gang activities needed no more explanation than this, he thought as every inhale felt like ground glass in his bruised throat, his chest.

He stumbled back towards the office, lurched through the doorway to the shocked face of the mobster who still stood, throat noosed. Frank tugged at the rope anchored to the shelving and looped it a few more times with the rest of his strength, ignoring Aron’s choked breaths and gasps.

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

Lana almost killed him when he returned. The pit bull / boxer mix hadn’t yet learned to not jump up, and her paws on his chest earned a pained grunt.

“Fuck. Down, Lana. I need you to be a good girl, please.” She tilted her head at him, boxer jowls flopping. He couldn’t help smiling through his pain. Pushing past her into the small kitchen, he grabbed a steak out of the freezer and some aspirin and eased himself down on the couch, steak pressed against his ribs. 

This was as close to home as he’d had in a long while, this warehouse unit in Queens. Secure enough with Micro’s help - he still couldn’t call him David. David was for the married guy, with kids, that Frank shouldn’t be bothering. The separation helped. His chest panged again, but not from pain this time, as he thought of those he’d lost in his unceasing war. Curtis had let him go. David wanted nothing to do with him. Karen -

Karen had disappeared off the face of the earth a month ago and it was driving him crazy. If he knew where she was, if he just knew, then she was safe. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a grimace as Lana’s tail thwacked against the couch cushions, her brows alternating as she looked up at Frank, face nestled in her paws.

He found her last byline - a little over a month ago - a report on the growing presence of Eastern European crime families, actually. It…didn’t seem enough of a report for her to be targeted but who knows what she had gotten into. He knew her, she was persistent beyond what was safe. Karen wouldn’t let go. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want her to, despite his claims otherwise. 

So where was she? He slid a palm down his face, frustrated.

He checked his sources, found nothing. Reaching over his shoulder with difficulty - you forget that the simplest of actions is immeasurably harder when you’ve got a broken rib - he flipped on the police scanner. He and Lana listened for news of vampires, caught no mentions, nothing unexplained. The warehouse he’d invaded was off the radar, so he had some time before that would be circling around the airwaves, at least police ones. The steak was partially thawed now, so he tossed it in the dog bowl where Lana inhaled it as if it were her only meal in weeks.

Where was she?

-----

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Albanians were still expanding their empire, despite the setback at the warehouse. Frank wondered how many vampires there were. It clearly wasn’t an epidemic, which he’d feared initially but understood now - hard to keep power when you’re just spreading the source of that power around. Frank was on the streets, ribs starting to heal but deep breaths still causing sharp twists. He knew he needed more time. He also knew he didn’t have it. 

He had to find her, and so he was here in Hell’s Kitchen, eyeing the neon Rosie’s sign as he approached, it flickered Ro ie' tonight, the esses flickering in and out. He didn’t want Red catching him out here, instead hoping his friend would be the first to leave. It was a flip of the coin whether Murdock would find a way to turn him in, that high-and-mighty morality of his a ticking time bomb, Frank thought. 

His eyes shifted from the flickering sign as a voice called out. 

“Spare some change?”

That voice...he'd know it anywhere. “You’re alive, oh god I thought -”

Karen laughed, blanket wrapped over her telltale locks, ball cap pulled low over her brow. “Nice to see you too, Frank.” She reached out a hand, as if to take change from him, and pressed a folded paper into his grip. He held on a beat too long, her grip cold in his own, taking in the details of her face, what he could anyway. He ducked down to catch her eyes and her own darted away. 

“Not now, ok?”

He nodded and walked away, waiting until he was back in the warehouse to open the paper. The smile spread unbidden across his face.

Grand Ferry Park. You know where. 1 hour.

She sure had a sense of drama, he thought, thinking of a time long past, jokes of hipsters and her hair a bright flag in the breeze off the water. He thought of the softness of her cheek, and when he took a deep breath this time he didn’t even notice the pain.

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

Lana was losing her mind, and not in a good way. He’d brought her with him, knowing Karen loved dogs, but she was having none of this meeting. This sweetheart of a dog had her hackles raised, growl low and deep as Karen put up her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, as if pained.

“What is wrong with you, girl?” He knelt down beside Lana, hand tight at her collar and glancing up apologetically at Karen. “Sorry, she’s the calmest dog usually, I thought you might like to see her.”

Karen slowly lowered to the ground, her hand held out. “Do you have a treat I can give her? Maybe that will help.”

“Yeh, sure.” He tossed her a packet from his bag and she opened it, shaking out some near where she knelt. Lana licked her chops but still growled low in her throat, if a bit more of a confused growl.

“Here, what’s her name?” A glance up at Frank as he responded. He noticed her hand shaking. “Lana, sweet girl. Got a treat for you!”

Frank encouraged Lana when she looked up at him, her expression almost hilariously human and clearly saying “you trust this lady??” The dog edged forward, tentative, and snatched the treat from the ground where Karen had placed it, backing up but calming her growl. 

“Well, progress at least.” 

Her smile was just as he’d remembered. 

“Where have you been, Karen?”

A flash in her eyes. “Didn’t know you kept tabs on me, Frank. You seemed pretty clear about me staying away.”

It hit him like a blow he deserved, and he fought for a response and lost. There was nothing he could say, he knew that, but he still wanted to try. It came to him in as he saw her eyes damp and hard, but still not hiding the hope behind them.

“I’ll always want you to be safe, Karen.”

She scoffed at that and stood up. “It’s a bit late for that.” 

“What, what is it, what happened to you? Do I need to punch Red’s light’s out?”

Karen laughed at this, bitter and so unlike her it closed his throat. He did this.

“Just…stop, Frank. I need you to listen.” A barge horn sounded in the distance as if to punctuate her words and her brows eased, just a little, at the humor of it. “I’m…” She stepped closer, Lana alert at the motion, and cupped his face in a hand. “I know the Albanians are after you. The vampire you killed was one of their sires from the old country. I don’t even - Only you, Frank. Older vampires are so strong, you had a one in a million chance.” She shook her head at this, as if still disbelieving.

“How do you know?” he asked, leaning into her touch, cold yet still a comfort. He searched her eyes, gripped Lana’s collar a little tighter.

“I know, because I’m one of them.” 

He tore away from her, the motion and the tension in him sending Lana into a fit of barking, her muzzle flecked with spittle. He couldn’t - he heard that high-pitched keen in his head, tried to reconcile it with the expression on Karen’s face. He pulled his Beretta out, trained it on Karen’s anguished face, looked around for bystanders. He backed away towards the railing bracketing the East River. If he needed to he’d escape in the water. But Lana…

He’d let down his guard, bringing her here. Letting himself dream and hope and wish and here was Karen and goddamn she looked beautiful, her eyes bright and hair streaming in the wind off the river and he could not reconcile the pieces.

His voice was a shadow of itself when it rasped from his mouth. “Explain, Karen. Tell me you’re not a monster. Tell me -” he stopped, unable to say more. 

He saw her eyes close and the resoluteness stiffen her spine. Hope bloomed in his chest. She…she was still her. Her stubbornness, her implacable will.

“I’m not a monster, in the same way you aren’t.”

He worked his jaw, thinking, eyes casting about, settling on anything but her now. Her words were ones he’d normally deny in his heart, but it seemed the stakes had shifted, and his gut reactions fell flat in the face of the fact that Karen Page was here, and she was a vampire.

“Guess that’s why Lana’s losing her mind,” he said finally.

Karen laughed at that and goddamn if it still didn’t make his heart flip with the sound. What was wrong with him. 

“Look I -” she started, uncertain. “I was bitten a month ago in Vermont.” She noticed his quizzical expression. “My Dad, he…I saw his obituary in the paper, so I drove up there. The town was riddled with vamps, some offshoot of the Albanians taking root in Fagan Corners of all places. They’ve locked it down since, but lucky for me!” She lifted her hands, her tone mocking. “Not my favorite trip ever. One star.” She joked, and cast her eyes down when it fell flat.

“Came back and have been feeding off criminals. Not like they're hard to find in this town. Frank -” She caught his gaze in her own. “I wanted to see you, wanted to see you and…I don't think anything can stop them, not anything human." She stopped, searched his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if she found what she was looking for but somehow knew what her next words would be all the same. Still, he let the pause linger. It was a moment, one to let go in. If there was anyone he trusted, it was her, goddamn, and maybe...maybe it was finally time to show that.

She inhaled then, and he idly wondered if that was force of habit or if vampires needed oxygen. He breathed a breath of his own, rib aching with the effort, and drew closer, sliding his hand into the silk of her hair, fingers sifting through it. He looked at her then, full on, not letting his gaze wander, not letting himself look away. He nodded then, an answer to the questions in her eyes, and bared his neck to her.

also on ao3

[neonseperatedau]

Prime Leo AU Tribute

Ever since @mama-we-all-go-to-huesos posted their concept for their Prime Leo AU, it has lived rent-free in my head. Also thanks to some dear discord friends, I felt inspired to imagine how this AU might have started. This goes without saying but this is not at all canon but just my headcanon and a tribute for a wonderful artist and an super intriguing concept. (If it’s not okay to post this snippet for the OG artist I’ll of course delete it!) Beware TW: Mentions of violence, mental torment

The rain fell as if somebody had slowed down time to half its usual speed. Drop per drop moved through space unbound by any of Earth’s physics. But he wasn’t on Earth anymore, wasn’t he? Leo lay out-stretched on the ground, glancing up at the weird phenomena. He hesitated to try and taste the water, nothing in this dimension was as he expected it so it wouldn’t be surprising if this liquid would be poisonous. “Hey,” he called out, knowing that HE was nearby and listening. Without waiting for an answer, the turtle asked: “Is that water safe? Do we need it to survive?” There was a silence that felt like it stretched out time like the slow-motion rain before the voice of Krang Prime came from somewhere to the right: “You should have noticed by now that you don’t get hungry or thirsty. It’s not necessary to wonder these sorts of frivolous things here.” That was true. Leo had expected that he would first die of thirst and even after all this time, he felt fine. Well actually, his very first fear had been that his enemy would finish his job out of mere spit and frustration. Curiously, at one point, Krang had stopped and left Leo to bleed and cry by himself. After he had done that for so long, Leo believed he had lost his mind, the turtle had started counting. Counting the seconds, minutes, and hours, he lost track dozens of times. The carcasses of ancient Krangs watched him from all corners of the contained endlessness with the patience only the dead could afford. That’s how Leo learned the horror of stagnation. He propped himself up to look at his fellow prison inmate. Still wearing the suit, the alien was standing on the edge of the free-floating plateau they were on. “Hey,” he called out again. No reaction. “Why are we still here?” Finally, Krang Prime turned to him. “Is this supposed to be one of your sarcastic retorts?” he growled. “Nah, too exhausted for those.” Leo wondered if it would make him feel any better if he would spend eternity making bad puns. He continued: “I meant why am I still alive? I didn’t bleed out, but you could simply crush me with brute force if you would feel like it.” It's not like this question is a spontaneous suggestion or anything like that. It was more a mystery that the longer he pondered about the more it didn’t give him any comfort. Quite the contrary, it unsettled him. Krang’s pinkish core glared at him. It was difficult to read the expression of a half-chewed giant gum with too many teeth. At last, he came to a conclusion because he trotted toward Leo. “To tell you the truth, I wanted to finish you off at first. You are the source of all my agony, the one who forced me AGAIN into this cursed place.” Leo sat up but didn’t do anything as the alien came closer. He was so damn tired, and he started to hate infinity. Lifting his head up in a sluggish motion, he stared right at the red eye of the Krang armor that now towered above him. “And then it dawned on me,” he continued, “there are worse things than death at this place and I can see that you are already learning this lesson as well. So, I wondered, what would happen if I would turn my greatest foe into an extension of myself.” With a lightning-quick movement, the claws of Krang Prime grabbed Leo’s arms and held him tight. He wanted to turn his head away but realized too late that he was caught in its red pulsating light and was physically unable to blink anymore. “What you’re about to see is my glorious conquest through the galaxy. Every battle, every victory, and the few losses. The annihilations and dominations, the powers gained, and the worlds discovered. Everything, I will burn into your tiny mortal mind.” The memories came rushing in, just as he had said. Dozens and dozens and hundreds and hundreds of images of violence and power and pain and Leo screamed, his voice echoing through the space while raindrops fell down on him with endless care and patience.

[primelight]

Erdtree forgive me for what I'm about to do (WNM mini fic, that's not the title but sorry not sorry)

SO as some of you may be aware of, I've written...rather far ahead in 'Who Needs Maidens.'

In light of RECENT TRAILER DEVELOPMENTS my creative brain is going rabid, and to temporarily sate it I'm going to post a mini part of one of those thingies here. I might toss it out. It's rough. I might not pull the proverbial trigger, which is why it's going nowhere near AO3. It...kinda works as a standalone fic, though.

WARNING: Dubious consent (not super graphic), WEIRD imagery, Miquella's dilemma about being an ancient eldritch being stuck in, first, a child's body, and then whatever Mohg turned him into. Basically he's a dream-walking adult/demigod/eldrich abomination.

And, uh, spoilers.

Working Title: To Burn Alone, Once Again

Miquella’s body was cursed with delicacy, with beautiful, sterile youth. His life was but a moment, frozen in time. But Miquella’s mind grew old. In his dreams, he was free. His abundance was unrestrained. 

Trina was a useful mask. Beautiful, like him, mysterious and wise. He shrouded himself in mist, and traveled in shadows. He lived through others, gathering memories like flowers, slipping through the shadows of their dreams. 

But sometimes, when power flowed through him, and a dream was so strong that he could touch it, Miquella would cast Trina aside, and dare to reach for the raw blood and emotion burning in the world. He took up the sword with hands as large and dextrous as his father’s. He crossed the rolling hills of Altus in the dreams of soldiers, and waded through the despair of Tarnished Hunters in Limgrave. He donned grand, red-and-black vestments plucked from his half-brother’s mind. He loaded his body down with rusted iron armor, and stuffed linen into his boots to cushion the blisters on his heels. 

He tasted faint, alluring memories of ale and greasy, tavern-fried duck. He caught the scent of blood and shit on the Caelid battlegrounds, but also of hot honey-tea and warm bread. He felt – 

Miquella did not dare draw close enough to truly feel. He risked discovery, reprisal, and then retaliation from forces beyond his control. 

And guilt. To experience the terror and thrill and pain of battle alongside a dreamer was to touch the softest, most vulnerable parts of them. More joyful memories were worse, for Miquella longed to sink deeper.

He told himself that he simply wanted to share such things with the dreamer. But when it grew cold and dark in his cage, and when the days before and after, before and after, before and after the burning of the Erdtree stretched on for too long, Miquella knew the truth. He wanted those precious moments for himself. He wanted everything.

Miquella embodied Abundance, after all. He was meant to sow his seed, to reach out to the very corners of the Lands Between, and to fill the cosmos itself. If not for the curse, his legs would be long, his shoulders would be broad, and he could join his other half in battle.

You will always be my blade, Miquella thought, because he knew that Malenia would not have it otherwise. So I will be your shield. 

Waiting was hard. Miquella soothed himself with his own dreams, his own plans, and watched, unable to do more than suggest, to hint, occasionally prod a sleeping mind in the right direction. He got better at it each time the Erdtree burned. 

He could not truly interfere. Yet he could not turn away from the Volcano Manor, not when he realized what had happened. 

What should not have happened, not with — 

Miquella cursed Mohg with every fiber of his ancient soul.

…and Bernahl dreamed. 

Keira crossed the room once more. He relived the moment when she realized that he was watching every move she made. And then, again, when her laces loosened, and his gaze snared on the dip between her collarbones, and then slid lower as her shaking fingers twisted in her tunic, unknowingly teasing him. And in hindsight…oh, if he’d known, he’d have taken more time to draw the moment out. 

But it continued. A rush of anger, then the crush of his mouth to hers. Blushing, stammering, and then heavy breaths and soft moans.

Their clothing lay in a heap on the rug as he coaxed her with his hands and words. But too quickly, the searing heat of her had him gasping in his sleep.

His dream pulsed and lingered, stretched and indulged. Bernahl’s hands squeezed and soothed in turn. He was still tangled up in her warmth and scent, more than enough to inspire him once again. 

The dream urged him on, demanding that he look closer, squeeze tighter, fuck harder, for it could almost see, and surely then, it would almost feel… 

…Not enough. 

Miquella moved on, and dreamed of another life.

…Malenia’s Cleanrot Knights imprisoned Mohg at the first hint of his betrayal. Only the Haligtree’s treaty with Leyndell spared the Omen demigod. Rumor had it that Morgott the Grace Given had set a quiet, isolated cavern aside for Mohg, and left him to his blood sorcery and cruel prayers.

Instead, Miquella emerged tall and strong from the Haligtree roots, wings trailing behind him like a gossamer veil. Malenia had been waiting for him, wounded and still twisting in Rot, but overflowing with joy. Miquella held her close, excessively careful of his newfound strength. The top of his twin’s head rested just below his chin. They were a matched set, at last.

Together, Malenia and Miquella conquered the Rot, brought it to heel like a rabid dog, and spat in the face of its foul god. The Haligtree remained hollow, as he no longer had need of it, but Elphael grew nonetheless. Albinaurics, Misbegotton, and Tarnished alike flocked to the Haligtree alongside the Grace-blessed humans of the Lands Between. Miquella’s power grew with every life he took under his wing. 

Miquella dreamed that Keira found her way there as well, and offered her help, first to his knights, then to his builders, and finally to the gardens growing from the roots. She kept her sword at hand, but she claimed a greenhouse for herself, and used half-forgotten knowledge to help her fellow travelers. Soon, many of Miquella’s devotees would come to her for instruction, and her scarred hands would fill Elphael with green and gold. 

Perhaps he would hear tales of the strange Tarnished who could make the most stubborn plants grow. Perhaps her teachings would spread to his inner circle, or the fruit of her labors to his table. 

Perhaps he would decide to thank her himself. 

Miquella would come upon her by a carefully arranged accident, his wings hidden under a simple robe, and appearing as simply a very tall, very comely man. He’d find her hard at work in her garden, clad as lightly as decency would allow, spots of earth dusting her face and blackening her hands, her skin gleaming with sweat.

Perhaps he would sit beside her, heedless of his attire, charmed by her passion for her work. Perhaps his heart would ache when he saw how she missed her First Tree, but then nearly burst from his chest when she offered him half of her lunch.

She’d work out who he was, of course, perhaps on their second meeting, if his eyes gleamed too bright, or if she saw his wings. 

Would Keira be frightened? Excited? Mortified? Flattered?

Miquella rather liked the thought of all of them, depending on his mood.

Regardless of her reaction, he would give her some time to think. A day or so later, he would find her again. He would curl over her, cup her face in his hands, and make his intentions clear. 

No-one would dare watch if he lay with her among the lilies. Not that Miquella would care. They could stay there as long as he wanted, wrapped up in his opalescent wings, their bodies lit by the soft glow of unalloyed gold.

A lovely dream. Perhaps he was a romantic at heart.

…

…Or upon establishing his rule, Miquella could simply summon Keira to his chambers. The God of Abundance and Lord of the Haligtree would, naturally, want to personally interview a Tarnished with such an unusual passion for growing things.

His attendants would bathe her in steaming water infused with sacred oil, and cleanse her with soap formed from Trina’s lilies, known for relaxing the mind and softening the skin and hair. Her woes would be smoothed away, fragrant oils massaged into her skin until it glowed with health and softness, and her hair combed until it shone, and left to flow down her back in dark waves. 

Her face needed no paint, no adornment, and after Bernahl Miquella barely had the patience to hide her body in the lightest of moth-silk.

But for the dream, he would, if only to draw it out. 

Keira would be nervous, though she would hide it well, wouldn’t she? Bernahl hadn’t realized that she had never had a man until he’d been knuckle deep inside her. She would likely be considering whether or not to lie about her lack of experience, as only a complete imbecile would mistake his intentions.

Would she lie? Miquella would, of course, take her at her word, for what Tarnished would lie to their god? Then he could allow himself a little bit of greed, could press his suit quickly, roughly…and surely she would open for him so easily that any pain would simply heighten her pleasure. 

And despite her clear anxiety, Bernhal had made her so very wet…

She’ll be wetter for me, Miquella thought, in the garden or in my bed. He groaned at the surge of sense-memory, and curled long, powerful fingers in thick, dark hair. He tugged, and the sharp cry he received in return cut a line of fire down his spine.

Honeyed seduction melted into a frenzied claiming. Silk thread spun and writhed about Miquella’s bed as he pinned Keira beneath him, his smile as beautiful and terrifying as a blade. He smelled blood on her hands, and smoke in her hair. Erdtree smoke, from the dozens of times it had burned, each time bringing him one step closer to freedom — his little champion —

Miquella grasped for the pieces of sensation he’d cobbled together from thousands of dreams. Here, he tasted the power, the strength he craved. Every atom of his divine flesh pulsed with health. His curse was a memory, a vague, unpleasant dream as he cupped Keira’s face in hands that could crush her skull like an egg, and promised to be gentle. 

A lie. This way of love was not soft, and would never be safe. 

Miquella dreamed on, enfolding himself in borrowed sensation. He bid her cling to his shoulders and hips, and as it was his dream, she dug deep, and cried for him.

She wept until her eyes ran red, pleaded until she grew hoarse. She told him that next time would be the very last, that he would be free. He would ascend. She begged him to stay with her, to speak to her, to take her with him, anything – please —

…It was just a dream, so Miquella simply told her yes, and yes again, and took her.

Keira cried out, and he knew from the wet, lewd sound of their bodies that he barely fit inside her. And it would likely be worse — better, he needed more — in reality, considering what Mohg had made of him.

“You’ll forget him,” Miquella whispered.

Keira buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

[bitterfates]

FFXIV WRITE 2023; PROMPT 27: SOLE

After so many long years of searching, Yichen had accomplished what many had deemed an impossible mission: he had, at long last, reunited with the one person from his early years that he’d considered family. Elja, his guiding star, his most precious friend and confidant, was here in his new home with his ever-growing new family. His heart was full to bursting with relief and joy and unending love for this older Viera, to the point that he had all but been vibrating with happiness when in his mentor’s presence.

That was, until Elja had managed to corner him in his private room to ask about the circumstances around why he had left their village.

Although he projected placidity and compassion, Yichen was in tune with the darkness within himself; the emotional cocktail of resentment and sorrow and desperation that had led to numerous deadly incidents surrounding him had poisoned his soul ages ago, and he had willingly continued to drink deep those emotions off the course he had initially taken for vengeance.

Needless to say, his beloved Elja had known and saw none of that. He had only experienced life beside the sweet and very affectionate boy Yichen had been in the past; if the gods and elementals who governed the world had been fair, that would have stayed his only impression. Now, however, the ruthless fates that had seen fit to bring them back together, also saw them face each other as distinctly changed men.

As Yichen looked into the face of the person he thought lost to time forever, he wondered if the boy he had been would have weeped for the man he had become.

“Tell me the truth,” Elja gently requested again, pleading from his crouched position in front of Yichen. The soft brown eyes were narrowed in disbelief at the story he had shared, begging Yichen to refute his own words. “Tell me what happened to our people.”

Just like the first time he was asked, the same basic tale Yichen had been dispensing for years spilled effortlessly from his lips. “There was a lightning storm. One or more strikes must have hit some of the taller trees, because balls of leaves lit by fires started falling from the high branches. Do you remember how it used to be windy on the hills whenever a storm came around? It must have been how the fire spread so fast. I was getting water from the river right before the clouds drifted over, so I wasn’t blocked in like everyone else.” A brief pause, and Yichen moved his gaze down to his lap, seemingly done out of sadness from the memory. “...I could do nothing but watch, in the end. I wasn’t quick enough or smart enough to save anyone but myself.”

For a long stretch of time, there was silence between the two Viera, when all that could be heard in the room besides their breathing was the ticking of a tabletop chronometer. Then, Yichen was startled to feel a warm hand atop his, and though he wanted to see what expression Elja was making, he didn’t dare try to sneak a glance.

“...All of these years apart, and yet you still remain the same in one way. You are a terrible liar, ástvinur.”

It was the endearment that made him flinch in seat, not having expected to hear his birth language again, but the accusation of lying made him try to physically withdraw from Elja’s grasp. His friend held fast to his hand, however, which made escape unlikely without a true altercation — he had forgotten how strong all of his seniors had been, and it seemed Elja had not stopped his strength training.

When struggling to break out of the hold failed after several more attempts, Yichen gave in with a weary sigh, wilting in his seat once more. He respected the other man too much to seriously test his skills against him, and this was not a conversation he could battle his way out of anyhow. Elja wanted to know the truth, even if Yichen knew it would hurt him; even if it could do irreparable damage to their relationship. He would give him what he wanted, as he had done in the past.

Head bowed and eyes closed, Yichen spoke again, voice just above a whisper, “…There was a lightning storm. The skies had been dark all afternoon with the promise of it. The tops of the trees caught fire, I saw it. And then —-“

“Miðrik,” another sudden interruption, this time by the use of Yichen’s forest name. It caused him to jerk back, eyelids flying open, mouth agape. He was not surprised to see Elja’s stern expression, the intense focus in his gaze. The elder Viera was serious, wasn’t he? “What happened?”

“….There was a wildfire. I was the one who started it, and made sure they could not escape it.”

Yichen’s declaration only seemed to mildly phase Elja, as he could feel him start to recoil away, only to stop and settle down. Perhaps he had already suspected the truth, and had prepared himself to hear the admission. Many emotions fluctuated on his face rapidly, and Yichen patiently watched him process reality and gather his thoughts.

“…You started the fire that ended the lives of everyone we knew and cared for.” Even at this point, Elja still didn’t seem to fully believe Yichen was capable of the travesty he’d confessed to. “Generous, kind, hard-working people. Even children. I would hear your reason now.”

The younger one hesitated, but gave him the honest answer closest to his heart. “…For you. They said they had ended the life of the one person I cared about.”

Whatever Elja had steeled himself to hear, it was obvious that he hadn’t expected the explanation to involve him. His tall ears drooped down to his head, the rest of his body swaying as if he were about to faint onto the floor. Yichen could not readily identify the emotion he saw on his face, but Elja looked devastated.

Before Yichen could take any action to comfort him, Elja extracted himself from his former pupil, shakily pushed himself up off his haunches and left the room silently, without looking back.

For the first time in his life, Yichen felt completely alone, with no hope of closure.

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie pt. 134- War of Hearts

Summary: Legolas gathers his company and heads off to rescue the Elvenking, but first, Galadriel has imperative information and a gift. Narcisse, Josie and Charles return to the castle. A unexpected visitor awaits. Haldir has some truthful words for Jo. He also teaches someone a lesson. Josie tends to an ailing Stephane. Thranduil prevails. Raven begs.

*Warnings* language, angst, violence, alcohol use,

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Legolas dismounted his horse as he was greeted by Rumil and Orophin just inside the Lorien borders while a storm was setting in. As he conversed with them, he found out that Aragorn was indeed there just as he suspected. The King and Arwen liked to spend time there with her grandparents, Galadriel and Celeborn. Off he went to inform Aragorn of his father being alive, knowing Tauriel had followed him, but he would deal with her later.

"Legolas, are you sure your source for this information is trustworthy?" Aragorn asked as the two stood watching the stormy night sky.

"I am more than certain, for I have spoken to him, and we have little time to reach him. I can give you more details as we go, but we must do it now."

Aragorn turned to Legolas without hesitation and smiled. "Well then, let us ride and save the King."

Aragorn said his goodbyes to Arwen as Legolas went to wake Gimli and fill him in. The dwarf was overly excited about the task at hand, for he loved a good battle and wanted nothing more than to see the fall of the goblin King and his ghastly guild.

The horses were all packed up and the three musketeers were ready to depart when Galadriel stopped them.

"My lady, a pleasure as always." Legolas said as he exited his horse and bowed to her.

"Legolas...I must warn you of what I have seen upon your arrival. The King, he is not himself. His mind has been altered as well as his heart, his light blackened by the dark ones. You must hurry before his soul is lost forever. A sinister plan awaits to be born and much destruction will follow....and those you and Thranduil hold dearest will suffer at his own hands."

Her words were extremely unsettling as Legolas thought of you and Leean.

"When I spoke to my father, I noticed something different about his words. He informed me he had been tortured by the dark ones and that Jareth in fact had an evil plan that he wanted my father to assist with, but he has resisted the dark lord."

"Take this with you and go now. Thranduil's weakness is a great strength for the goblin King."

Galadriel handed Legolas a phial of starlight which would certainly harm Jareth and bide them some time to escape if needed.

"Thank you my lady."

The trio rode off into the night with dawn only hours away, just as Legolas told his father he would arrive by.

3 am- Dorwinion, December 2nd

Narcisse was sound asleep when you all arrived back at his castle. You had fallen asleep as well, laying on his chest while listening to his peaceful and steady heartbeat.

"My lady..." Charles whispered as he leaned over you. "We have arrived home."

You yawned and stretched as you sat up and peered down at the sleeping warlock. Home. What a nice word. Could this be your home from now on? Narcisse had asked you to stay and it was now something you would need to really think about.

'Stephane..." you also whispered and lightly shook his shoulder. He gasped awake.

'It's ok, you're ok. We are back now. Come on, let's get you inside and in bed."

Charles exited the cabin first to assist Narcisse with the steps and you helped him from behind, making sure he didn't fall.

"Are you in much pain?" you asked in concern.

"It's manageable. I just need rest as you said."

As you and Charles walked on each side of Stephane, you smelled Garrett in the cool night breeze.

"Charles, could you take your...Narcisse...to his room and gather the healers to assist until I get there?"

"Jo?" Narcisse asked in confusion, but then he smelled the vampire too. "Oh...I see."

"Stephane...it's alright. I just need to speak with him. I won't be long. Are you hungry? I can bring you some food on my way in?'

"Famished. Just don't bring me any soup."

You chuckled. "Noted."

His smile then fell as he scuffled off with Charles's arm around his waist, hating the fact you were going to talk with Garrett.

You walked out to the bay and glanced all around in the darkness, the only light coming from the foggy moon as a storm was brewing.

"Garrett?? I know you are here. You can come out. It is just me...but I am sure you already knew that."

You could smell smoke form a campfire and followed it around the corner to a secluded spot on the beach. There sat the vampire, staring at you, his eyes a defensive red.

"Garrett? What are you doing out here? and why do you look like something is wrong?" you asked as you walked up to him and sat down on an adjacent rock.

'Warlocks I suppose. My defenses are always up here, you know that."

The hint of sarcasm in his voice did not go unnoticed by you.

'Alright, then why are you here? You made it sound like you weren't coming back, just like you always do to me." you said with matching sarcasm.

"That's not fair Josephine. You know why I left."

"I do, but that does not explain why you are back and it is indeed fair because you always fucking promise me you won't leave me and you do every fucking time." you bluntly said as tears welled in your eyes. God, you were so sick of crying anymore. It's all you ever did.

"You're angry with me. I get it."

"Well I am glad you get it Garrett because I don't. What do you want?"

"Look, I felt really bad ok? I didn't want to go, but that damn sprite, he just pushes my buttons and...well, your mind was consumed with Thranduil, understandably, so I felt it best if I go.....I...wasn't going to come back...but...god, you know I could never do it. Besides, I have your necklace."

"Well, you picked a bad time to come. Things have happened and I need to get inside...Narcisse was hurt tonight....and by the way...I did see Thranduil, just so you know. It wasn't a hallucination...that part anyways."

"I'm sorry I doubted you. I am happy for you that it was real."

"Are you?"

"What the fuck Josephine?" he snapped and stood up, beginning to pace. "You know I do not ever want to see you unhappy or hurting. Are you really going to sit there and say that I do?"

"You used to."

Garrett spun around with pure hurt in his eyes. "Wow, ok. Didn't see that one coming."

"No..Garrett, I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I have just had a really fucking terrible night and I cannot deal with this right now."

"You mean you cannot deal with me right now? It's alright...it's all my damn fault for ever letting myself fall for you or for ever telling you that I had, when I knew damn well better. It seems the warlock is on your mind right now and needs you more than I do...so...whenever you want the pendant, just hit me up. I'll be around somewhere, otherwise, I can see I am not needed or wanted here."

"Garrett, please stop. I..I can't take this...."

You threw your hands over your face and broke down.

"Well that's just great. Here I am, the bad guy again, always hurting you. Why don't you just tell me to go and never come back because then it will be so much easier to do, because I just cannot do it. And I would like to believe that the way you kissed me in the forest meant something to you...or what you did for me at the Seelie Court. I mean, what was all that?"

"Of course it meant something to me. You...mean something to me or I wouldn't have kissed you back."

Garrett was silent for a moment, as if he were contemplating if he should say what he then said.

"You mean like you did Narcisse? I guess that means you care about him too."

You stood up in a huff. "You have been spying on me???"

"I'm not spying on you Josephine! I told you I would stay around here and keep a watch over you and you were ok with that. You KNOW I can hear quite well...but that still didn't stop you."

"God...I knew it...I knew you knew something and weren't telling me."

"And what should I have said??"

"Gee, I don't know. The same thing you just said now about it? That's why you're really here isn't it? About Stephane."

"No Josephine, believe it or not, I came here just because I missed you and wanted to see you, but I can see where your mind lies. Not on me since you went running off with him tonight instead of staying and talking to me like YOU begged me to do."

"He could have been killed tonight alright? In fact, if I would have stayed here with you, he would have died and I'm having a really hard time with that and I don't need this shit right now."

"And just yesterday, you believed Amara was going to kill me and you seemed to have a really hard time with that too."

"But she didn't kill you, nor was she going to!"

"But neither of us knew that Josephine! You know what...just go take care of the fucking warlock. I don't need you and you clearly don't need me. Let me know when you want the moonstone, maybe I'll be around, maybe I won't."

"Garrett just please stop......"

A strong gush of wind blew over you and he was gone.

"Garrett damn it!!!" you shouted into the sky.

You turned and ran back into the castle sobbing. As you came around the corner to go see Leean, you ran smack into Haldir who was coming out of his room.

"Jo? You're crying. What is wrong?"

"Oh please! Leave me alone."

You went to leave and he gently grabbed you, spinning you around.

You desperately wanted to fall into his arms, but you were just too pissed.

"What is wrong?? Really? You ruined everything with Matthew and then....you left!"

"You told me to Jo?? You had Narcisse to care for you....and you know that Clairmont will be back."

"But you didn't leave. You came down to the fight room and you stood there watching it begin, and THEN you left, with the pendant that Narcisse needed!"

"Wait a moment. Slow down, what are you talking about?"

"Oh come on Haldir. You knew he could be severely hurt and that my powers were a bit faulty at the time. You did it on purpose didn't you? Because you still think he poisoned your soup, so you were just going to let him die for revenge!"

"Jo?? He was alive and well when I left the room!"

"But you knew someone dies in those fights and that it could have been Stephane... And it almost was. He was hurt very badly and if my powers would not have worked, in which they didn't at first, he would be dead. He almost died in front of me!"

Haldir then decided he was going to go on a little rampage of words he had been holding inside.

"My apologies that you had to go through that, but he is alive yes? and first of all, I did die in front of you Jo, I did, the one who should mean more to you than a warlock you've merely known just over a month who treats you terribly... and then conveniently, the gem went missing just that morning and if your powers had not surfaced, I would be dead as well, me Jo, but I do not see you, how do you say it? getting your panties in a twist over that, for I can see for whom they are in a twist over. I thought it was Garrett, but it seems he has a rival now....and if you desire to strike me again for saying as such, so be it... although I will admit, I earned the last one. I should never have said what I said, and for that, I am heartfully sorry Jo... And second, he should not have been involved in such dealings. That is of his own ignorance and culpability with knowing the likely outcome and I will not be made to feel guilty or held accountable for that. And third, you have had the pendant in your possession for months now. In all honesty, I became blind to it's presence around my neck because I have become accustomed to not having it there....And last but not least! I would not intentionally let someone die. That is not who I am and you know that....but to be clear, by someone, I do NOT mean a vampire!"

"Even when you believe Narcisse tried to kill you?"

"Jo, I know he is not responsible, well, in that he was not the one who placed it in my soup. I just had to come to terms with that myself. He is still responsible for allowing Catherine to remain here after what she has done. What I cannot come to terms with is the fact of what you have just accused me of, or that you solely went to that party this night all for him, not to spend time with me like you said. You would have went whether I had or not. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to go enjoy a drink or more and then get some rest. It would seem you are in dire need of sleep yourself and I have no more energy to fight with you....Just remember who has never left you, no matter how damn angry you make me."

Haldir spun around and left in a huff.

'Arrrrghh!!" you shouted and stomped your foot as he turned the corner and vanished. "Haldir I'm sorrrrryyyy!!!!"

You knew he was right about most of what he said and you couldn't have felt any more worse than you did for making him feel so bad and now, he was justifiably angry at you....again. You certainly never meant to hurt him but it's all you seemed to keep doing. How was he going to feel if you decided to stay there with Stephane?

After checking in on your angel, she and Lola were fast asleep, but you woke Lola to quickly tell her what happened and that you were going back to Narcisse's room for a bit to check on him, but first you needed to go get him some food. She gave you the key to the kitchen and then you rushed off.

As you went trotting through the dining hall, the patio doors were open and you saw Haldir sitting solo, drinking the wicked ale. You came to a quick stop, both of your eyes locking. Haldir hesitated, but then he looked away and continued drinking.

"Hmmph..." you scoffed and carried on into the kitchen.

You began scavenging through the cupboards, grabbing some bread and then headed down the stairs to the cooling house in the cellar where the foods that needed chilled were stored in winter ice.

You had no idea what Narcisse liked to eat, although at Thanksgiving, you saw him feasting mostly on meats, so you grabbed what appeared to be ham and then some cheese and lettuce. Your father always loved sandwiches, what man didn't? And since Narcisse was his best friend, you figured he would surely like a good old fashioned manwich as Julian would call it.

You assembled two of them as you figured Stephane's appetite would typically be huge as most men's were, and then you went to leave, but you stopped and sighed at the door, turned around and went back to make two more. But they weren't for you.

You came back out with a plate in each hand and walked outside to Haldir, who looked up at you in shock as you sat one down in front of him on the table.

"Thought you might be hungry. You didn't get to eat in the city."

He said nothing so you walked away. There were a few warlocks in the out there, but they kept to themselves, drinking at their own table far away from Haldir. As you walked past them, one stopped you, that was clearly inebriated.

"Heyyyy, I know you!" he slurred as he wobbled to his feet with his drink in hand. "You're that girl in the drawing which did you a much greater justice without all those clothes on."

You goggled at him as your mouth dropped open, a small gasp escaping through.

"I like to draw...what do you say you come back to my room and pose for me. I won't bite...hard."

Both of the drunken warlocks roared in laughter until the one who made the vulgar comment stopped and gaped in shock behind you.

"Jo...move away." Haldir flatly said.

The look upon his face told you to move FAR back, in which you did just in time as Haldir sucker punched the man square in the nose. He flew back onto the ground as his drink went flying across the room. All you thought of in that moment was when he cold cocked peter in Thranduil's dungeons, breaking his nose.

You gasped but with an incredulous smile as the befuddled drunk stayed down, blood pouring from his mouth and nose...and missing a tooth.

"It would seem you need a lesson in manners for that is not how one speaks to a lady of light, or any lady and a Queen at that." Haldir said as his eyes death stared down at the man, his nose flaring.

The other foolish man stood up and approached Haldir.

"Do you need a lesson as well? I will be happy to educate you." Haldir growled.

The warlock grinned and pulled out his blade, wielding it in front of Haldir as his hand shook.

"I do not fear your blade, powerless and weak warlock."

You could see it in the warlock's glazed eyes, that he was going to attack. Instinctively, you whipped your hand in the air, sending the blade hurling from his hand and across the room.

The corner of Haldir's lip curled up in a devious grin as the man gasped in fear.

"You are a bigger fool than I believed you to be. You do not know the power that can be unleashed upon you, for you were only served a glimpse of it. I have seen the storms that arise from her emotions. Pissing her off, I would not recommend. Would you like a demonstration?"

The man's wide eyes darted back and forth between you and Haldir, and then they froze in the Marchwarden's eyes.

"N...no." he stuttered.

"Would you like to return to your chambers now?" Haldir then asked in an intimidating tone.

"Y..y...yes." he nodded, almost like he were in some kind of trance.

That's when you knew Haldir was using his power of truth upon him to show him how cowardly he really was.

"Wise choice. It will be even wiser if either of you never so much as look upon the Queen again. Take your filthy friend and leave."

The warlock pulled his friend to his feet and the two staggered of in a hurry.

"Holyyyyy...shit. Haldir...you...that...was amazing." you praised him in elation.

His expression was flat as he gave you a brief gaze and walked back to his table.

He picked up his sandwiches and then left, offering you a simple nod as he did so.

"Well that was fun!" you shouted at the empty doorway. "You're welcome!"

You then marched off back to Narcisse's room. Haldir was clearly still pissed off at you so you just let him go cool off. His words were true though, that no matter how mad he was at you, he would always be there when you needed him...and for that, you simply adored the beautiful elf....and you smiled at the fact he still took the sandwiches.

You knocked on Narcisse's door and Charles answered it. As you walked in, the healers were wrapping a bandage around his stomach. Although the wounds had sealed, they were still quite fresh and painful, for they were very deep. Your power should have healed him completely but you certainly were not going to complain over the results you got.

Charles left now that you were there and so did the healers, who left him a steaming cup of herbal medicine on his nightstand with orders to drink it all to help him sleep and lighten the pain. You had a feeling that what they gave him was nightshade, for you would never forget the smell of it seeping out of your father the morning you found him presumably dead. It worked wonders for pain and rest in carefully measured doses, but too much would easily kill someone, or obviously make them almost comatose with an undetectable pulse like Julian had.

"Heyyy there. How are you feeling?" you softly asked as you carefully sat down beside him.

"Sooo much better now that you are here." he sweetly replied with a gentle smile.

"I...I brought you something to eat. I hope it is to your liking."

"Mmmm. It looks delicious. Thank you Jo."

Narcisse was already propped up by his pillow against the headboard, so you handed him the plate and the his tea.

"Here. Try to drink this. be careful, it's hot."

He sipped at it, and then began devouring the food.

"So good Jo." he raved with a heaping mouthful.

You giggled. "It's just a plain sandwich."

"Best damn plain sandwich I ever had."

He had them both eaten in under two minutes as you sat silently watching him with astonished eyes and then he washed them down with his now cooled tea.

"That hit the spot. Thank you for everything Jo. It just doesn't seem enough for what you have done for me, but I do not know what else I can say."

"Your thanks is plenty acceptable. I am just glad you are alright. Here, why don't you let me help you scoot down onto your back so you can get more comfortable. You look exhausted."

He smiled as you held him forward to fix his pillow and then he maneuvered his way down, flinching with each movement.

"Easy. You're almost there. Now slowly lie back."

Narcisse sighed in relief as his head sunk into the pillow.

"Better? Is there anything else I can do?"

"Jo...all is perfect now. Just stay and talk to me until I fall asleep...please?"

"Of course."

It wouldn't be long, for his eyes were already fighting to stay open as he peered up at you.

Slowly, you reached your hand out and stroked his cheek, causing his eyelids to flutter.

"Close your eyes. We can talk later."

"Don't....go..." he whispered softly as his eyes were giving in to the belladonna.

"I...I...won't."

A smile formed on his mouth and then it faded as his eyes finally succumbed to his desperate need for rest. You sat and watched him for awhile, his chest slowly moving up and down, glowing in the candlelight, listening to his soft breaths escape his slightly parted lips. He looked so vulnerable. Nothing like you've ever seen him before as he was always Lord Narcisse, strong and unbreakable....but the man before you now was nothing of the sort and he clearly needed you.

Thranduil entered the dungeon of goblin town, being escorted by Harker's sword poking him in the middle of his back and led up to the cage he had previously been tortured in for days. The memory of that was all coming back to the Elvenking in bits and pieces, mostly of the electrifying pain inflicted by Jareth's ring that the majority of was carried out by Harker. The pain that had made him hateful and vengeful. The words drilled into his mind of your past and current indiscretions. The reminders of Morwen's betrayal. Everything that Harker could do to bring the mad King out, was done, except Thranduil's submission to Jareth. It failed with every agonizing attempt he endured by the pair of wicked brothers. Thranduil vowed that his purgatory would be no more from that moment forward.

"Into the cage sprite." Harker ordered, delivering a jab of the sword to his back.

"No." Thranduil obdurately snapped and valorously stepped into Harker's face with his hands behind his back, bearing a death glare.

"So you would like to do this the hard way it would seem. I can always kill you right here, right now."

"And what purpose would that serve you or Jareth? All of your devoted efforts to acquire my loyalty will have been for nothing and you will surely face the wrath of the goblin King."

"He's right." Jareth concurred as he walked in with a scowl. "Lower your sword. You have disappointed me enough dear brother. Do not think I have forgotten that you took my life all those years ago. I am more powerful than you are and I can easily give you a taste of your own deadly medicine. Now...Thranduil. Step into the cage or I can begin the process right here and throw you in." Jareth warned as he made his ring visible.

"You may be more powerful than Harker, but you, nor your ring are more powerful than I."

Jareth chuckled and then glowered at Thranduil.

"You're an arrogant fool if you believe you're the most powerful King here or anywhere. Do you think the crown gives you power??"

"I do not think it. I know it. But I never mentioned my crown."

With that said, Harker and Jareth did not know what hit them as Thranduil whipped his arm out with his moonstone ring on his finger.

The light was excruciatingly blinding and debilitatingly painful to the dark seekers as Thranduil lit up like a fluorescent light bulb, sending them catapulting into the stone wall.

The rush of the power coursing through the elf lord's body was invigorating, causing him to feel as if he were climaxing. The light faded as Thranduil trembled profusely with a prevailing grin upon his lips, exhaling a deep and heavy sigh of ecstasy.

Harker and Jareth huddled in the corner, burying their faces in their hands and bellowing in anguish. It would take them quite sometime to recover from the blinding light show, for it was like a searing blade had pierced their eyes as smoke clouded over them....but Thranduil was not going to let them recover.

He picked up the sword that Harker had carried and raised it with the intentions of freeing their heads from their wretched shoulders, until Raven walked in.

Thranduil charged her, pinning her against the wall with the tip of the sword against her neck.

She gasped and pleaded. "Thranduil, stop! Let me help you! I...I can help you, just like I always have, remember?? I..I freed you...."

'Ahhh yes, I do recall that now...among...other things." he replied with a devious smile as he traced the tip of the blade down between her breasts and stopped at her aroused crotch, for he could smell it. The scent had triggered his memory of fucking her madly.

"Do...do you want more?" Raven squeaked.

Thranduil's pupils dilated with great severity and interest as he lowered his mouth to only centimeters from hers and spoke in a tantalizing tone.

"What a pleasure and point to prove it would be indeed, to take what belongs to the goblin King, again... right here before him...but...it will have to wait. Take me to my swords and I will then decide if you are worth sharing the air I breathe. And before you think of being a foolish girl with your powers, I would highly recommend that you....do not....for as you can see, like they could not, what a true cruel King is capable of."

"I...I'll take you to them...if...you take me with you." she whispered almost inaudibly so Jareth wouldn't hear her, but Thranduil's keen ears certainly did.

'Again, you are attempting to give me an ultimatum? Bold, are you not dhampir?"

"Desperate. Please...I'll do anything for you..."

Thranduil removed his face from hers and stiffened his neck up firmly as he glowered down at her through slitted eyes, confused at his desire for what his elven blood was born to despise.

"Move." Thranduil commanded and snarked the goblin King's famous words as he leered down at the cowering warlocks. "Time is short." He then left with Raven, changing his mind on killing them, for he now had much better plans as the tide was turning.

[lysapadin]

More whale posting! Let’s talk about Ahab.

I applaud Ishmael for trying to be generous and saying that it was the loss of his leg that drove Ahab around the bend, but Ishmael, honey, I think the man was already there:

His three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab.

One does not fling oneself into battle with the supernatural embodiment of malice aforethought armed only with a knife and expect to come out the other side in one piece unless one is a few crayons shy of a box of Crayolas.

But losing that leg sure didn’t help:

ever since that almost fatal encounter, Ahab had cherished a wild vindictiveness against the whale, all the more fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last came to identify with him, not only all his bodily woes, but all his intellectual and spiritual exasperations. The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung.

and

All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.

Let’s just pause for a moment and linger on “as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it“ because goddamn, what a line. What the fuck, Melville, who gave you the right to write like this? Nathaniel Hawthorne could never, that’s why he ghosted you, honey, he was clearly jealous.

Ahem. Moving along. Regardless of when Ahab took up residence in Crazy Town, Population Him, he is definitely crazy:

Yet, when by this collision forced to turn towards home, and for long months of days and weeks, Ahab and anguish lay stretched together in one hammock, rounding in mid winter that dreary, howling Patagonian Cape; then it was, that his torn body and gashed soul bled into one another; and so interfusing, made him mad.

And his obsession has made him dangerously powerful:

his special lunacy stormed his general sanity, and carried it, and turned all its concentred cannon upon its own mad mark; so that far from having lost his strength, Ahab, to that one end, did now possess a thousand fold more potency than ever he had sanely brought to bear upon any one reasonable object.

and

He was intent on an audacious, immitigable, and supernatural revenge.

So much so that he can take his entire crew down with him:

morally enfeebled also, by the incompetence of mere unaided virtue or right-mindedness in Starbuck, the invulnerable jollity of indifference and recklessness in Stubb, and the pervading mediocrity in Flask. Such a crew, so officered, seemed specially picked and packed by some infernal fatality to help him to his monomaniac revenge. [...] by what evil magic their souls were possessed, that at times his hate seemed almost theirs; the White Whale as much their insufferable foe as his; how all this came to be—what the White Whale was to them, or how to their unconscious understandings, also, in some dim, unsuspected way, he might have seemed the gliding great demon of the seas of life,—all this to explain, would be to dive deeper than Ishmael can go.

It’s not just the whale that is supernaturally powerful; Ahab’s rage has made him supernaturally powerful as well. It’s made him cunning, too:

Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form. Ahab’s full lunacy subsided not, but deepeningly contracted;

and

Now, in his heart, Ahab had some glimpse of this, namely: all my means are sane, my motive and my object mad. Yet without power to kill, or change, or shun the fact; he likewise knew that to mankind he did long dissemble; in some sort, did still. But that thing of his dissembling was only subject to his perceptibility, not to his will determinate. Nevertheless, so well did he succeed in that dissembling, that when with ivory leg he stepped ashore at last, no Nantucketer thought him otherwise than but naturally grieved, and that to the quick, with the terrible casualty which had overtaken him.

He knows he’s gone around the bend, and he knows how to hide that from his employers and crew, at least long enough to get the Pequod out to sea. After that, though, well. Not even Starbuck can stop him now.

[autumnslance]

Prompt #22: Veracity

((Revised on Ao3. Had this done last night but birthday shenanigans with the FC & a call from Mom delayed me. Idea inspired by a Babylon 5 ep...))

“We simply cannot verify these records,” Pentalamus argued. “And we especially know Count Edmont’s record to be biased.”

“Biased, perhaps,” Deadeali said. “Yet still invaluable as a primary source of the history.”

“I cannot deny that, I merely point out that the Count was writing from a very favorable viewpoint.”

“All history is biased,” Gray Swallow stated. “But you seem determined, my dear colleague”—no one missed the sarcasm in the large man’s tone, their academic rivalry well-known—“To deny that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the Warrior of Light especially were the heroes every record says. Particularly considering we have here today a living witness.”

The eyes in the chamber turned to the small, elderly Viera woman sitting quietly among them, her clear turquoise eyes flickering between each speaker, gray-tufted ears twitching at each sentence. She cleared her throat.

“I have already stricken the lies and exaggerations, or pointed out where the truth was stretched or hidden, often for specific reasons. I was not present for the end of the Dragonsong War, or many other adventures, but I knew all of those involved, and stood beside those heroes many times in battle.” Her eyes swept the room again, pinning on Pentalamus. “And they were heroes—certainly better people than I could be, especially in mine own youth.”

“Removed the lies, you say. And likely uncomfortable truths as well, no doubt, to prevent your fellows’ memories from tarnishing,” another scholar in the assembly said; Iyna forgot his name, but knew him to be a crony of this Pentalamus.

Iyna glowered. “I see no reason to hide the flaws and mistakes made by the Scions in those times. They were, after all, mortals. They had their limits, their doubts. But they always strove for better. You seem to have a difficult time believing that, young man.”

Pentalamus snorted; he was well over fifty, though to the Viera woman he yet seemed a swaddling babe. “I don’t believe in mere altruism. Man always wants something to motivate him.”

Iyna laughed. “Ah, I used to believe as you!” She said. “But I grew up a ward of Garlemald, at a time when it was a despotic empire under control of an ancient madman, not the fair republic it is now, centuries later. Still with its faults, of course—and yet its current course can be traced back to the Ilsabard Contingent’s humanitarian efforts to save the survivors of the Empire’s downfall. I was not among them; my pain and anger was still too great, back then.” She took a sip from a water glass.

“That the lady’s story hasn’t changed in any way, no matter how many times she tells it, should count for something,” quiet young Terrianette said.

“Only that she is well-practiced,” Deadeali said, before Pentalamus could.

“The question seems to be the veracity of not only the many records of the Warrior of Light and the Scions, but also my word as a witness,” Iyna mused. “In which case, t’would be best to have more witnesses.”

“Unfortunately, my lady, there are few so venerable as yourself who can claim to have known those people and the events in question,” Gray Swallow said gently.

Iyna snorted. “Because, my dear children, you forget man shares this world with others, and there are far more elder memories than mine.”

At that, she let out a loud, piercing whistle that made the various academics in the room wince.

The sound was answered; by the roar of a great cat, a large bird’s shriek, and a dragon’s roar.

A man entered the room; a tall young Raen by all appearances, though his impressive horns shone green, and his eyes were an unnatural burning red. Skittering at his feet was some sort of black beetle-like machina. Behind the Raen came a Kojin man and a strange woman with hair and dress of fire; they were flanked by a massive snake and a white tiger. Dragonets and a myriad of other animals bound into the room in their wake as the assembly of professors and students watched in alarm. The few sleepy reporters found themselves paying much more attention to the debate.

“That—isn’t that the Satrap of Radz-at-Han?”

“His mortal vessel, I think…”

“What are those creatures?

“Auspices from my homeland in the East…Kami preserve, they are—“

The not-Raen made it to Iyna, gesturing for her to remain seated. He took her hand, bowing low over it in greeting as she eye-rolled and shook her head. He grinned at her, then straightened and looked around the room, all mirth faded. His gaze carried more age and authority than even the Viera’s.

“You wish to hear the truth of the Warrior of Light and fellow Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” he said in a quiet voice that carried to every corner, and his power with it. “Then let us tell you what we saw, what we remember, of our friends—and sometimes enemies.“ He glanced down at the machina, as its devices seemed to scan the room. The Satrap looked up again.

“Let us tell you of the true history of the saviors of this star.”

[tsuki-sennin]

Today we get to (maybe) finally learn a little something about Empress Underg! Yeah, about time, am I right? What exactly inspires so much fear from her minions and yet such unwavering loyalty from Skearhead? What could she have possibly wanted from Elle before? And why does she now seek the Pretty Cure's demise? ...only one of these questions will probably be answered, but hey~!

Spoilers, I guess...

-Shalala Real!

-Ahhhhh, Tsubasa's got the secret to perpetual motion in his lap.

-Ahhhhh, I see. It reverses destruction itself, does it?

-Purifcation~!

-Ohhhhhh

-Oh, that's not a good sign.

-Shalala's gonna be our twist villain, isn't she?

-If I had a nickle for everytime a PreCure series I watched had its real main villain be a high-ranking knight... Actually, I'd probably have several nickles. Y'know, with Butler, Fennel, Joker if you wanna be technical on what a knight is, Kawarino if you also wanna be technical on what qualifies as a main villain... Bah, whatever, point of this scene is!

-Research binges pay off, Tsubasa-kun!

-Ageha's taking you out shopping~!

-Oh... oh wow, you're... hella gorgeous. Goddamn, you've got hips for days.

-And yet Miss Sky Blue Sapphic herself seems to take little notice...

-"These 18-19 year old clothes sure are conveniently fitting on my 30 something frame."

-Absolutely wild that this actual goddamn robot's treated so casually, but uh

-Well, I don't mind too much, this isn't the cyberpunk/psychic powers 2020s I was promised.

-And here Sora sits... alone.

-Not even noticing our dear Mashiron...

-A chance to stretch with the Captain~!

-Into the bushes with you!

-"I suppose a lie's a little too much for a pure-hearted hero-type."

-A moment's hesitation... and all her questions rise to the surface.

-"I'll find my own answer."

-I love how gently the music comes in, only to stop just the same way.

-"I get that. This is my reason though..."

-Introspectiooooooooon~!

-She got you there, Tsubasa-kun.

-The resolve to find that answer's been found!

-Farewell, Shalala!

-...so uh... is nobody gonna accompany her, or...?

-No, okay, that's fine!

-You're finally getting some sunshine, boy!

-Oh fuck, Skearhead.

-Ah, yep~! There it is~!

-"Hmph. Suppose I'll try something simpler this time. Kyoborg! Style on those impudent children."

-If this were anybody but Skeebo, I'd say he did this on accident.

-OH

-OKAY HJKLH

-"Yeah, go talk about this with Skearhead!"

-Good job, Wing-kun!

-Ikki ni ikuze! ...w-wait, no...

-We're gonna fuckin' throw her!

-Fly, Sky~!

-Right outta the sky!

-He can't be all bad with love on his side, right?

-"And?"

-Did your trainer only teach you Shadow Ball, Skeebo?

-Oh, he's doing this Freeza style.

-"This isn't your problem anymore, Cure Sky. The dead have no worries left. Nice job, idiot."

-Naivety becomes her heroic strength.

-Hirogaruuuuu... Sky Punch~!

-"Ohhhhhhh, that's not good."

-Wow, he just noped right out of there.

-Didn't even stay for the finisher.

-...sound tactical move, actually. He avoids the lecture and reports back to the Empress in record time.

-He might have a reason... but is that reason really so good he'd hurt innocent people?

-And still we're not even an inch closer to knowing the truth of Empress Underg...

-The Shalala Twist angle I'm going for seems like an obvious pick, but there's honestly no real way to speculate on what the Empress's is deal is besides how power-hungry and scawy she allegedly is.

-Battamonda~!

-Again~!

-Oh fuck, he's roided out!

-He's finally having that big final villain battle he always wanted.

-Right, see you next time, I guess~!